Fender-bender in Costa Rica

(Driving in San Jose can be hectic, but the dangers of driving in rural areas in Costa Rica are just as real.)


I stayed remarkably calm throughout the entire event; my wife was a bit less so.  When I saw that motorcyclist fly off his cycle onto the trunk of a parked car, my heart stopped for a minute.  I was turning right into a parking space without my turn signal on, he was passing me on the right, so there was plenty of blame to go around.  Fortunately, he was physically all right.  The damage was minimal, mostly lights on all vehicles concerned, but the official reporting took half a day.  We waited in the center of Uvita, a coastal Costa Rican town, until the police and an insurance guy from a town 90 minutes away arrived to fill out all the reports.  I was instructed by the transito that I could show up in court in Ciudad Cortez within eight days, but my car rental company told me that they will do that; that is why I signed all those papers when I got the Nissan 4x4 on day 1.

After all these years of driving in my favorite country, it finally happened.  Nice that it didn't occur during one of those times when I was driving over the Cerro de la Muerte in the dark, in the fog, with trucks passing on blind curves, with a thousand feet of drop off the side.  That would have ruined my year.  I guess this is why I have never been a fan of cars or of driving.  I learned at an early age how these machines can change your life forever.

When a fender-bender happens in the states, it is inconvenient, but it is really not that big of a deal.  If your vehicle is undrivable, we take it to the shop and we get around some other way for a while.  We take a cab or a bus or our neighbor who has a car delivers us where we need to go.  Heck, most of us have a second car anyway, so we use that one until the first one is repaired.  But in places like Costa Rica, it is a big deal to have your only mode of transportation down.  Bus transport in the capital is great, but not out here in the boonies.  Most ticos do not own a car or truck, some have a motocycle or a bike, and most walk nearly everywhere.  So this guy who richoched off my rental car will not be able to drive his moto until he gets the money to fix it properly.  Life gets instantly more difficult---to get to work, to get to market, to conduct business at the bank. (He will apparently receive insurance money, but it will take months.  I will have to pay for damages to the rental car up to the deductible amount.)

You could gauge how important this incident was in the daily life of a tico because of all the locals who stopped by to get the story.  The cyclist must have described his version of what happened a dozen times to friends and relatives while we waited for the authorities.  When gringos passed by, they barely noticed.  I didn't get to explain to anyone what happened.  There was an American eyewitness, however, who was drinking coffee only a few feet in front of where the accident occurred.  Terri Peterson gladly came to my rescue and volunteered to be a witness, if necessary.  Turns out she runs eco-tours from the southern part of the country, so this is my chance to give her a plug.  But from the crowd of ticos, you would have thought there were 2-3 bodies lying on the pavement instead of some pieces of broken glass and plastic.  Fortunately, the owner of the parked car was a guy named Eddie that I had just met 15 minutes before at the nearby gas station.  He had lived in the states for 16 years, so he served as my interpreter with authorities.  My Spanish is perfectly fine in a bar or restaurant, but explaining a car accident to the police is another matter.  All in all, I guess it made for an interesting morning for Uvitans.

In the mid-80s, we lived in a mountaintop village in Costa Rica with our three children for a year.  We had no car, so we walked everywhere.  It was really work to get food and to do errands.  And then, whatever you bought, you had to carry home. After a while, we bought a horse, and life got immensely easier.  I lost 25 pounds that year, and I was not overweight in the least when I got there.  Can you say emaciated?

So I feel badly that I caused, or was involved, in a disruption of the normal flow of events in this man's life.  The accident gave me something to write about; it only gave him a problem.  I wonder how often this is the case.  We tend to weigh our economic setbacks against our own standard of living, not against those for whom the event is much worse.  It even seems there are parallels here with the effects that U.S. international policies have on millions of less fortunate people in other countries.  But that is another blog.

Is your life's path determined at 17?

(The choices that young people need to make are daunting, and possibly made too early.)

When we were kids, I distinctly remember asking my younger brother what he wanted to be when he grew up.  We were sitting on the basement stairs at the time, so he looked around the basement, and answered: "A clothes dryer".  I laughed at him, and attempted to explain that was impossible.  He was a young human being and when he grew up he would just be an older human being, but what would he do for a job as an adult?  I'm sure he didn't understand my logic at the time.  But I have often wondered at the perspective that allowed this young boy to think that he could become a mechanical, inanimate object later in life.

Last night, I had a drink with four of my former undergrad students, all of whom will be graduating in May.  The conversation focused mostly on what they would be doing after graduation.  They are all very bright students and they had been applying to various grad schools around the country.  Should I work on population ecology modeling with Professor X at Penn State or on a topic somewhat less mathematical with Professor Y at University of Georgia?  Should I study fish management at Oregon State or do a study on white-tailed deer at Ohio State?  Should I work on obtaining a M.S. degree now, or go straight for the Ph.D.?  Should I become a clothes dryer or an upright vacuum sweeper?  The conversation with my brother from more than 50 years ago came streaming back into my head.  Was the topic of last night really all that different?

Perhaps the reason I feel somewhat apprehensive about the topic of our beer banter was because I am not at all sure that I would follow the same path again in my professional life, knowing what I know now.  I would likely not go into academia, would not get a Ph.D., and would not have focused so intently on wild animals and ecology as I did.  The details of my thinking will eventually end up in another blog; those details are not germane to my point here.  I have the benefit of hindsight, and these young people do not.  They are pursuing what they THINK will make them happy, but they can not possibly know for sure until after they have spent many more years working on degrees, getting a position, and working at that job for some time.  By then, they will be in their 40s, and it will be tough to turn back.  "You rolls the dice, and you takes your chances", as that old saying goes.

The problem is that these students haven't lived enough yet.  The world has so much to offer, and there are so many interesting challenges and opportunities.  They are bright enough and ambitious enough that they could choose any path they wanted, but they can't possibly know now about more than 1-2% of those potential paths.  They are following the logical direction based on what they chose as an undergraduate major at university.  Think about that.  A 17-year old high school senior picks a major for college based on what they think their interests are at that time, and it generally predicts their life's path for the next 40 years.  Astounding!

I'm even willing to wager my next Social Security check that if these four students did something else in the world for the next two years, that at least two of them would not proceed down the route they are now planning to take.  They might still decide to attend grad school, but the thesis topic they chose, or the major prof they selected, or the degree they pursued would be different than it will now be.  And then, their professional life would become different than it will now become.

Students who read this essay may be disturbed by these ideas, but I think they know there is some wisdom here somewhere.  And by reading this, it will probably only increase some doubts they already have.  I make no apology, because my role in life is largely to make people question.  I guess that is the teenage decision I made all those years ago.  My only advice is to realize that what you currently know or think is only a tiny fraction of all you could know or think, and you don't need to be a prisoner of those limited thoughts.  Perhaps, becoming a ball pene hammer would not be nearly as rewarding as becoming a 5/8 inch socket wrench, but you can't know the answer to that until you have tried them both.  My advice: take the time to explore, investigate, and experiment broadly before you Super Glue your life's map on your chest.

Senescence sucks: My wife now sleeps with Darth Vader (Part 7)

(This man has just been told that he will have to wear this device for the rest of his life.)

As we pick up the exciting action after my last night in the Sleep Clinic, we find DrTom with a new device prescribed by the doctor to wear while sleeping.  It is called a CPAP unit, and it looks like the apparatus one would use to breathe hostile air on a foreign planet (see photo).  The electrical unit pumps air at a predetermined pressure into the mask, which keeps your airway from collapsing during sleep.  DrTom suffers from a common ailment known as Obstructive Sleep Apnea Syndrome.  It involves a closure of the airway due to relaxed muscles that causes you to snore and to wake up gasping for air (although you seldom remember this), which prevents you from hitting the REM stage of sleep.  It is during REM that the body obtains the restorative benefits of sleep.  Prolonged periods of REM deprivation may be associated with hypertension and heart problems, and a lowered sexual drive, according to a major Harvard study.  And, when you awake in the morning, you do not feel rested.

I've now worn the darn thing for three nights, and some changes are already apparent.  My wife won't look at me when I'm sleeping now, and she won't kiss me on the cheek when she comes to bed for fear of getting her lips caught in the clips that hold the mask on my head.  The dog no longer sleeps on the bed, but he stares at me a lot, even in the dark.  I think he is afraid to come near me when I have it on.  I was always fascinated with Star Wars and Star Trek and the idea of visiting other planets with strange creatures, like Pandora in Avatar.  Already, my dreams are now focusing on that kind of adventure.  I am sure this is because of the mind-set I have after donning my space mask as I climb into bed.  When I breathe, I sound a bit like Darth Vader, so the ambiance in the dark bedroom is perfect for fantastical hallucination.  Last night I dreamed I was Luke Skywalker's father.

When I travel with the CPAP unit, which fits in a case about the size of a shoe box, it has to be carried on an airplane.  It is too sensitive to be checked.  I have a letter from the sleep doctor that I show TSA when checking in that this is a medical device, and that it should not count as one of my carry-ons. 

I can see it all now, because I had a similar situation years ago when traveling with my daughter and my infant granddaughter to California.  Amy needed to take one of those mechanical breast pumps with her so that she could bottle milk for me to feed her daughter when I babysat on the trip.  The device was about the size of a small sewing machine and it was fairly heavy; Amy carried her baby and I carried the thing.  We were traveling soon after 9/11.  When I tried to go through security, they called me aside, opened the machine and examined it with special swabs for evidence of explosives.  After all, it did resemble a small atomic device that you see in the movies.  When the test came back negative, I whispered to the young girl what the device was.  She immediately turned to her colleague who was many yards away and yelled while laughing hysterically, "Mabel, it's a breast pump."  At that instant, about 40 passengers about to board my flight turned and looked at the white-haired guy, standing there alone, holding what was obviously the object of everyone's attention.  I don't embarrass easily, but that one made my ears glow.  My daughter was one of those smiling broadly from across the hallway, but her mouth did not utter a word of explanation.

My wife, the former ER nurse, insists that I take care of myself and that I have all medical issues checked out by a physician.  I am trying to be a good patient.  So I will continue to wear the Vader mask, to dream of faraway places and adventures, to frighten the dog, and to deal with security issues at the airport.  What worries me most is that I know from listening to them sleep at night that both my wife and my black lab also suffer from sleep apnea.  It is just that when they are both fitted with their CPAP masks, there will not be enough electrical outlets near the bed to go around.

Homage to Amelanchier

(A flowering Juneberry in May at DrTom's.)

One of the required trees to learn in my field biology course was a relatively insignificant species (from a timber perspective) called Juneberry, or shadbush, or serviceberry. It has several common names, but I am referring to the genus Amelanchier. The common species in our area is Amelanchier laevis, or smooth Juneberry. This shrub or small tree is in the rose family, and rarely gets more than 10 meters high. It flowers in May when the American shad (a fish) used to run up the eastern rivers, and it bears ripe fruit in June (thus, Juneberry).

The tree was always difficult for students to identify in autumn when it contained neither flowers nor fruits, so I made a big deal of how much I loved this tree. During the semester, I often heard students say in discussing the trees they were required to know from their list, “you know the one, Gavin’s favorite tree.” I thought that by exaggerating my love for this species that they would more easily remember what I wanted them to know. But I really do love this species; it is one of my favorite trees in the eastern deciduous forest. But why?

First of all, everything about Amelanchier is attractive. The gray bark with weaves of green running through it, the finely serrated leaves, the abundant white blossoms, and the purple fruits that resemble blueberries offer much. But many open-grown specimens have a growth form that reminds me of a small tree you might see in a Japanese garden, almost like a giant bonsai tree. Based on my observations, they are slow growing, adding only a few centimeters of new growth per year. Although I have never worked the wood, it is supposedly hard and durable and was used in former times as tool handles.

Second, starting about mid-June, the fruits ripen and the show begins. So, my evening ritual (you know, scotch, cigar, binoculars, and folding chair) is often spent sitting several meters away from my favorite Juneberry. Every fruit-eating bird in the area is attracted to this offering, which, of course, is how the tree disperses its seeds. Birds swallow the fruits while they are in the tree and defecate the seeds elsewhere several minutes later. American robins, gray catbirds, veerys, and cedar waxwings are the most common visitors on my property. Lat year on June 14 the fruits were not yet ripe, but the waxwings started feeding on those fruits a couple of days before. (Are those seeds ready to be dispersed yet? Are they yet viable?) This is really curious to me and it deserves further investigation. In a few days, the branches of the tree will be moving constantly with the shifting of bird bodies intent in harvesting as much as they can as rapidly as possible.

The most interesting visitor is the yellow-bellied sapsucker, the fruit-eating woodpecker with a sweet tooth. Remember that this is the species that drills small holes in a neat horizontal line in certain species of trees (like red maples), and then visits these holes later to lick up the sweet sap that oozes from them; it may also feed on insects that are attracted to the sap. For several years, I have had a pair of sapsuckers that visit my Juneberry trees as long as there is ripe fruit available.

Gray squirrels and eastern chipmunks also love these fruits and, although I have yet to witness this, I am betting that deer mice in the genus Peromyscus climb these trees at night to eat the fruits. George Petrides writes that foxes, skunks, raccoons, and black bears also relish Juneberry fruits. They are also quite edible by humans.

I have described my hobby of thinning my woodlot for various purposes. One of the objectives has been to release this sun-loving tree to fuller sunlight along my driveway so that it flowers more profusely. There are now 14-15 specimens lining my long driveway, which provide a beautiful show of flowers in May. I usually proclaim that spring has really arrived when Juneberry is in flower. Oh, I did not mention this, but an old etymology of the third common name, serviceberry, is consistent with my proclamation of spring arrival. Pioneers are said to have used the flowering of Juneberry to know that the ground had thawed sufficiently to bury those who had died during the winter—funeral services could be held at that time.

My enthusiasm for Amelanchier has not changed over the years. About all that has changed is what used to be called “Gavin’s favorite tree” is now referred to as “DrTom’s favorite tree.” Same tree, different name.