Panama Farm Life Nov 3, 2024

 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 specific axle could be purchased in a metal shop in David (pronounced Duh-veed) on Monday.  David is the second largest city in Panama and about 40 minutes from our farm. In hindsight, this lag of time for repair was a blessing...

The hay elevator was repaired the following Tuesday but extra labor wasn't available to help load the bales.  So, they remained in the car port. Wednesday we shopped in David to load up on hard to find grocery items not typically found in Boquete and to pick up the remaining building materials needed for the villa construction.  

A four-day weekend full of parades and festivities was ahead celebrating Panama's separation from the rule of Colombia. Panama was part of Colombia until Panamanians revolted, with U.S. support, on November 3, 1903. The U.S. recognized Panama as its own republic on November 6, 1903. This, to curry favor with Panama to allow the build of the canal. 

Our focus on preparation now to later avoid the crowds that flood into Boquete for this celebration diverted my weather watching diligence.  It is rainy season. Our farm is on the side of a mountain.   Water flows downhill.  Usually.  'Flood' is a feared word...

A tropical storm is forming just north of Boquete off shore from Bocas Del Toro on the Caribbean Sea, the Gulf of Mexico.  Storms that are born in this area typically head north or northeast away from Panama and toward the U.S. mainland or the Atlantic which is why Panama is considered to be outside of the hurricane zone.  However, the outer bands of large or forming storms can and do sideswipe Panama and dump moisture. Moisture. A gentle descriptive word that lacks the smash of reality. The heavy rain, the Ark building amounts of rain in a very short period of time, is now a weather event warning for Boquete for this celebratory weekend. Storm prep refocuses our activities.

The farm is already prepped for run-off to handle the rainy season. As much as can be prepped.  Each rainy season and each rainfall yields visible opportunities for more prep dependent on the amount of rain, which way the run-off decides to run and what drains and walls are holding up against the super-saturated ground.  I awoke Friday, completed the morning routine and pulled on my mud-boots.  Time to inspect the farm, the horses and the drainage to make certain all would be OK with the incoming deluge.    

My phone dings.  It is Alex, our farm worker.  He has spotted a snake.  A Fer de Lance, one of the top three venomous and deadliest snakes in Central and South America.  The snake is coiled under the raised floor of the workshop amid the materials kept handy for emergency repairs to the farm systems.  Inspections will have to wait.

I call Boquete's version of 9-1-1.  Rodny Direct.  Rodny is a local and a quadriplegic who, years ago, was set up in business by expats well versed in living rural without adequate government funded services.  Rodny and his brothers handle calls for a myriad of issues from traffic tickets to snake removal and then contact the appropriate local resource to fix the problem.  Very often those resources do not speak English and Rodny's bilingual capabilities and knowledge of the province's important people are worth his annual fee. 

I hold while Rodny contacts the Bomberos, the fire department, as they typically remove nests of wasps, Africanized bees or other wildlife infringing on an expat's idea of an easy, laid back, problem free life here.  He comes back online to tell me the Bomberos do not have a truck available nor equipment to capture said snake.  They will, however, appreciate a ride up to the farm where they will commence to chop the life out of said snake with a machete.  I ask for an alternative.

Kevin, a 20 something with a gusto for reptiles awaits pickup at his mother's house a short ride from the farm.  Dressed in U.S. Army fatigue pants, a t-shirt from a Colombian wildlife rescue group and a cap from an unrecognizable university, he throws his snake tools in the back of the truck and hops in.   Alex, is with me just in case.  We greet one another in Spanish and Kevin abruptly changes to english.  His high school biology teacher taught him how to catch and release snakes, especially the deadly ones, and how to wrestle alligators (they do exist in certain David areas where rivers dump into the ocean) and deal with other nasty tempered wild life.  His mantra is live and let live. He says this through a huge toothy smile.  OK, brownie points.   Fine with me as long as said snake lives off my farm.

Back at the farm, Alex and Kevin cautiously remove all the stored construction material to locate the snake.  I leave them to it, a snake bite not being one of my retirement goals, and begin the inspection of the farm's readiness for the onslaught of rain.  That completed, Kevin waves at me pointing to the empty paint bucket with a tightly fit lid.  Snake captured.  He shows me video of the capture process utilizing Alex as his assistant leveraging Alex's curiosity and his willingness to risk his life.  The snake is a baby.  A female.  I marvel at how Kevin knows this and he presents another video demonstrating how to, um, sex a snake.  TMI.   

I return Kevin to his mother's house asking if I can publish his contact information on my neighborhood WhatsApp.  He is delighted.  Our area, he says, is rife with serpents. And he expects more babies will be discovered on my farm.  Delightful.  He invites me in to meet his pet Boa, a 7 year old female that he has raised from an egg. She is now 9 feet long.  I politely decline but do watch a video of her from the safety of the truck.

Upon finishing the installation of the window treatments in the new villa the ping of heavy raindrops begins on the metal roof.  I sprint up to the house to dry off and change into comfortable lounge wear.  Ding... Alex is in the workshop and water is streaming through the ceiling.  I freak.  The workshop is the room where the solar equipment and the electrical boxes are housed.  It has to be dry.  Water streaming through the ceiling means the loft above is wet and that the roof has failed.  How could that be?

Alerting Gary (more akin to unhinged shouting),  I throw on rain gear and sprint back down the hillside to the workshop.  The floor is wet and water is streaming through the seams in the ceiling. Alex has covered the solar and electrical equipment with heavy plastic.  I climb the ladder leading to the loft and throw the hatch open to enter.  The entire middle part of the loft floor is drenched.  The few bales of hay stored there are damp. I smile thinking of the chain of events that caused the latest delivery of hay to remain on the lower level and be safe from the water.  Luck?  Divine intervention?  

 Alex climbs up to help and together we throw the dry bales to the sides of the loft out of the wet area and lay down plastic to protect the floor. Gary joins in bringing needed supplies from the house. Our builder, Tony, is called and he arrives in minutes.  We assess the water source and devise a temporary fix with plastic and heavy silver tape. He gets to work.  Finally, at 7p on a dark and rainy Saturday night of a long holiday weekend, the streams of water are stopped. The rain stops for awhile. Tony, is a saint.  I tell him so.

Sunday morning the farm is inspected a second time.  So far, so good.  Areas that need to be dry, are still dry.  A neighbor looking for sand and plastic bags reports that the local hardware store is open for the morning.  I jump in the truck and buy more tape.  Just in case.  A large roll of heavy black plastic sits on the floor of the workshop.  If I have to wrap and tape the entire damn farm against water damage I at least have the materials to do so.  The heavy rains return in the late afternoon.  Another lesson learned...even the 'best' designs for farm life are just a definition until mother nature, here in the tropics of Panama, tests them.

The parades and celebrations for today and tomorrow are cancelled due to rain. Sorry, but not sorry.  This means we will have nocturnal peace for sound sleeping instead of the fireworks and loud music through the night. We can hear the revelries from town intermittently during these festival times.  Panamanians love to party starting at sunset and often don't close down until the sun rises.

My definition and expection of an easy, laid back, bucolic retirement holds.  Somewhat.