The Hatchery

The vegetation in Costa Rica is both familiar and unfamiliar--familiar in that I had seen most of the plants and fruits before; unfamilar in that I recognized them from the garden center or grocery store. I saw a croton similar to the one I keep by my desk, as well as the same purple-green striped vine my friend Christa rooted for me two years ago that unfurls Rapunzel-like down the side of my file cabinet. We passed plants with elephant ear-shaped leaves, unfamiliar ivies and small bursts of yellow, red and orange flowers.

Homes are squat but painted lovely pastels: teal, pink, yellow. As we traveled over the pock-marked road, children and adults rode bicycles beside us, and dogs ran barking toward the bus, dogs of all sizes and shapes but rarely an identifiable breed. I quickly learned these dogs have their own parallel society, patrolling the roads and visiting their friends and eating dinner out of the compost bin. Cows grazed in soccer fields and in palm groves, and chickens wandered from yard to street to dinner table.

Tammy, Roxanna, Monica and I headed to the hatchery as soon as we arrived in Playa Matapalo. It wasn't as large or ornate as I had imagined. Twenty "nests," each about two to three feet across, had been set in sand inside what looked like a small tennis court. Each nest was covered in netting to protect the baby turtles from predators. I took my first assignment: patroling the beach from 3:00 to 6:00 a.m. to scare away poachers.

While I enthusiastically accepted the assignment, I worried I wouldn't be able to walk the miles required. In preparation for the trip, I had begun hiking the nature trail at Haverford College, a level path of less than 3 miles. The walks reawakened my love of nature but reminded me how long it had been since I had taken time for myself, time to exercise and reflect and breathe. Time to look myself in the eye again. I felt apart--older than most of the group but young enough to have no excuses and, seemingly, no limitations.

Our home base was not as rustic as I had imagined: we had a shower (cold water only), running water and serviceable bunks. We giggled as we hung the mosquito nets that would protect us from being eaten alive. I chose a top bunk, thinking I would enjoy looking out the window at the trees and flowers.