Return to Panagea

Marilyn, June 21, 2015

(We're having computer issues, so I can't edit this post as well as I'd like, nor can I include a couple of videos. Check back later to see if I've got these kinks worked out!)

Our experience at Estancia Panagea in April (which I described here) was so wonderful that Teo, Javy, and I knew that we needed a repeat visit before our time in Uruguay was up. So, we made arrangements to spend another three days there, crossed our fingers that the weather would cooperate, and packed almost all the clothes we have so that we could dress in multiple layers. On Monday morning, we took the bus from Atlántida to Montevideo, and then bought our tickets to Tacuarembo, where Juan from the estancia would meet us. The helpful ticket agent told us to meet our bus at gate 31, so that's where we headed. Soon a bus pulled into gate 32, and Javy and Teo insisted that it had to be our bus, because they recognized the attendant who had been so nice to them on our trip in April. I told them no, of course not, we wanted gate 31, see? that's what the agent wrote on our ticket. When another bus arrived at gate 31, we took our luggage to the attendant and told him we were going to Tacuarembo. He looked confused, shook his head, and sent us back to gate 32. The nice attendant at gate 32, genuinely happy to see Teo and Javy again, took our luggage and welcomed us on his bus. It was a great reminder to me that while my mind tends to get so full of details of travel and concerns about time tables and gate numbers, what my kids notice and remember and count as important are the kindnesses shown to them and the connections they make with people along the way.

Arriving five hours later at the Tacuarembo station, we happily greeted Juan, and met the two couples whose company we'd be enjoying for the next few days. Flora and Ben are college students from London, spending their summer holiday exploring South America. Nicolas and Nicole are Swiss and made this stop in Uruguay early in their year-long, round-the-world excursion. All four of them proved to be wonderful companions at the estancia, and, like Elin from our first stay there, made our experience infinitely richer.

It was almost dark by the time we arrived at the estancia, giving us just enough time to unload the van before enjoying the brilliance of the night sky. We made our way to the guest house, and were greeted by the portrait on the porch that I love but that the boys insist is creepy. (Her eyes do tend to follow you wherever you go . . . )

A lovely fire was waiting for us inside, and before long, we were all enjoying a dinner of hearty gaucho food. Juan reminded the boys of his rule that if they want to ride horses in the morning, they have to eat salad at night, and he got no arguments. After dinner, the generator provided us with a few hours of electricity, enough to watch part of a soccer match in the Copa América and for Nicolas and Ben to play some games with Teo and Javy on their iPads. Before the generator, and the lights, shut off at 10 p.m., we were in our warm beds anticipating a full next day.

And full it was! We found the gear we needed to bundle ourselves against the winter chill, and Javy took the time to make a fashion statement, as he is so often inclined to do.

It felt great to be on the horses again, riding out onto the prairie under the endless blue sky. In the morning, we helped Juan and the estancia's other gaucho, Bilingua, herd cows from the open field into the corral.  

We were bringing them back to vaccinate them against anthrax and to put them though a bath that treated them for ticks. Juan explained that he had recently had two cows die without showing any symptoms of disease, and in that case, he had to suspect either anthrax or a tick-born illness, either of which would indicate danger for the rest of the herd. He did in fact find a couple of ticks on the cows we were treating (one is on his fingertip, below), very unusual for this time of year, he said. 

Generally, he doesn't have to worry about ticks in the winter, but there have only been three frosts so far this year. Normally, by this time in June, there would have been 35 to 40. The last three winters, in fact, have been mild, he said, attributing the warmer, tick-friendly weather to global climate change. 

The boys and I were familiar with the vaccination routine from assisting with it in April. Teo and Javy knew how to help Bilingua herd groups of cows into holding pens.

From there, they would be urged a few at a time through a narrow chute so that Juan could vaccinate each one. 

The tick bath, though, was new to us. After each cow was vaccinated, Ben would open the gate at the end of the narrow chute. 

The cows would be pushed forward by the cows behind them, or by some prods with a stick if need be, to another long, narrow chute where a 3-meter deep pool of medicated bathwater awaited them. Some of them jumped in without hesitating, almost as if they were enjoying themselves; some had to stop and consider a minute or two, as this one did.

When a cow jumped in, it made quite a splash of muddy water, which we learned to avoid. It then had to swim 20 feet or so to the other side, where it climbed out, dripping all over, but presumably tick-free.

Nicolas waited at the other end, counting each cow and encouraging it to move along into the next pen.

When all 93 cows had been vaccinated and bathed, we mounted our horses again and escorted them back to their field. Returning to the guesthouse and horse corral, we unsaddled our horses and took a couple hours off for lunch, siesta time, and a bit of kicking a soccer ball around.

The afternoon's work was much the same as the morning's, with over 100 cows herded and bathed. One treat as we were rounding up the cattle out in their field was seeing a flock of about 14 ñandus, or rheas, running along with the cows. Perhaps this was the same family we had seen in April, when the chicks were smaller. In any case, they were lots of fun to watch.

One calf in this group had a lame leg, and could not be put through the bath treatment along with his mother. He was not very willing to be separated from her, and Nicolas had to tie a rope around his neck to lead him away and tie him to to a post, where he stood bawling. 

When his mom got through her bath, she too started bellowing for him, but he was too scared at this point to go find her on his own. But with Nicolas pulling and Teo and Javy pushing, the two of them were finally reunited.

When all the cattle had been returned to their fields, and all our horses unsaddled and combed, Juan had the boys help him bring some firewood to the guest house, and then I set about building a fire in the fireplace. With Teo and Javy assisting, I got a nice one going, and we spent the rest of the evening warming ourselves at the hearth and chatting with our four companions, learning about all their adventures.

Wednesday, our tasks were much the same, though with one day's experience under our belts, we worked a bit more efficiently. As we were riding back to the house for lunch, we came upon a brand new baby lamb, with its umbilical cord still attached. It was bleating its little heart out, but the big sheep nearby, presumably his mother, wasn't being very attentive. As I rode by on my white horse, the little fellow started following after me, calling and calling. I wondered if he was just looking for anything big and white that might be his mama. After seeing to the horses, Ben and Flora returned to check on him later and found that all was well, much to my relief.

Of all the wonderful things about Estancia Panagea, some of my favorites are the signs posted around the place. Some of them are instructional, some inspirational, some just fun.

Of all the signs, my favorite is one that does not photograph easily, unfortunately, but is based on something like this. It diagrams "Your Comfort Zone" (a little circle in the lower left corner) and "Where the Magic Happens" (a separate, larger circle that takes up most of the rest of the space on the sign).  I've come across this image before, and have thought it a good philosophy for life in general. But seeing it here at the estancia felt especially encouraging and enormously comforting. That sign was an acknowledgment that no one expected me to arrive comfortable and competent, that it would be OK if I knew nothing about horses, and that if neither my fingers nor my body nor my brain were as nimble as I'd like them to be, I could still have a valuable, even magical, experience. Even with that encouragement, though, I will admit that was easy to become frustrated when saddling a horse for the tenth time, for example, I STILL couldn't get it quite right. At those times, I reminded myself that there are places on his earth that are well within my comfort zone that would be anxiety-producing to the most skilled gaucho or the most self-confident rider. I had to chuckle when it occurred to me that one of those places is the immigrant detention center in Georgia where I regularly visit. For me, spending an hour chatting with an incarcerated man with whom I have little in common is a piece of cake, compared to getting a saddle and girth on a horse properly. How fortunate for the world that we all have our strengths; how fortunate for me that I have the opportunity to step out of my strenths and into the magic from time to time.

In thinking about my comfort zone and my "where the magic happens" zone, I also thought about my upcoming weeks at the camp I co-direct, Peacebuilders Camp at Koinonia Farm. For some of our campers, the farm where the camp is held, or the farmworkers' clinic where we do a service project, or the mental health center that we visit, or the primitive campground where we camp overnight, or just the fact of being away from home, or being with kids very different than themselves, might be way, way, way outside their comfort zone. I am grateful that I have had time to reflect on what it was about Juan's instruction and encouragement made my venture into the magic easier. I will remember his lessons and try to emulate them for my campers next month, shepherding them into the magic as well.

Thursday morning, we saddled up again, and Nicolas, Nicole, Teo, Javy, and I prepared to round up one more group of cattle. Flora and Ben had another mission in mind. They set out on the dirt road that runs past the estancia, heading 7 km to the local school which serves the gaucho community. They hoped to speak with the one teacher there to learn more about this part of gaucho life. In a couple of years, when they are old enough, Juan's daughters will attend this school, riding there and back each day on their own, but for now, the school serves only three students. We said our goodbyes to Ben and Flora, hoping that we would see them again somewhere, trying to convince them to visit us in Atlanta. A half hour later, Teo was sure he saw "the dots that are them" far off in the distance on the road, and Javy said that he missed them already. Certainly, they were wonderful people to cross paths with in this little corner of the world. 

Thursday afternoon and our departure time came way too soon. Even though we were eager to meet Gene in Tacuarembo and head on to our next destination, it was hard to say goodbye to the estancia, Juan and Bilingua, Nicolas and Nicole (who we also tried to convince to come to Atlanta). Teo especially felt a need to know that this would not be our last time at to visit this beautiful place, and seeing him struggle with his desire to stay was poignant for me. If we can make it happen, there are few places I know of that I would rather return to.