Mennonite neighbors. Many years ago, a few families left the United States
for Belize in order to have a quiet place to raise a farm and a family and
to be free to practice their religion. I respect that, and since then these
families have made quite a home for themselves. They also own and operate
most of the large parcels of farmland around Blue Creek, including hundreds
of acres of rice.
Recently I have gotten to know a few of the girls who were born and raised
here in Belize, but look and speak and much like myself. They come to the
library to check out books and we chat about life and boys. Last night I
went over to their house for dinner and got a taste of mid-western
hospitality in the middle of the jungle. Chicken meatloaf, mashed potatoes,
and rolls for dinner and a fresh mango pie for dessert, served with hot
coffee of course. We talked about our favorite recipes and the flowers in
their garden and their life in Belize. It was amazingly interesting and I
am glad I have had the opportunity to get to know this family. After dinner
one of the girls drove me back to my place, stopping on the way to pick up a
quart of fresh cows milk. I was excited about the fresh milk, the first I
have had since I have been here, but my excitement was curtailed when I was
attacked by their uncle's dogs as I stepped from the truck. I wasn't
injured too badly, but it did shake me up pretty bad, and I have a pretty
good scratch and a ruined skirt to show for it. No harm done, the dogs were
just doing their job.
I got back to my house and patched up my wound and reflected on how strange
my life can be. One night I am eating tortillas and beans by Kerosene lamp
while sitting on a bucket and the next I am sitting in a clean, Western
kitchen eating mashed potatoes and pie with a white table cloth and flowers
on the table.
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