March 1, 1999

(our story thus far:

some nice, moody fog patches off laguna tortuguero made me wish I'd gotten

off

th expreso sooner- saved fifty cents toll- & taken th road around th

western,

manatí side of th lagoon- I love fog...i'm just now beginning to realize

that @ some time,

th cibuco river estuary & mangrove forest were most likely joined by th

marshes in th area

(-& channels? drainage creeks?) to laguna tortuguero in one big network of

wetlands...)

if i remember right, this beachhouse was built either in '60 or '61- when i

was around six

or seven. to this day, dr.dad likes to brag about how he 'made this house

w/ a mason,

a plumber, an electrician & two peons...'

before then, we spent a few summers in 'la casa d abuela ana' which @ some

point i remember

piling into to share w/ my cousins tate, eduard & analí...must have been

maybe that last

summer while our own future beach house was under construction, because i

remember having

a copy of 'mad' magazine in english...w/ a bonus cardboard record on which

'alfred e. neuman' belched his way through a rocknroll tune...were we all

really staying together? hmmm...

maybe we just hung out...? maybe it was a later summer while some further

work was being done closing up th ground floor, up to that point an open

terrace & a kitchen?

-during th cooler months, as we neared th end of our usual friday evening

ride from san juan,

my brothers & i wd be rousd out of our drowsy discomfort in th back seat of

dr.dad's vw beetle

by th spectacle of gossamer strands of fog that wd swirl & pile into small

but thick banks...

my love of fog found a home on cape cod in th late fall & winter of '83.

i was head-over-heels (madly??) in love w/ a certain greek woman (daughter

of th former

head of th orthodox parish in queens) but otherwise pretty much burnt out

on nyc.

david rosenmiller, whom i knew from contact improvisation jams while

visiting boston, was

doing an internship @ th new alchemy institute, actually helping survey th

property in falmouth.

i probably owe what sanity i have learnd to hang on to, such as it may be,

to david's

putting in a good word towards my working as a volunteer @ th alchemy farm.

one of- if not

*the* most healing, balancing experience in my life.

i began my volunteer stint as everybody did: shoveling manure & working on

th compost heaps

-was it steve tracy i was working under? i also helped spread mulching

straw, & generally

put th gardens to bed for winter...they were hard, those first couple of

weeks-

shedding my urban night owl habits, borrowing a rain slicker from one

housemate or another

as i headed out, late again, to join in th assigned tasks.

at first, i roomed w/ doug dahl, david rosenmiller & david lowell to become

david #3

under th roof of a summer cabin facing what i learnd was calld long pond.

doug was th only

other coffee drinker, & i crawled on my knees to him for my morning fix...

on slow days, i got a chance to hang around th house & informally count th

migrating

black duck population gathered on th pond while i tried to write poems to

seduce my love, christalia, away from th big, bad city.

(continuará...d=(8{>)