I have been at the farm for two months now. The experience has been like a beautiful,
peaceful, productive version of Groundhog Day. Every day is the same. But they are such good days I wouldn't want anything to change!
Every morning I wake up when
light hits the sky. I have had crazy dreams all night long and feel more rested
and centered than I have anywhere else in the world (I think because of the darkness). I enjoy the sound of the
roosters crowing and birds chirping. Tom quietly gets dressed and slips out the
door.
I cuddle up in bed and read. An hour or so later
Anders wakes up, and I read to him for a while. The breakfast bell rings, and
we head to breakfast.
Every meal we eat here is "best in the world." There are no
eggs in the world healthier, tastier,
and with more orangey yolks than our eggs. The spinach and heart of palm side
dish is fresh - that heart of palm was harvested yesterday and the spinach was picked thirty minutes ago. Not only were they grown without any pesticides whatsoever, they are from our land, land that we care for as if it is our own body - because it is. Our bodies are just soil rearranged after all.
If there are rice and beans with breakfast, the beans
are from the farm, but the rice isn't yet. (We have planted rice but have not had our first harvest.) If there is
a papusa with breakfast the corn flour was made with best-in-the-world corn,
and the cheese inside it was made fresh yesterday by our cook from milk she got
from our neighbors. There is always a glass of kefir and some fresh, seasonal
fruit as well. I could be at the fanciest hotel in Beverly Hills or Hawaii, and I wouldn't be eating better than I am now.
Conversation at breakfast is light, but of course we linger
a bit before we go our separate ways. I head to my room where I put on a book-on-tape and roll out my yoga
mat. I do the physical therapy exercises that keep me feeling good, the ones I
struggle to have time to do in Los Angeles, but here do every day. Then
I dress. Light linen pants, a tank top, and a wrap work well or jeans, a tank top, and a flannel. I go barefoot or
wear flip flops for most of the day.
I sit down at my desk and write for an hour or two. I find focusing here much easier than in Los Angeles. It's partly because we decided to no longer have internet (that black hole of distraction) in our rooms, but I also think it is because I don't have to worry about the next meal. I know that I can lose myself in my writing and at some point a bell will ring, and then lunch will appear.
Time disappears until I hear the lunch bell ring.
I head to the dining room. Lunch is amazing, as usual. It's exotic, fresh, gourmet, and
healthy. Today we are having pork ribs. I have never tasted pork that
tastes better than ours. Tom says it is because we feed our pigs
kefir and bananas. The difference it makes in the flavor of the meat amazes me. The ribs are served with fried farm-made cheese, bean dip, and tajadas (plantain chips fried in lard, also from our pig). Almost every ingredient in every dish is from our farm. The probiotic lemon soda (made bubbly by fermenting, not carbonated water) is delightful.
Lunch conversation is lively. Anders tells us what he has
been up to - he is beautifully filthy. Apparently he and his friends have dug quite a hole somewhere. Tom fills us in on whatever exciting farm
project he is working on and raves about how good his body feels, "Pickaxing is the best exercise!" he says. We have two guests at the moment, my mother and and man named Jaime, and they rave too. Both are feeling much better after their first week here than they
have in a long time. My mother was in a lot of pain from her arthritis, but the
quart of turmeric-cinnamon tea our cook has been bringing her every day has rid her body of swelling, and she feels no more pain. Also, she is not sure if it is the kefir with
every meal or the tea, but her stomach feels amazing, better than it has in
years.
Jaime reports too that he is sleeping better than he has in years, and
that for some reason his cravings for sugar and alcohol have all
but disappeared. I tell him that I have read that cravings for sugar and alcohol are misinterpreted cravings for bacteria, and since he is getting bacteria with every meal, his body feels satiated in
that area. My mom decides she is feeling good enough to start quitting coffee. Our cook will bring her half an ounce less every day she is here, so that she
doesn't have to suffer any side-effects of quitting.
My mother and Jaime think there is something magical about this place. Tom and I laugh because that is exactly how we feel, and exactly what we had hoped to build. I explain that Christopher Alexander promised us, in his books about
objective beauty, that if we built something objectively beautiful, it would make people feel alive in a way they didn't know they could feel. Alive, inspired,
energized yet comforted - it's hard to explain. There is something about being surrounded by
beautiful geometry that makes the human soul feel good.
We head our separate ways. Anders asks if I have any work for him and the other kids to do. I hire them (as I do most afternoons) to do trail maintenance work which they are excellent at. Then I check on
the progress the builders are making and the status of various projects around
the farm. If there are no building issues to deal with, I
write more, but often the building projects take up my afternoon. Today they are working on the fountain in the courtyard.
At three Emelia brings all of us tea. Today it is jamaica. I get in one last
hour of work, or I take a break and head to the office to check my email or hang out with Tom or Anders or the guests. At half past four the dinner bell rings. Dinner is light and
delicious. Sometimes is broth and bread and rice pudding; sometimes it's
pancakes with pineapple or jocote syrup (a fruit that is
like a cross between a cherry and a plum). Always we have cinnamon tea
with dinner and kefir.
Every evening after dinner we head out on our walk. We do the
master trail that Tom designed that covers the entire property. It's a gentle trail that climbs up the mountainside at a low enough gradient that small children and old people can do it too. We pass a striking madroño tree with red bark and a breathtaking panama tree. The panama is a rainforest tree and large tree already, but it's only twenty years old. It's tiny compared to what it will be one day. We pass the cow pastures
and the haunted tree, a much gnarled tree covered in a pitaya vine. We cross the creek, marvel at the older rainforest trees, especially the mahogany and the mata arbol (a vine that eats giant rainforest trees, taking a thousand years to do it) and head up the mountain
side. Anders runs ahead with the dog. Tom and I stroll. He has his machete and takes care of any vines attempting to take back the trail. The
walk curls around the property offering some gorgeous views of the sunset and eventually
leads through the food forest. We stroll past coffee and cacao plants, banana trees, three varieties of limon trees, cinnamon trees, allspice trees, many other things, and then we are back at the house.
It is getting dark. Anders and the
kids play tag or hide and seek, and then they set about lighting a small fire. By the time it is lit, it is pitch black, and the fire
looks magical. It occurs to me that even when I was backpacking in the United
States there were always hills that glowed in the distance. I had never experienced true darkness
there the way I have here. The darkness makes the sky incredible. I take a moment
every night to look at the stars because I can see them with such clarity, and
they are so beautiful and something about seeing them ... makes my soul happy.
By half past six everyone is heading inside. Anders gets
into the bath. It's the nicest bathtub I have ever had the pleasure of bathing in,
nicer than the tub at the Four Seasons in Hawaii, nicer than the tub at the
Montage in Beverly Hills. It's twenty-four inches deep and almost seven feet
long. But it's not too wide like other tubs this size. It's narrow, so the
water stays warm. The water is clear and free of chlorine and fluoride
and rich in minerals. Even if a fancy hotel had as nice a tub as our farm has, the water wouldn't measure up.
When he is out of the tub Anders curls up in his bed and does a workbook or two.
Then I read to him for a long time, until nine or so. When we finally turn out the lights we giggle at how we cannot see
our hands in front of our faces. Then we pass out easily, our bodies being nicely in tune
with the natural rhythms of life.
A week or so later my mom and Anders go to Selva Negra, a
lovely resort four hours north of us. Their forest is gorgeous, their food is
also farm-fresh, but even so my mom can't wait to get back. Their food might be fresh, but ours is tastier. And they have a restaurant instead of a dining room, which means the work of having to study a menu and order
and then wait. It's funny how much work eating at a restaurant seems to be after having a personal cook. I tell my mom it's that way with everything. I used to take breaks from the farm to travel. I wanted to see all the different parts of Nicaragua, and there
are still many places I want to tour. But ... never as much as I just want to just enjoy
another Groundhog Day in Lothlorien.
The farm is still unfinished. There are beautiful rooms with comfortable beautiful beds and bedside tables but there are luggage stands instead of wardrobes. In the dining hall we are still using an old picnic table as I haven't even started working on that area yet. Our woodworking team builds more every day, but it will still be a year or two before the place is completely furnished.
But even in its current state, it is paradise and nice enough for us to open it up to guests who would like to come check it out. We have four (objectively) beautiful rooms. Two have queen beds and showers. One has a king bed with a twin trundle underneath it and a shower. The other, my favorite room, has a king bed and a twin bed or twin bunk beds depending on the number of beds needed and the bathroom with the heavenly tub. We only put a tub in one room as Tom is absolutely positive there will be no demand for it. I think he is wrong, but time will tell.
And so we are about to embark on the next phase of this project, the hotel phase. Maybe this phase will last forever, and we will become a farm hotel. Or maybe guests will come and decide that they don't want to leave -- especially those who can work remotely (we can put in fiber internet if we need to). We don't know, but for those of you who are following this project - I hope you come check it out!
Email me if you are interested in planning a trip. (Serious inquiries only though please!) RoslynRoss@gmail.com
https://www.thecacaofarm.com
