A generic and oft used expression may best describe our first day in the newly sponsored Federation outpost of Terra Amarillo… which roughly translates to Yellow earth. All of the troopers slept well I think, certainly Senor Mater did; I thought he was going to crack the foundation of the building snoring so loudly. Breakfast came early with pancakes, fruit and a lot of paperwork to be done before the journey ensued, or maybe endured up and down the mountain trail. If the author was to give directions, I would simply say this; turn left at the end of civilization, go about 10 miles in the heart of nowhere, then turn right onto goat path lane… If CA-4 is the road to perdition then the yellow brick road leading down the mountain side could paint a graphic photo of the steps that Christ had to travel into Hades to free the souls of Noah’s the day after the crucifixion! It was so rough and steep the invincible Auto bus could not pass… The team was ferried down to the village via Honduran taxi… a Toyota pick-up capable of carrying up to 22 Hondurans in the bed at once. Applying our technical math skills we deduced that equated to 3 Hondurans and 10 gringos was a safe load to transport down the treacherous path.
We were greeted by a friendly crowd of locals with a hopeful gleam in their eyes. I heard one shout, ”The gringos are coming, the gringos are coming!” Construction master Daniela and I surveyed the pre-work and measured for accuracy. Once all parties agreed the foundation was up to spec, the back hoes came roaring to life and the soft loamy soil began to fly so the new kitchen would rise soon… Meanwhile on the other side of the coin, several of the other team members, led by Hunterzilla and the former Blogmaster named B-Rad scaled to the top of the old kitchen and began to disassemble the roof panels quicker than a 72’ El Dorado left parked in Harlem overnight. Quanda, Que Pasa, Body Pump AKA Tori and Selfie AKA Madison assisted in debris removal sometimes guided by – possibly misguided by our very own Hondo the magical musician. Within an hour, the building that had withstood 12 years of children and severe weather was lying in a pile of rubble. Leave it to an incited group of zesty Americans’ to bring down a viable and useful structure.
Quietly, in a somewhat concealed location, Marco Francisco was building the sacred machine to bend the steel rods needed for the steel support system used in the typical Honduran construction. This design has been passed down through the generations. A tradition so guarded and secretive that family ties have been fractured by passing it along to others with tribal approval. I am honored to have been given the algorithms to build this machine and took an oath under the penalty of persecution and volcanic sacrifice to never release the plans.
After lunch the Hondurans began a Mook fiesta… without inviting the Gringos to play the Mooking games… Alas We were saddened by this event of miscommunication, but remember what goes up, must come down. We gathered around the makeshift work benches (Stacked Blocks) and began to assemble and tie the re-bars together to form the structural load bearing components that will ensure that the next time they want to tear this building down, it will take much more effort and considerably more time to destroy!
At 4:30 we gathered all the tools and prepared for the ascension up the goat path to made our way back to the Federation compound where a hot meal of pork chops, rice and beans awaited to nourish our famished souls. After the meal, Hondo led the group in a wonderful musical selection and Senor Mater proclaimed the Word for us. Special thanks to Senor Jefe for leading the group and barking out the orders likened to that of Senior Drill Instructor Hartman… All while never leaving the sanctuary of his shaded pulpit. Goodnight Blogosphere, tune in tomorrow for another gut-wrenching episode of how the Blog is Done!
Marco Francisco Valle Valle