TICO TALES
Fred Used to Live Here
I was standing in the kitchen last week as dusk approached when the sounds of thunder, earthquake, building demolition, and airplanes crashing sent me fleeing for cover in the bathroom doorway.
When I was a kid in Japan, earthquakes were frequent, small, and rarely dangerous. Whenever she felt a rattle, my mom would scoop me up and head for the nearest doorsill, which someone must have told her was the strongest place in the house.
I remembered this that night. When it was “safe” to come out into the open, I looked around to find everything in the house intact. But what was that? Earthquakes in Costa Rica are also plentiful, usually small and unnoticed. This didn’t feel or sound like any earthquake I’ve experienced.
But when I opened the back door, there was blue sky, clouds, and distant mountains where once two massive trees had stood on my neighbor’s property across the quebrada.
Now those trees, plus branches from my own tree, were scattered all over my backyard, the main trunks prostrate across the small creek between our properties. Two splintered trunks stood in shock and awe across the way. I felt their pain.
Geinor (pronounced Hay-ner), who helps me with yard work and landscaping, had been warning me about the huge Poro tree behind my house. He said that Poro trees fall down without warning, even when there’s no wind. This particular tree was close enough to do serious damage to my house. The two that had fallen were also Poros.
But I have a problem with cutting down trees. My Poro was gorgeous when in bloom, full of birds and pollinators, a squirrel or two, and a pair of stunning, very well-fed iguanas.
The male’s name is Fred. He liked to spread out on the lowest branch, legs hanging down, perfectly balanced as he dozed in the sun.
I loved Fred. I think he liked me too because he would always wink at me as we both lazed in the afternoon heat, Fred on his arboreal perch, and me in my lounge chair. He was good company. Didn’t talk too much or stay too long.
When Geinor again bugged me about cutting down that tree — “Muy peligroso!” — I told him I loved the flowers in January. I told him, “It’s a TREE! We don’t cut down trees!” I told him that it was special habitat for beautiful birds, and especially for Fred.
When a Tico bursts out laughing, it’s a joy to behold. Deep, rolling guffaws, belly shaking, eyes shut, tears rolling down, barely able to stand up. Reluctantly, I started laughing too, realizing how ridiculous I must have sounded, realizing Costa Rica is infested with millions of iguanas exactly like Fred, and billions of trees for them to live in.
But the next day, Fred’s favorite branch broke and fell to the ground, again for no particular reason. I haven’t seen Fred since. Did he fall with the branch? Did he realize his tree was unsafe after all the commotion with those other two trees? Did he move away with his girlfriend?
I am devastated. The tree cutters will be coming soon. No me gusta.
However, on the bright side, I have learned something from this, something I can use. Poro trees are legumes, which enrich the soil they’re planted in. They grow very fast and are used for shading coffee plantations. However, to encourage Poros to spread and throw shade, rather than shoot straight up like mine had, they are pollarded, a pruning technique that keeps them in a perpetual juvenile state, encourages them to spread out and prevents them from becoming dangerously tall.
Geinor might laugh but I’m going to plant another couple of Poros in my yard, hoping to encourage another Fred to hang out with me and provide Geinor a lifetime of pruning work — and a gringa to laugh at — while keeping the trees low and safe.
Will Fred ever come back? I can only hope. And wait, and watch.
— Adelia Ritchie