Continued from The Saga of Sabancuy: In the Beginning
The full moon still shone brightly, now just on the opposite side of the sky. Excited for a new day at our beach-paradise home, I was up early as usual to do some writing and studying.
I plugged my computer into our inverter, since it was dead, to give it and my video camera a charge.
As is not that uncommon, the inverter had a difficult time handling the requirements being made on it, especially after a full night of inactivity. I'd have to start the truck to give it the power it needed.
I debated doing it, since it would wake up other sleeping family members, but I'd come here to work, and work I must, and working required an operable computer.
Sticking the key in the ignition from the passenger side, I turned it, waited for the signal (you have to wait on a diesel engine), then started it up.
It started fine, but was soon choking from a lack of fuel delivery. I jumped out and ran to the drivers side, but it was too late. It died, and I had to try again.
I turned, and pumped and prodded, but nothing. I couldn't get it going.
By now, my husband had climbed down from the tent, and came to make an attempt.
Again, and again and again he tried, till the battery was dead and wouldn't give us anything.
Great. There goes my work plans for the day, were my thoughts. Greg's were more along the lines of how-in-the-heck-are-we-going-to-get-our-truck-working-way-out-here?
By now kids were waking up, and as usual, wanted some food. Since their was nothing else we could do for the moment, we mixed up some pancake batter and made the most delicious pancakes over an open fire. Mmmm, mmmm. The first pancakes we'd had in weeks, since our camp stove was too week to cook them.
But once that breakfast and cleanup was done, Greg's mind went immediately into 'fix-it' mode. Our truck was broken, and it needed to be repaired. He opened the hood and started pulling things out.
Besides a dead battery, he surmised that the fuel pump was the problem. "I'll have to hitchhike into town and see if I can find one, and someone who will be willing to come jump our truck."
So he was off, and I was left alone with the kids on the beach.
We had a grand day. The sun and the sand and the waves, and no other commitments, distractions or responsibilities. It was refreshing, really. I had nothing on my 'to-do' list, other than to enjoy myself.
I read and sunbathed, took photographs, went beach-combing with the kids, and played. We created a 'fascination pile' - a menagerie of things that we found fascinating in one way or another.
We collected lots and lots of seashells - beautiful, whole, shiny seashells of all sizes - caught crabs and lizards, and examined butterflies.
Atlas develops his first love - coco!
Spoonable coconut - one of our favorites!
Our 'fascination' pile
Along with all our fun, I found myself patient with the kids and their follies, capable, loving and kind.
How easy it seemed, when I wasn't always thinking about what needed to be done, but instead lived in each moment and responding resourcefully to whatever was required.
Sometime mid-day, Greg returned in a truck. He'd had a time of it getting to town, and didn't know what to do when he got there. Where could he go for help?
He had walked around pretty aimlessly, asked a couple of people for some help, without luck, and then, while buying some food, he was serendipitously offered assistance from the grocery store owner.
Greg showed him the way to our broken-down home. They tried in vain to jump our battery, only to remove it and regretfully return to town.
Hours later, as I prepared dinner over an open fire, he returned, this time with another man, a recharged battery, a brand new fuel pump (which had to be brought in from another town, by someone's brother who was doing errands there for the day), and a lunch invitation for fish tomorrow at 1:00 p.m.
Tired from the long day, we ate dinner as the wind died down and the bugs came out - jejenes, or no-seeums, little, invisible biting insects that can drive you to madness.
I sought shelter in the tent with baby Atlas, but the kids and daddy braved searching for a coconut for dessert. I heard them return, triumphant, but slapping and scratching and seeking refuge.
A weary husband was ready for bed, grateful for shelter from our tormenters, and thankful for the parts that would fix our truck in the morning…
Or so we thought.
Continue reading with The Saga of Sabancuy: I Am NOT in Control
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