7.02.2008

The arrival of the alarm and the chicken

Dawn breaks, and I soon awake. My hosts have already risen, showered, and eaten. I am slower to get up and moving, half due to a nervous belly, the other half due to my acclimation to electricity. I know that soon, I shall also wake up at 4AM with the rolling rooster howl. What is this some may ask. Well, in some towns, where many people have roosters and live close together but far apart, there is a rooster roll. One rooster who is the most bravo of them all, takes a deep breath of the morning air and howls for all to hear. The next rooster then does the same, and so on through the town until it rolls back to the bravo rooster; like a ripple of water reflected off the shore line. Believe me you, this will wake-you-up in a hurry.
Waking at dawn is the only recourse for people living off the grid, without electricity. They must take advantage of every ounce of sunlight showered upon the earth. I have become so accustomed to artificial light over my short life that I have failed to ever fully appreciate the rising and setting of thesun as a natural way to wake and sleep. I find a simple and timelss beauty in this tradition; as if someone set a universal alarm at the perfect time billions of years ago so that a man living on and by the land could heard it ring forever tomorrow.

Day 2

I didn't hear that age old alarm again today. So it goes for now. Breakfast greeted me as I sat down at the table, which happens to be outside. In front of me was a bowl, full of yucca harvested the day prior topped with a single fried egg which I had bought the day prior. I instantly noticed the difference in working to grow the food and working to buy the food. The yucca was much more plentiful and delicious. Though it went well with the fried remains of the egg. And of course, a hot cup of sweet coffee which I would see my host dad roasting later in the day. During breakfast, chickens were relentlessly entering my hosts bedroom. At first, my host father cursed at them and made awful hissing noises to warn them out. Chickens never learn. The last unlucky chicken to enter the bedroom was the one whom would have to learn his lesson. This final chicken had it coming. My host dad, hearing the not-so-subtle clucking coming from atop his bed, swiftly rose to his feet and entered the room, slowly closing the door behind him. A few tense seconds passed while everyone had stopped eating yucca to see how the chicken would fare against this weathered old man. The fight was on. The man suddenly unleashed a furry of angry curse words and the chicken started clucking bloody murder at the top of its lungs. I heard feet shuffling back and forth and wings furiously flapping. Then silence. and the door swung open. Out came my host father with a chicken in his hands and a big smile on his face. The chicken had learned its lesson. Needless to say, we ate chicken and rice for dinner.

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