City Born Girl in Panama Country Life

  Eye of newt, toe of frog... no, scratch that.  Head of bat and kidney of rat. Our farm cats are fierce hunters.  Almost daily we find pieces of...things... and that starts a game between Gary and I.  What is THAT?  And what animal did it come from?  Gary's veterinary and research career makes the ID fairly easy.  My ability to ID, not so sharp. The last week or so has been a real challenge living on the side of this mountain. The forecasted deluge came in fast and furious.  Locally, foot bridges have been swept away, sections of the roads have washed down the slopes, trees have fallen across power lines and brought them down, homes have flooded and the coffee beans are drowning on the trees.   Damage and hardships are felt all through Panama. Pieces are missing from the main highway along the route from Panama City to the west side, where we live, and on through to Costa Rica.  This rain event is something very unusual especially ...

  There is living on a farm.  And then there is living on a farm in the tropics.  In Panama. Retirement has many definitions to those who chose to define their later years rather than just go with the flow.  My definitions of  living an easy, laid back, bucolic retirement on a farm in the tropics of Panama have not necessarily matched with my expectations of achieving same.  Expectations smashed by reality.  An atom smasher type of smash. Total obliteration. A few days back, the custom designed hay elevator decided to break.  Yes, exactly when the 180 bales of hay were delivered. The hay was stacked in the car port area of the barn instead of riding the conveyor belt up to the specially designed hay loft.   The metal axle supporting the golf cart tire driven by the motor that made the conveyor belt rotate just...broke. Our very crafty Rube Goldberg hay elevator design had failed. On a Friday, repairs would not be possible until the speci...