The road we take to work is, in a word, dilapidated. It was
constructed in hopes of settlement that never happened, and is now used by a
few villagers, rampaging quarry trucks, and guppy researchers. Between quarry
truck drivers losing pieces of their rocky load and the inexorable reclamation
of every fertile inch of soil and air by the rainforest, the long and winding
road is a first and second gear, four wheel drive and hold on to your hat
affair.
The principal investigators are rolling through this month,
collecting, doing some field work, keeping local professional partnerships
growing, and enjoying the tropics. In preparation, we guppy interns launched a
war on grime. In clearing the garage, we
found two bags of cement, and we knew exactly where to put them.
Once we'd finished work in the house, lab, and garage for the morning, we loaded up into the truck with buckets and shovels and our cement. We drove up the road to The Spot, the worst of the deep dark ditches that bump and jostle our trucks, sending unsecured passengers rocketing toward the ceiling and thumping everything about. Hauling with the buckets, the truck bed, and our arms, we packed the ditch, wielding a hammer to even out the new piece of road. We blasted soca music on a set of portable speakers. Soon, we had a nice looking patch, a neat tire track constructed through many feet of ditch. We mixed those concrete bags with dirt and mud and troweled it out with a broken piece of thick bamboo. Making short work of the project, we soon had a road patch cemented in place. Feeling quite satisfied with ourselves, we trucked back to the house.
Once we'd finished work in the house, lab, and garage for the morning, we loaded up into the truck with buckets and shovels and our cement. We drove up the road to The Spot, the worst of the deep dark ditches that bump and jostle our trucks, sending unsecured passengers rocketing toward the ceiling and thumping everything about. Hauling with the buckets, the truck bed, and our arms, we packed the ditch, wielding a hammer to even out the new piece of road. We blasted soca music on a set of portable speakers. Soon, we had a nice looking patch, a neat tire track constructed through many feet of ditch. We mixed those concrete bags with dirt and mud and troweled it out with a broken piece of thick bamboo. Making short work of the project, we soon had a road patch cemented in place. Feeling quite satisfied with ourselves, we trucked back to the house.
This morning, all the prep work of the last few days done, I
am having a hammock sort of day. I'm reading through the lending library of
biology works collected here, the pages warped with seasons of humidity but the
messages right at home. A bananaquit came to visit my breakfast bowl, picking
out scraps of sweetness. A rustle distracted my attention as an irate
mockingbird chased a small taigu away from a bush, pecking his long reptilian
body fiercely. As the Tom and Jerry tableau reached the far side of the yard,
an older taigu, who we call Stumpy for the tail regrowing from his break plate,
sauntered into view, taking advantage of the yard cleared of reptilian rivals for
his perusal.
Today may be quiet, but tonight will be filled with whistles
and horns and drums; Trinidad is beginning to heat up for Carnival, and tonight
A- is hosting the Soca Semifinals, which we will certainly attend.
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