The Lost Boys of Sabalito

These are three friends in Sabalito who give me the scoop on the ex-pat community up there, but the best part is their depictions of themselves and how they ended up living in Costa Rica full time.  We went to furry Donal's cow farm for lunch, and I found myself surrounded by four men who had somehow gotten themselves here after living difficult or impossible lives without or with domineering fathers; the only person missing is Frank Schoefield, a former actor from New York who had Sunday congregations at his house until he died two weeks ago at the age of 95.  He had never met his father until his father tracked him down once Frank was well known; Frank had nothing to do with him, but to satisfy his fathering urge, he met Sergio (in the striped shirt) in Mexico when he was a young fatherless boy, and Frank adopted him.   They travelled and finally settled in Costa Rica over 30 years ago.  Sergio married and raised two now grown, successful children, but he took care of Frank when he got old and needed  care.  

I will only say this about the other three; Donal raises milking cows, Blaine writes wild fiction, and John is building a tower on his finca where he will have two statues of Jesus positioned at the top.  We are all special in our own way, and these boys have found each other and have forged creative paths that use their energy and their imaginations.  

I think this is what Donal finds so beguiling about his cows, the dark eyes and splendid eyelashes.  Here is his youngest babe - a two week old mooer.

My interest in sabalito is right here, a little plot of land that has a view to beat all views.  When I was there this week, there were about six tucans milling around in one of the big trees on the property, and we watched, spellbound, as they chattered mournfully, and then flew into another tree.

Sergio and Sonia have a finca not 20 yards up the road, and this is one of her dancing orchids that stopped me in my tracks.  Sonia can grow anything and does, but the soil and the climate up there help; she describes in her soft, fluid, lilting spanish that I can barely grasp that she can stick anything into the soil and it will grow.  I'm ready to try.  

 Sergio has made paths down to the creek at the bottom of this property, and he is leveling off a space for a little house, should I so choose.  Meanwhile, he has indigenous trees going strong, will plant some fruit trees, and if I'm impetuous enough, this is where I shall spend my old age, eating my own mangos, avocados, etc... 

When I drove back to Bejuco, I could feel the warm air envelop me, the sun glisten off the car, and the smell of ocean flood my senses.  I was home, but the mountains beckon yet, and I am not finished with this time or place where even strawberries are here for the eating.

Pura VIDA is what the Costa Ricas say, and it is, indeed, a grand life!