I was recently enjoying a nice quiet evening at home, cooking some ramen noodles by the light of my kerosene lamp after dark. My tranquility was interrupted by an engine roaring, followed by the sound of tires skidding through dirt, and then a loud crash.

Within a few seconds I could hear voices and footsteps that made it clear that half the neigborhood was on their way over to investigate, so I took a peek out my front door. I saw a pick up truck with no windshield and only one head light that had crashed into the fence post marking the corner of my front yard, and that had white smoke pouring out from under the hood. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

Apparently the guy had been driving down the hill, and it had been a little while since he had done any maintenance on his brakes. Great. The driver had the hood open and was whining about how there weren't any lights in our town for him to see if he was going to hit anything, and also about how inconveniently placed my fence post had been. I replied by politely informing him that had he had working brakes and headlights there would not have been a problem. He retorted with something about me not knowing anything about driving, since I didn't have a car. I told him that I had driven in more snow and ice than he had ever seen and could probably teach him a thing or two. I also informed him that I hoped that he was planning to replace my fence post that he had just destroyed.

By now we are speaking in voices that are much louder than what I usually use in civilized conversations. He told me that he was never going to offer me a free ride on his truck again (which he never had), to which I replied that I had no interest in riding a truck without any brakes. He backed his truck up and went driving off into the night.

I was a little steamed, but glad that no one had gotten hurt in the crash. My neighbors were very impressed with the way I handled the man. I guess my Spanish has advanced to the point where I can exchange insults with strangers at the drop of a hat. Incidentally, the man still hasn't brought me a new pole. I yell insults at him every time his truck goes by, and he replies with rude gestures, and a hint of a smile. I think we are becoming friends.

In which Tim feeds the mountain...

A few weeks ago I was sitting at home in the early evening, and my project partner pulled up in a pickup truck completely loaded down with sacks of seeds (corn, beans, peas, all the staple crops around here), about 2000 lbs altogether.

He said to me ''here are the seeds.''

I replied ''what seeds?''

''The seeds that you are going to distribute to all of the communities up here on the mountain.''

Oh. Well, no one exactly told me about this project. But what could I say? Basically my job now is to visit farms that are ready for planting, and make sure that they are adhering to certain environmental standards. They are not allowed to slash and burn, and they are required to build barriers to prevent soil erosion if their field is on a slope (which they all are up in the hills).

It's been tiring. For the last seven days I have been hiking up and down mountains, scrambling along near vertical farm fields, trying to explain to poor farmers why slash and burn agriculture is a bad idea. I am learning a lot. Here are a few highlights...
·Roads are not a necessary part of human life. I am meeting many people whose existence I was not previously aware of because they live three miles down a goat track in the bush.

·How to estimate the amount of seed a field needs. I can now eyeball a farm field and tell you approximately how many pounds of beans you will be able to plant there. Marketable skill, you think?

·Planting is best done on Sunday. I was informed by an elderly gentleman (with no teeth) that seeds that are planted on a Sunday will not be afflicted with sickness or pests. He says it is because God is watching over them. I am not sure how this jives with the Old Testament commandment to not working on the Sabbath, but I guess we shall see.

In which Tim chases a horse through the jungle...

My horse is a pest. We've been working on getting warmed up to each other. It is a little hard given my lack of knowledge of the equine world, and the fact that he doesn't like anyone telling him what to do. I thought things were going alright, until I recently went to move him to a spot with fresh grass, and found him gone. The rope that I had used to tie him up was certainly still there, but there was no horse attached to it.

I was with a friend who knew about this kind of thing, and he informed me confidentally that we would find the beast in no times. He had been parked on the bank of the river, and there were relatively fresh tracks leading up stream, so we followed. The tracks kept going for a while, and then they cut into the woods. We bushwacked our way in, doing our best to keep the trail. I should also mention that it was raining decently hard. After about a quarter mile of following goat tracks through woods, we came to the highway. It became clear to my companion at this point that the horse was headed for a spot on top of one of the mountains where an entire herd of horses lives and is allowed to roam pretty freely within several square miles of orange groves. So do we turn tail, go home, and plan to find him when it is not raining? Of course not. We follow that sucker up the mountain. Had it not been for the rain, it actually might have been kinda fun. We were tracking a stray horse through the jungle! I felt like I was in a movie.

Two hours later after a lot of climbing, shivering, sneaking up on groups of horses to try to spot mine, and failing, we did eventually give up.

I had a friend visiting me in my community, and I had told her that I would be back from moving the horse in about ten minutes. Three hours later I showed up soaking and grumpy. Let this be a warning to anyone planning to visit me...

Three days later the horse was found and brought back. I am taking a firmer hand with him now.