Though the blog post mentioning Nicaragua did make it up into the blogosphere, it was hardly a memorable one.  Sorry.  We were having the time of our lives and the internet connectivity was present only insofar as it showed a little skin every once in a while, but never the full frontal way that we all need to get anything done.  As a result, I would blog, try to post, fail, get angry, try again with smaller post, etc. etc.  Getting pissed off about internet connectivity seemed hardly the point of sharing a casita with my family on an island amidst active volcanoes and howler monkeys and green parrots, so I quit trying.

I am home now and found the garden improved in my absence.  A message, I am certain, about my needless fiddling, but one I choose to ignore in favor of morning picking and pruning and messing about.  It’s been raining for two days.  A slow, steady wetting down and soaking through that always seems to come at just the right time for my lucky little vegetable patch.  The squash is blooming in the shade of its great prickly leaves and the okra is as well.  It is rooted and well fed and happy.

That’s what it feels like to be home.  With no reflection whatsoever on the pleasure, even awe, of our travels, there is something about having a home and being at home.  I can’t write it, but the cool shade of the squash leaves sheltering that beautiful blossom which will become a nice fat fruit and then replenish us at the table helps me know it.  Home I mean.

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