Melancholy Musings On A Perfect Afternoon

April 2, 1978

I killed a green snake by our outhouse, today. It was probably harmless, but I was not knowledgeable about Bolivian vipers and did not know which ones were dangerous. I supposed that any snake, venomous or not, encountered in the latrine, especially at night, could be deadly if the confrontation sparked a heart attack! I was always afraid one would bite me with my pants down! At least the green one, now deceased, would never move into our privy and scare me dead in the dead of night!

April 3, 1978

I made onion rings for my noon meal. The jungle air was humid, and our houses were hot, conditions that made our potatoes and onions sprout and then start to rot. Wanting to save what I could, I cut them into small pieces and began drying them in the sun. A half day of sunshine was not enough to dehydrate them so they would go out again in the morning.

After dark, I went “boat” hunting with Paul Short. This time I paddled. It was a lot of work, especially when I had to paddle upstream. I was thankful our river was a slow-moving, swamp-draining stream with little current and no rapids. Since we were hunting, the trick was to paddle and be quiet at the same time. I finally got the hang of it! Paul shot at a jochi, one of the best meat animals in the jungle. He missed, so we came home empty-handed, again!

Paddling the boat was hard work, and I used muscles I did not use very often. I hoped the excretion would make me sleep better.

April 4, 1978

Before dusk I walked to the end of the airstrip. The jungle was quiet, but come darkness, the frogs and night bugs would be belting out nocturnal songs with no attempt to sing in two-part harmony, an all-night concert of dissonance! I liked the quiet, but I liked the discordance of the night, too. Our jungle base was so remote we never heard city or traffic noises, and if the distant drone of an aircraft came our way, it was probably a flight we scheduled asking our mission pilot, Brian Porterfield, to bring in needed supplies.

The late afternoon air was cool, something unusual for that time of year. I wished “cool” was the predominant weather choice of the rainforest. It was not! When it was nice out, I could truly say that I loved being in the jungle. When it was hot and humid, well. . .

There was much to enjoy in the remote place we called home, but I often missed it. Admittedly, I was more observant in beholding the splendors of the tropics when sweat was not blurring my vision, and humidity was not making it hard for me to breath. I delighted in God’s handiwork:

Monkeys swinging through the treetops

Macaws flying over my head

Army ants marching in columns across the jungle floor

A jaguar standing on a fallen tree on the river bank watching us as we motored pass in the boat

A cloudless night sky (rare) studded with a billion brilliant, glistening stars

Flowers, like a mountain waterfall, spilling over branches high about the river and cascading down life-giving vines to admire their own reflections in tannin laden blackwater

We often found Passion Fruit growing along the river. Its delicate blossom is still one of my favorite flowers

Near perfect conditions, like my evening walk made me happy inside, but at the same time, they sent pangs of loneliness into my heart. I had no one with whom to share the wonder I felt. It wasn’t my plan to go the mission field single, but apparently God did not deem me ready for marriage. In both mission training and language school I thought I had found Mrs. Right, but each time, I was jilted, replaced by another man!

As I returned to my front door, I saw Paul and Sharon walking, hand in hand, at the other end of the pista, and I thought of CJ. At that moment, I wished she could share that rare lovely evening with me, walking by my side, her fingers entwined in mine . . . What a fool I was! I did not know the woman she had become! Yes, CJ was a special girl, but we were just friends, that was all! I was sure that before I finished my one-year commitment to the Bolivian contact team she would be engaged and headed to the altar with some other lucky guy! To me, pleasant weather, beautiful scenery, and amazing wildlife, too often, were bittersweet!

FIN

This story was from the category Tales From Green Hell. If you would like to read more of my experiences in the jungles of Bolivia, please click on that link below.

More Writings by Phil

pista = airstrip

jochi = lowland paca, a large rodent,

Writings By Phil