Cana India

Sometimes it seems as if things move incredibly slow in Costa Rica, and then suddenly it all comes together. We’d been talking with Marcos about plantings for privacy along the part of our property that edges the road. He kept telling us the time wasn’t right, but that when the proper week for such planting comes, he would let us know. This seemed as if it would get complicated.

Meanwhile Pecos and I studied my botanical book to consider various options but could not decide exactly what we wanted. Besides a living fence, we desire some fruit trees and perennial roots. We would have to find a nursery –a vivero, literally, place of life – bring the book (English) and painstakingly look at pictures to cross-reference names of nursery plants named in Espanol. We would have to borrow a vehicle to haul whatever we would end up with, and hope we could stay within budget.
Then yesterday Marcos arrived unexpectedly on his dirt bike and asked us to bring The Kid’s still-brakeless and clutch-less jeep (parked at our place) to the finca of his pa-pa’. They had cut cana india for our farm, Marcos said, as he hauled himself into the jeep.

First we stopped at Marcos’s house. He walked us through his yard and around his house, pointing out roses in every imaginable color, richly scented camellia shrubs, 10-ft. hibiscus shrubs blooming in apricot, crimson, white and pink; and blue and white flowering hydrangea with heads larger than basketballs. Maria will take cuttings for us. A parrot squawked at us from a cage hanging on their open back porch. This bird, less than a year old, was found injured on the road and Maria nursed it back to health. Marcos said when Maria was in the hospital for a few days, the parrot laid on the floor of the cage and languished for her. It would not eat or drink. As soon as she returned, all was well.

A little further down the road we turned on a narrow lane to the finca of Marcos’s parents. Pa-pa’ came out and shook hands with both of us and then insisted on showing us his orchids behind the house. Such beauty! Several orchids in full bloom and as much as three feet wide were suspended from the branches of larger trees. White flowers with purple blotches covered these orchids. He will give us starts of these plants. We thank him profusely. He laughs heartily each time that, like Marcos, I call him Pa-pa’.

Ma-ma’ brought out a plate with pieces of dense cornmeal pudding cut in large squares and then returned to the kitchen to bring us each a cup of tamarind fresco. This drink requires soaking tamarind seeds in hot water to extract the sticky, flavorful pulp in which they sit. This concentrate is then mixed with a little hot water and a copious amount of sugar for serving. We sat on a concrete wall in the shade next to the house and visited for a half hour.

Ma-ma’ and Pa-pa’ seem to forget that we know very little Spanish and kept up a steady conversation. At equal disadvantage, Marcos and I scramble to try and translate what they and we would say. Pecos of course just smiles and seems to fit in without saying much. Pa-pa’ pounds him on the back and laughs and admonishes him for not coming to visit last Sunday at 2 o’clock as they’d planned when running into each other earlier that day at the pulperia. Pecos says that he thought Pa-pa’ had only been discussing the day’s weather.

A poinsettia shrub about six feet high was in full bloom next to the house. I told them how this plant is available only at Christmas time in the U.S., and what it sells for. Marcos and his parents were stunned. Why would short versions of this common plant be used for decoration, why so popular and so expensive, and why would people buy it only to discard it a few weeks later? This story was so amazing that they had me repeat it two more times.

We drove the jeep deep into the finca along a narrow rutted path, brushing six to nine-foot coffee trees on both sides and also edged here and there by eight to 10-ft. cana india plants. Some of the coffee trees had small white flowers but most were loaded with ½” bright red fruits (two coffee seeds, or beans, inside each). Once established, coffee trees can produce for up to 40 years. Rows were staggered on these very steep slopes to allow pickers to stand on the trunks of the coffee trees below each row being picked. Coffee trees were interspersed here and there with taller banana trees, which in turn were shaded by taller, nitrogen-fixing mountain immortelle trees covered with orange flowers.

As we came around a sharp switchback Marcos told us to stop. Just ahead the path was criss-crossed with dozens of cana india plants that he’d cut earlier into six to eight foot lengths. These plants, common as a house plant up north, resemble a single green cornstalk with yellow stripes. We loaded these into the backseat of the jeep and tied more on top, then hauled these to our finca, chugging along the road with Pecos and Marcos, who rode on top, both yelling a loud “Yo!” to everyone we passed.

Back to the finca of Ma-ma’ and Pa-pa’, where this process was repeated several times. Marcos will cut these stalks into a few hundred foot-long pieces and will stick each in the ground about 10-12” apart, where they will immediately take root and grow three feet per year. We’ll let the cana india grow tall along the roadside and along our finca boundaries, providing a permanent living fence. The corners of our finca will be marked with plantings of red cana india, which will be obtained elsewhere. Marcos shook his head as we talked about U.S. fences being constructed of metal or wood. But those can be changed or taken away, he says. Without permanent trees, how can anyone be sure of property limits?

Pa-pa’ met us deep in the coffee farm for the last few loads of cana india. He wore his usual nautical cloth hat and like Marcos had his machete tied to his waist with twine. He admired Pecos’s yellow and black stretch motorcycle gloves, which for some reason Pecos is wearing today instead of his usual work gloves. Pecos took off the gloves and insisted that Pa-pa’ keep them, as he has another pair at our rental house. Pa-pa’ was very pleased, but even more so, it seemed, when I took his smiling picture and showed him the result. He asked to see it a few more times. Just then his keen eye saw movement in the jeep. Among the plants, a grey hairy beast with eight legs – knocked to the ground, immediately killed and so fearsome that I shall not go further here.

Be sure to write down the cost of all of these canas india and we will pay you, I told Pa-pa’ the best I can. He laughed deeply, clapped me on the shoulder and said no, no cuesta, and chuckled to himself as he headed back to his house. These plants would have been shortened this year anyway, Marcos tells us.

As we were hauling the last load out, Marcos called for Pecos to stop the jeep. He jumped down from the top and asked if I’d like a cutting from the beautiful tulip tree that grows along the path. This would be bonita circa the house, he said. Yes, I say. Marcos pulled out his machete and instead of cutting the end of a low branch, he quickly stepped near the trunk and hacked off a limb five inches thick with one amazing swipe. The branch crashed to the ground. Marcos, I said, what are you doing!? He ignored me and hacked off another and another, machete swishing in the air and more thick branches tumble down. Yes, this is a light wood like pine, but still..

The 2-ft. thick trunk of this tree was divided into two parts and as Marcos started hacking angled cuts in one of the trunks, thus intending to sever this old tree in half, I yelled: Stop! Marcos, usted necessito permission de Pa-pa’? Marcos halted his work, smiled and told me that it is fine, that he and his pa-pa’ are one. A few minutes later Pa-pa himself emerged again from between coffee trees, all smiles, and helped load six pieces of this tree – thick limbs and lengths of the halved trunk itself, trimmed into tidy 6-ft. long pieces that will be pounded several inches into the ground to quickly take root.

Back at the village, we all stop for a cold drink. One of Marcos’s uncles stepped from a coffee field near the pulperia. He led a horse with pack saddle loaded with sacks of coffee fruits. At least 80 years old, he wore a cap with white cloth hanging underneath for protection from the sun. He called to us, Cana India! Bueno!