A Walk With Ta-li'

We made arrangements to stop by and visit Ta-li’, the village woodcarver, musician and holy man who leads the services at the Catholic church. When we arrived, Ta-li took us in his workshop and showed us some of his latest carvings – birds of prey, and a four-foot shrimp cut from a twisted vine, this latter piece to be sold to a restaurant in the city. His great-niece, three year old Alejandra, was visiting and proudly showed us a three-foot wooden doll Ta-li’ had carved, bearing pointed beak and raggedy clothes and named Pinocchio.

A four-foot wooden mortar and pestle carved from a tree trunk stood in a corner. Ta-li’ told us it belonged to his grandfather and that the family uses it to grind the coffee beans – ‘oro de grano’ or grains of gold – from their trees.

Ta-li asked us to take a walk with him. We hiked far into his finca over rolling hills and past his orchard of fruit trees grown on a few steep acres. The slopes were so steep that we had to hold onto trunks of the trees above us while catching a toe-hold below. Many of the tree trunks had been braided into intricate forms by Ta-li’ years ago.

Far below, we entered the dark jungle. Ta-li’ stepped briskly ahead and we walked gingerly behind him, watching for any sudden movement of slithering creature potentially aside or above us. Liana vines as thick as Pecos rose from jungle floor to the tall treetops, many bearing large flowers in red and yellow. Floral fragrances wafted through the dappled sunlight that broke through the thick flora. We climbed over thigh-high spreading bases of banyon trees and down dank ravines where we weren’t sure if we were stepping on spongy soil or layers of plants. We were sweating and panting and could hear water rushing ahead of us.

Ta-li’ kept up a springy pace ahead of us. We traveled a distance without speaking. This elderly man must be part mountain goat, I thought. Just then he turned around with a smile and said, “Si, soy como cabra de montana.” Mountain goat. I turned mystified to Pecos who confirmed that I hadn’t spoken aloud.

We hiked down yet another steep cliff where one slip could land one about fifty feet below. Finally, we reached the river Platanares that flows through Ta-li’s finca. Surrounded on both sides by dense jungle, we hiked along the river’s edge, jumping from rock to rock. Ta-li’ stopped suddenly, saying “algo.” Something. None of us moved for a few minutes and then Ta-li’ said, “serpiente” and moved forward. Vines dangled from tall tree tops to down over the water and the air was cool.

We came to a series of waterfalls that bounced over huge boulders bigger than us. We climbed upward and soon the river flattened out again. The jungle came to its edge and trees formed tunnels over the quiet pools of water. We clawed through vines at the edge and pushed on. Soon the river roared noisily ahead of us and soon we came to another series of waterfalls that rose about thirty feet.

On one of the boulders Ta-li’ had placed a wooden cross in cement. We rested on the rocks and he told us that he comes alone to this secluded place to meditate and pray. This place is pure life, he said, pointing to the waterfall that sprang from his land.

Mist from the waterfalls shimmered sparks of color in the air and the rushing clear waters formed chains of smaller waterfalls that linked together and ran over the rocks and around a bend in the river. A soft light seemed to glow around Ta-li’ as he stepped from rock to rock and I believed at that moment, and still, that he is a shaman.

Back at the house, Ta-li’s wife and daughter had sautéed platanos and made coffee for us. We sat with Ta-li’ and discussed medicinal plants in his garden and mine, describing flowers and foliage in our own languages and comparing our different names for chamomile, lavender, hyssop, soapwort, the balms.

I realize my long-ago herb farm in the Midwest with its few hundred varieties would seem inconsequential to Ta-li’, who had pointed out numerous vines, trees and plants in the plentiful jungle as we’d hiked, telling us the medicinal uses for each. His finca is more beautiful and rich with fauna than any national park I’ve ever visited in the U.S. 