(07/31/23)

Junglepixiebelize - Recollections of a Gringa Pioneer ​

​Nancy R Koerner - Copyright@2023 - All Rights Reserved
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
"The Moon Man"
​Just as the realization of coming change had dawned on us, good fortune began to smile and clear the way for new opportunities. On a random trip to San Ignacio, my husband had shared a beer with a visiting gringo who owned a small woodcrafts company in Homestead, Florida. Specifically, John Martinelli was looking for someone in Belize to make small decorative crescent moons, in which he would hang leaded crystal, and sell as window ornaments. He had already established his market in the U.S., and loved the exceptional beauty of Belizean hardwoods. John had then spent some time with us at Alta Vista, and within a couple of days, the two men had struck a deal. When John went back to Florida, my husband went with him.
One might think that I might have been afraid to stay on the homestead back-a-bush, with a young child. But in that kinder and gentler era, I don’t think it ever crossed my mind. Every day, from morning until night, my son and I worked and played together. He had developed sturdy leg muscles from hikes to the river, and had already learned to swim. He helped me feed the 
chickens, and milk the goats. He carried the basket from the chicken coop when we collected eggs, and then helped me hang the clothes on the line. Later, in the cool of the evening, we would sit on the back step overlooking the river valley at sunset. As he laid his head on my lap, I would stroke his platinum hair, and sing to him, while tracing the delicate pink shell of his ear.

​​ "Daddy!" he cried out. "Mummy, look! Daddy's home!" We both heard the honking of the horn and watched as the truck headed up the long driveway toward the house.
What a treat to see all the store-bought items from the States: portable cassette player, and new music tapes. There was new skirt, blouse, and shoes for me. And, for our boy, there was a new pair of Oshkosh overalls, and a big yellow Tonka bulldozer with a backhoe. For my jewelry-making, I would now have a hanging rotary unit with flexible shaft, along with an assortment of burrs and bits, sandpaper, buffing wheel, and jeweler's rouge. With the help of the generator, I would be able to create my carvings much more efficiently.
​We also now had a sample of the crystal moons, as well. The crescent caught the slight breeze and turned slowly, throwing rainbows on the walls. Inside the two large boxes was a bandsaw and a router, accompanied by a printed order for 1000 crescent moons. John had given us an advance on the first order, which had provided for the substantial investment in tools.
​Over the next few months, the moon project proved successful. When John received the first order, he was so pleased, he placed a second order immediately. But this also meant we would have to face reality. Running a generator would not serve in the long run. We needed constant 110-volt current, and our son would need to start school. It was time. Reluctantly, we would have to put Alta Vista for sale, and move to Cayo as soon as possible.
​By this point, I was doing an outstanding business at Airport Camp, tapping in to the unique souvenir market with the British Army, and bringing home first-world profits. On each visit, I sold my carvings first to the Officers' Mess, and then to the Sergeants' Mess. If anything was left, I could sell it the next morning to the Sri Lankan shopkeeper on the base, who was also my customer. I couldn’t even keep up with the demand.
 
Surprisingly enough, Alta Vista had sold within a month. A group of five young Swiss had expressed interest and – for perhaps the only time in Belizean history – a rapid transaction had taken place. They gave us cash-on-the-barrel-head for the down-payment. My husband had encouraged them to also negotiate on the machines that were an integral part of the homestead. And, although Hans, Franz, Moritz, and the rest of the gang were smart enough to buy the piston pump, and the small generator – they didn’t think they needed the old lawnmower.
 
"You don't understand," we told them. "You'll need this lawnmower to keep back the bush. You have no idea how fast it grows."
 
Moritz spoke for all of them, and smiled good-naturedly. "No, it's okay," he said. "We use machete. We like, we make, we chop." He gestured low to the ground with his forearm, making a chopping motion.
 
My husband and I exchanged a knowing glance, rolling our eyes, and smiling as the Swiss drove away. "They bloody-well better ‘we like, we make, we chop,’” he said. “Because, without a lawnmower, they'll be doing precious little else.”
 
Then he’d told me the big news: he’d found a house for us to rent in Cayo. It was up on the hill, going out Buena Vista Drive, towards Benque. Not far past the San Ignacio Hotel. Town, I thought. Living in a town. Mujer del pueblo? Me? Incredulous. I was mujer del monte. My life in Belize had always been in the bush, and on the river. In fact, if circumstances had been different, I would have lived on Alta Vista for the rest of my life, and happily died there. Even now, forty-four years later, the connection remains...
 
One day, my ashes will be scattered on the upper reaches of the Macal – forever the home of my heart… 
​