Happy Monday! Let’s catch up on our favorite telenovela set deep in the Guatemalan jungle. After last month’s disastrous handyman situation, we’re beyond relieved that he quit. It turns out the carpenter—who had also been working while we were away—never saw the handyman arrive at 7am or leave at 4pm. The handyman was supposed to sleep there every night, leave around 9am, and return by 4pm. Considering the unusually high electric bill, it seems he would arrive around 6pm, leave all the lights on till early morning, and then turn them off, pretending someone was there.
Our hens are back to laying one egg a day each, whereas before, all nine were barely producing one egg total, likely because he wasn’t feeding them. Strangely, he used up two 100-pound bags of corn, charging us more than usual, which leads us to believe he was feeding his own animals with our food. When he returned with his dad on the day he resigned, and his dad asked why we were firing him, it felt like an insult to our intelligence. We’re just thrilled he’s gone.
His dad paid off the handyman’s motorcycle debt, and we were shocked he managed to pull together nearly $1,000 in three weeks. It’s baffling since he didn’t have income protection or significant savings.
We’ve replaced the dead rooster with a new one who gets along fine with the turkey and goose but isn’t showing much interest in the hens or breeding.
Now, the only staff left is the carpenter, a discreet teenager who’s always kept to himself. He arrives promptly at 7am every day, a rarity here, and has made some clever suggestions to improve the house. We offered him a full-time handyman position, and he agreed, on the condition that he could take a few days off to work on his own house. We arranged that his girlfriend would clean our house three mornings a week while he worked on his house, making them essentially one full-time worker for us.
Although I’ve never wanted a maid, my BF was insistent, and I decided to pick my battles. The girl is Spanish and initially came with a Spanish boyfriend who owned a nearby hotel. She left him for the shy carpenter, who seems to be the love of her life. She isn’t working for the local wage thrill but to help her boyfriend work on their home. She’s been discreet and efficient, so no complaints so far.
Last week, we had another storm. We now have an emergency routine to take the boat out of the water and bring everything inside. Despite heavy rains and strong winds, we comfortably watched the storm from our new room until it started raining inside. The solid concrete roof couldn’t keep water from seeping through the stone walls. We’ve realized that, unlike old European houses, our roof doesn’t extend beyond the house footprint, allowing wind-driven rain to hit the walls. No damage was done, but we’ll need to find a way to seal the walls without sacrificing the stone’s aesthetic.
Storms aren’t typical here; my BF’s family has owned ranches since the 80s, and even he was surprised by these mini hurricanes. Generally, hurricanes hit Belize or Guatemala’s Pacific Coast, not the North.
Development on the 90-acre property is slow. We’ve been waiting six weeks for the mayor to provide a list of required documentation, which should be readily available. It’s frustrating.
I’m reading “Atlas Shrugged” by Ayn Rand, a fascinating book about the disruption caused when power is given to those who aim to enforce equality at the expense of private enterprise. The story involves a man who isn’t allowed to produce revolutionary metal and resonates with my frustration with local bureaucracy. People often hold resentment over money due to historical colonization, but it’s been 500 years, and many of us have worked hard to get where we are.
We’re progressing with our work, finishing the wall and entrance gate. We’ve closed it off to stop people from taking shortcuts through our land. Whether the roads remain private or are transferred to the council will depend on our negotiations.
The recent heavy rains have made the grass greener and thicker. Since burning isn’t possible due to humidity, we hired some guys with machetes to keep it trimmed.
And on a lighter note, Mrs. Duck had four adorable ducklings last week! They are a much brighter yellow than the pictures suggest—almost like they could glow in the dark! With a white daddy and a black mommy, their bright yellow color is quite amusing.