Hanging Around with Sloths

Three-toed sloth in the Amazon

One of the joys of travel is seeing animals in their natural habitat.  During our travels to Central and South America we have seen animals that we may have previously seen in a zoo. But they're in trees. Sloths fall into this category, although they don't fall out of trees very often. They don't even move out of trees, except once a week to take care of their elimination needs, shall we say. The rest of the time, they hang upside down in a tree and rarely move. They are categorized by the number of toes--the three-toed sloth and the two-toed sloth, although they both actually have the same number of toes.

And sloths are cute, although their fur and skin are home to various forms of life--green algae and sloth moths, for example, all part of the sloth ecosystem. We saw the little guy in the photo above in the Amazon, just hanging out in a tree and watching humans watch him or her. Count the number of toes--he's a three-toed sloth.

The sloth in the photos below is definitely female. Look carefully behind the leaf in the second photos and you'll see her baby, its head visible under her arm. She's not in the wild, unless you consider a resort the wild. She was, as a matter of fact, just outside the spa. She and her baby are safe there, except for tourists and camera. She's a two-toed sloth. 

Mama Sloth hanging out in a tree near the spa. 

The baby is behind the leaves, peeking from under Mom's arm.

Climbing a Volcano

Climbing a volcano is hard. David and I found that out on a trip to Patagonia in February, 2015. In Chile, near the end of our trip, we climbed Orsono. Darwin saw Orsono erupt in 1835 during his trip on the Beagle, and it hasn't been active since then, although volcanoes around it have erupted in the past few years.

I had never seen volcanic ash, let alone walked in it. It's like beach sand, but black. You don't so much walk through it as slog through it. Out of our travel group of 23 or so, six of us and a guide elected to make the climb up the side of Orsono. We walked up and up, guided by a rope and a ski lift. Skiers glide down Orsono's slopes in the winter; February is summer in South America.


We slogged along, occasionally grabbing the rope that marked the path and finally reached a plateau. We didn't go all the way to the top. The view was glorious. We walked around the plateau, stopping and gazing in awe at the sights below us. Clouds floated below us. We could see craters formed by ancient eruptions and colors--reds, browns, yellows. We saw snow-covered peaks and green from plant life. It was awesome, in the original sense of the word "awe," a feeling of wonder and spirituality. We lingered at the top, reluctant to return to the bottom, but finally we did.

On every trip, I try to surprise myself by doing something I thought I couldn't, or maybe thought I'd never get to do. On the Patagonia trip, I had several of these experiences, but climbing the volcano was the most memorable. I can still close my eyes and experience it. And, thanks to one of our group, a talented photographer, we have a wonderful photo of ourselves rejoicing in the moment.

More than a year later, we found ourselves once again climbing a volcano, slogging along. Two of our closest friends, our next door neighbors for almost 30 years, passed away in less than a year. The widower asked us to take care of their affairs after his passing.

Unlike Orsono, this volcano was active. Unexpected hot spots happened, causing emotional eruptions: gifts from shared friends who have passed away; clothes and jewelry that brought back memories of our times together; birthday and Christmas gifts we gave them; an afghan my mother knitted for them.

As I sorted through carefully saved letters and artifacts, I began to gain insights into the forces that shaped their lives. They gave me a close look at life in a small town in Oklahoma, in Indian schools, as a member of the Creek Nation and as life as the son of an immigrant in a close-knit Italian family in Pittsburg, life in the Air Force for both of them,  a carefully planned elopement to Alabama from Florida where they were stationed, moving to Oklahoma after a few years in Pennsylvania, and 54 years of marriage, good times and not-so-good times, times of happiness and times of great grief.

The photographs, though. I dreaded sorting through those and postponed the task as long as I could--albums, boxes, frames--photos of every aspect of their lives; trips, family, friends, at home. So many photos and so many emotional hot spots. Then I began to look more closely at the photos of the two of them. They are so happy together and so much in love. From their wedding photos in 1959 to photos with family to photos on trips--always happy and always in love.

That became the plateau where I rested.  Nothing was stronger than the love they shared with each other.

I stood on the plateau on Orsono and was awed by the beauty it began creating when it erupted 180 years earlier. The metaphorical volcano was my own creation and I didn't expect to find beauty in a task I dreaded.  But I found it in those photos of two people wonderfully and passionately in love. Love was the force of nature that created the beauty of their lives.

May it be so for all of us.

In Hot Water

I've always loved waterfalls. Whether it's being awed by the power and beauty of the massive Victoria Falls and Iguazu Falls or soothed by the sound of the small manmade waterfalls near our house, I love the sound of water falling over rocks and into a river or stream or pool. 

One of my favorite memories from our scuba diving career was visiting a place in Costa Rica where hot water came out of the side of Arenal Volcano. Our group of divers walked into the rustic setting and discovered pools of various sizes and water temperatures and waterfalls into some of the pools, and people enjoying the experience. It was heavenly and I particularly loved sitting under the waterfalls and feeling the warm water cascade over my shoulders. At the time, Arenal was rumbling and producing lava flows down the hiking paths, which were closed.  I remember sitting in the water and thinking, "This is what the Romans were doing at Pompeii."

If you live in Oklahoma, February and March are great months to travel to the Southern Hemisphere. So last February, we decided to spend about a week in Costa Rica. 

Toward the end of our stay, we went to Tabacon, a place where hot water comes out of the side of Arenal Volcano. Almost as soon as we walked in the gate, we recognized Tabacon as the place where we had been decades before with our dive group. 

Tabacon is now a resort, with lovely landscaping, a series of hot pools with various temperatures of water and a nice hotel with a great buffet restaurant--and many tourists, like we were, managed by careful and efficient organization--dressing rooms, towel checkout and return, lines that moved quickly, and an excellent dinner included in the price of admission. 

Tabacon isn't rustic anymore. It's a sophisticated tourist attraction and it was full of people of all ages from all over the world. But I still loved it, as you can see from the photo, taken by my husband David, when I was under the largest waterfall at Tabacon. 

Times change. People change. Places change. And experiences change. This time, I sat behind the waterfall and looked out at the world through a curtain of water. Then I scooted forward to sit under the waterfall and, once again, felt the power of the warm water on my shoulders.