Caminar Sin Luz
Last night I walked in the dark. The Camino Tobares is familiar to my feet after walking it almost daily for two months. I have walked it at night using a headlamp to light my way many times but last night I went guided only by the moon.
Walking by the moonlight through the forest you see and hear different things. While the light provides illumination of your immediate surroundings, it is harsh and casts a shadow and outside of your bubble of light where there is nothing but darkness. Walking without a light is a different experience as there is no bubble and everything is visible once your eyes have adapted to the soft reflections of the moon.
The land is the same in its form under the moon and feels familiar. The rocks and roots on the trail are still there in the same place and my feet know the way after walking this way many times. But it is also different as without a light, far more is visible in the night. The fireflies are obvious as little floating lanterns, popping on and off. In the extra dark of the drainage there are more bioluminescent creatures; a caterpillar of some type, inching its way forward hi-vis green lighting up with each contraction of its body creeping forward. The sounds are there with the pew pew of the frogs taking the lead in the symphony of the forest.
As my last few days here wind down, it is hard to know what to put into words. I can try to describe what this place is, was and could be in my own mind but that is only my own small minded selfish view. Everyone has their own perception of the same place and how they see it with none being intrinsically more valid than any other. The real estate developer and the botanist can look at the same parcel of land and see decidedly different things but are either actually wrong? Or are either right? Just the same way, my eyes as a pata-afuerra might see something different than the pata-amarillo that are from this place.
I have been blessed to see many places of the world and cursed to see many of them destroyed, the local people either driven out or reduced to a servant class. Landscapes raped for resources to benefit people far away and emotionally out of touch and removed from their impact for their convenience. Perhaps in my travels I have unintentionally helped advance this demise which brings me no comfort but it does instill in me a sense of responsibility. From my limited perspective, I see potential here both in the people and land to both grow and regenerate together.
This place is at a fork in the road of gentrification with stopping or going back not an option. One path is well lit with street lamps and manicured gardens, a wide paved road straight to suburbia. The street lamps very brightly light up the flat pavement, making it safe for the pedestrian to walk with little chance of tripping but cast an ominous shadow with everything beyond falling into darkness. The other path looks more ominous and wild with no street lamps or stop signs, tangled roots and massive trees making a path that snakes in and around and over obstacles. There are no artificial lights here casting shadows, only the reflected light of the moon softly illuminating everything. As I perceive the fork in the road that Barichara is at, I hope the path it takes is the one illuminated by moonbeams where the entire forest can be seen and not the harsh electrical light and perceived safety for a few while plunging all the rest into darkness.
Soñadores de la Luz
Guaimaro mornings are peaceful. The insects seem to chirp more quietly in the soft hours before daylight while my coffee pot gurgles a warm bubbling aroma. Sitting in the forest, it no longer seems loud but speaking at an appropriate volume. The previous racket of insects, birds, toads, wind and rustling leaves is no longer foreign but comforting and familiar. The occasional rockfall from the loose choosy cliffs is not jarring but an acceptable accent and emphasis to the song of this place.
I have been blessed in my time here to be invited to share many different parts of the territory, sit in peoples homes and share meals. Most of my explorations have been within walking distance, an occasional tuktuk ride or a short ride in a car for convenience. I have been privileged to see and share some of the more intimate parts of the landscape, some of the remaining old growth forest that has already lived a hundred human lives, the spring daylighting after an unknown length of time percolating and traveling underground and the rocks that speak of time without words.
The land here is something special and elusive, prodding the limitations of the English language. What can not be put into characters is a feeling and an essence of this place. I have felt this before in other wild places across the globe, from the cool composed power of the Himalaya to the sharp crackle of the Kalahari but the real difference here are the people, their love for this place and acute awareness of the mystery behind the veil. They know of the magic that permeates from somewhere deeper, infecting them with a feeling of being that calls for them to come and also to stay.
I am a perpetual foreigner, a constant immigrant on a pilgrimage of wanderlust. My paperwork is just that, printed words on paper that allow or deny me entry, far more a hassle and limitation than a true reflection of who I am. Through this lens I view this place, coming here with a mind to live, learn, plant seeds and share my limited knowledge. From my simplistic, slippery starting point to now, I feel more comfortable with having more questions than answers. Belonging, ownership, human connections, obligation and needs vs wants all provoke my thinking. Who owns this place and what obligation does that entail? Is it owned at all? Perhaps not by any singular person or entity but is a collective reflection of all life and is owned as equally by all and none of us.
As I mentally prepare myself for my return to the land of my birth, I feel a sense of apprehension and even dread. What will it be like? How much has it changed in my absence? How much have I changed? I feel a strong sense of duty, to family and friends but also to the ongoing necessary work that has been started and remains far from being finished. Simultaneously I feel a sense of obligation to this place and to give back what I have taken. What previously felt exotic and foreign now feels comfortable. Not normal and mundane but it feels right.
Our Western minds engage in conversations about social constructs but rarely apply this thinking to the construct of private property. Instead, we find comfort in building our fences to keep things out while simultaneously penning ourselves in. “This is MINE” we say with conviction, scanning our limited domain while watching a bird fly in and pull a grub from the manicured and overly fertilized chemical sod before flittering on to a tree in the neighbors yard. The bird flippantly ignores the self imposed human constructions of ownership yet seems to do quite well for itself. Either blissfully unaware or consciously ignoring the rules, the bird is able to flourish in its being living a life, raising its young before being composted and consumed by the others. Tom Robbins said something along the lines of “rabbits don’t have jobs, when was the last time you saw a rabbit starve to death?” What hubris to think our species is somehow so incredibly different than all the others that we share this planet with.
We hold the knowledge and our collective backs are strong enough to do the labor. The seeds to grow the trees are here, as are all the raw materials of stone and downed wood to slow, spread and sink water into the landscape. The will and drive to make the changes needed are not intrinsically linked to money. It is only our self imposed limitations and constructions that make us think we can not make the real changes we all need.
“All men dream; but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds awake to find that it was vanity; But the dreamers of day are dangerous men. That they may act their dreams with open eyes to make it possible.” - TE Lawrence
II abhor boredom. Boring music, boring conversation, boring food and boring landscapes all suck the marrow of my soul. Thankfully Barichara has none of those things. Instead this place is a dynamic ecology of land, forests, and people, full of mystery and intrigue whenever you stop to look and think. Also the music is pretty good.
One of the amazing things about Barichara (and far from boring) are the ever changing vistas. Quite literally, the view is never the same, a constant dynamic movement of clouds, birds, sky and insects. From my base at Guaimaro, mornings can shift from a San Francisco-esque vista of solid pea soup fog to brilliant sunshine and back in a few moment. Breaks in the swirling clouds reveal the forests of the far mountains, usually drenched in dripping precipitation. Waterfalls pulse in the distance from downpours deep in the high country in a seemingly random pattern with one drainage flowing this moment before another spouting forth the next. Some clouds hang low and drift over the land while others soar high overhead driven by invisible thermodynamics forces. The clouds here are rarely lazy but are constantly on the move and often seem to have some important appointment to make, as if they are late for school or a visit to the doctor. Based on the constant regular movement, it appears at least the clouds here are not on Colombian time. But maybe they are just busy and not terribly punctual.
Along with the constant dynamic changing sky, the land is also full of mystery. I have regularly been going out to Origen del Agua, a pieces of land purchased for regeneration last year. Perched at the top of the ridge, the site is strategically located at the top of the watershed with the potential to impact the hydrology of all downstream users. The site is also clearly and obviously degraded with large stretches of bare red earth, large eroded gullies and a noticeable lack of vegetation compared to the surrounding landscape.
Despite its outwardly degraded appearance, there are clear signs of this land regenerating and coming back to life. The small rock check dams, arranged on contour in strategic eroded gullies are serving their intended purpose to slow spread and sink water on the landscape.
Sediment is backing up behind these simple structures and native grasses are self seeding themselves. This is the first step in ecological succession towards the mature climax forest that once existed here. While a year might feel like a long time to our human lives, it is simply a blink of the eye for a tree. Seeing how much life can occur from a seemingly dead landscape of mineral substrate in a year gives me enormous doses of hope in our ability to better steward our planet.
The mystery of this land is implied in the name ‘Origen del Agua’. Amazingly there is a freshwater spring at the top of the mountain with no clear source other than coming up out of the ground. One of the very first things that was drilled into my noggin when I began working with water was that it always flowed downhill (except towards money). As natural systems are generally excluded from our capitalist system it begs the deep philosophical question of ‘WFT is going on here? Situated only a few meters below the top of the ridge with clearly nothing but sky above, it is a real head scratcher and seems to break all manner of natural laws.
One explanation put forward by Oswaldo, Colombian guide, botanist, ornithologist is that the water is lifted by the moon. I have a bit of trouble simply accepting this as the complete explanation. Obviously the moon does move water and is constantly pulling our oceans, creating the phenomenon we call tides. It also pulls on our own water filled flesh sacks as any paramedic or full moon party attendee can attest to but is this enough to pull water up to the tiptop of a mountain? And if so, why don’t more mountains have water pouring from their summits?
Another explanation that seems a bit more plausible but far less exciting is that the spring can be explained by some unique hydrogeology. Possibly somewhere lower on the landscape is an aquifer contained in the earth with high hydrostatic pressure. Moving from high to low pressure, the water is moving up through a series of cracks and fissures to where it daylights at the top of the ridge. The geology of this area is remarkably complex and far from uniform being at the confluence of three tectonic plates. Evidence of ancient seabeds are everywhere with all types of fossils and clear layers of red sedimentary sandstone, white limestone and some remarkably mysterious black black black soil (natural geology or terra preta?!?). Some light bedtime reading of some hydrology texts are quite clear that all ‘normal’ hydrological bets are off in a limestone karst geology similar to what is present here.
Perhaps there is a geologist or hydrologist among us who can help shed some light? I do quite enjoy the mystery and the feeling of wonder of the unknown. Do we need an explanation for everything or can we simply be content knowing that we don’t know? Perhaps it is our human hubris to even think we could comprehend ‘everything’? The more I see the less I know and quite enjoy leaning into the mysterious nature of the universe.
Or we can just blame aliens.
Bailando con Hormigas
Walking, digging and starting to get my hands dirty in the territory has been a wild experience with many new surprises and discoveries. As I walk the now familiar path from Camp Guaimaro to Barchara through the sea of invasive Brachiaria grasses my mind wanders to what this place was like previously and what it might become as this project matures. The exotic mix of plants (78% endemic!) with a mix of tropical dry forest and rain forest species is beautiful and overwhelming. I have seen two snakes, a few small mammals I can’t identify but more than anything I find myself in awe of the tiny yet mighty ants.
It is impossible to walk this territory without finding ants of some description. According to AntWiki there are some 906 documented species of ant in Colombia with 164 being endemic. As I stop, slow down and do my best to observe, I can safely say, without question, I have not seen them all. From the industrious leaf cutters, to the salty edible hormigas culonas (fat bottomed ants) and the little ones that bite well above their weight class, this place has a clear abundance of ants. Even when there is not an ant up your pant, you can see sign of them everywhere in the form of small debris substrate and discarded fungus excavated from the depths.
The leaf cutters are perhaps the most obvious as they snake through the forest in a seemingly endless stream, carrying leafy loads up to twenty times their body weight. The leaves are not actually for the ants themselves but for a fungus that the adult ants cultivate to feed their larvae. Sensitive to the needs of their fungus, they are picky about which leaves they harvest for the fungus and know not to bring any type of toxic material. The fungus produces no spores after being domesticated by the ants some 15 million years ago and is entirely dependent on the for survival while the ant larvae are dependent on the swollen hyphae for food. What an amazing symbiotic relationship.
Another amazing relationship is the Ophiocordyceps unilateralis fungus that infects an ant by getting underneath its exoskeleton. The infected ant then leaves the nest and foraging trails looking for an area of the correct temperature and humidity for the fungus. When an appropriate location is found, the ant clamps onto a leaf vein with its mandible in a death grip and dies in four to ten days, eventually sprouting fruiting bodies of the fungi from its head and releasing its spores.
What can we learn from the ants? As humans and ants are the same biomass on the planet it seems there are probably quite a few things. They appear to work nonstop and around the clock which makes me wonder do they ever rest? Or have fun? I very much enjoy thinking of the ants at night going to some type of ant disco, shined up their best exoskeleton for a wild night out, doused in their favorite pheromones.
Why was the baby ant confused? Because all his uncles were ants
What is the biggest ant in the world? Elephant
What game do elephants play with ants? Squash
What do you call a very old ant? Antique
What do you call an ant who doesn’t go to school? Truant
What do you call an ant in the army? Militant
What do you call an officer in an ant army? Lieutenant
What do you call a really happy ant? Exuberant
What do you call an ant who can see into the future? Clairvoyant
What do you call an alert ant? Vigilant
What do you call an ant who doesn’t smell? Deodorant
What do you get when you cross ants with ticks? All sorts of antics...
I will see myself out now.
Barichara Timewarp
Its just a jump to the left…
Salutations from Barichara Colombia. The days here slip away easily, swirling together like the steady stream of clouds in the distance. The semi-regular lightning shows in the distance no longer feel exotic but just a normal fact of life. It is hard to believe that it has been two weeks in this place and if it wasn’t for my calendar reminder to write another update I wouldn't believe it to be true.
My time here has been non-stop whirlwind of activity usually starting around 0530 with a cup of coffee, half-assed yoga and a lovely breakfast of fresh bread, fruit, porridge eggs and coffee. I pull on my boots and start my twenty minute walk up and over the hill between Guáimaro Campsite and the town of Barichara. I quite like this daily walk as it is quite steep and gets the blood and sweat moving. The path is quite overgrown with the invasive African grass that Joe has been combatting in the Bioparque. This grass is quite amazing in its ability to harvest the dew for itself while leaving the ground underneath dry. Generally by the time I make it to town I am fully soaked and might have well jumped in a pool along the way. This is a mild annoyance as the weather is lovely and sitting it the sunshine it doesn’t take long to dry my trousers.
Most of my days have been filled with site visits to various places in the territory and I am starting to feel oriented. Mostly moving around on foot not only feels good in my body but connects me in a deeper way to this landscape. You don’t really know how big a hill is until you have walked it. The geology here is quite fascinating and often changing in a short period of time from beautiful reddish sandstone to grey weathered karst limestone. Walking down one of the main streets in town it is possible to find trilobites nestled in between the large cobblestones and fossils embedded into the walls of houses. As a California boy more accustomed to granite and ingenious rocks formed deep underground, random fossils are quite a novelty!
Each of the site visits I have done has been different and providing a glimpse of the greater context. Slowly I am starting to be able to identify some of the trees but its slow going. Plant identification has never been my strong suit and I am always impressed by people that can quickly bank and hold the identifying features of various species. Starting from close to zero, I am happy when I can identify anything!
I have spent quite a bit of time walking the land with Paco, a Brazilian syntropic agroforestry expert and learning to see the land through his eyes. I have visited a few immature syntropic agroforestry sites in Portugal but never fully understood the method behind the madness. As much as we might like a fast forward button, growing a mature climax forest takes time which can make the rationale behind the initial plantings hard to see at a glance. The basic premise is to plant forest polycultures with each planting serving a specific role with the end goal being a climax forest. Syntropic agroforestry is very aware of succession and plant selection is based on providing specific functions for different stages of the forest development. There are pioneer species that grow quickly and provide shade, agave and cactus planted for water retention and various food producing plants to sustain the human population. This is then managed with a ‘chop and drop’ method where branches are cut and then simply placed around the plantings as a mulch for water retention and break down into soil. The concept is that using the biomass of the trees in the immediate area soil conditions will be correct for the species planted and by intensively managing and planting for each stage of succession as the conditions are appropriate.
Syntropic agroforestry is similar to many permaculture techniques that I am more familiar with in North America and Europe with a few key differences. One of the major ones is that Paco wants to start his systems from the earliest stages of succession and build from there. I think this is viable in the tropics where things grow incredibly fast but question if this is possible to do in a more temperate climate where things grow more slowly. I am sure it is possible but perhaps not in my lifetime. In degraded sites of the American West this doesn’t seem like a viable way forward and instead we try to jump start it in a more mature stage. We generally start with various earthworks and rock systems to first plant the rain before we plant the trees, apply indigenous microorganisms from a mature system and generally need to keep the trees on irrigation for the first year. Paco also doesn’t do any type of earthworks or rain harvesting systems purely depending on the natural processes immediately produced biomass. There is enormous learning to be done here and I am excited to continue on my journey of understanding.
Paco and I have had lively conversations around some of his plant selections. He is comfortable using non-native eucalyptus and leucaena in his systems as they grow incredibly fast and produce large amounts of biomass in very marginal soils. When intensively managed (four cuts a year) he says they can be managed and kept under control. I don’t doubt this to be true but my concern is what happens when they aren’t kept under control and get loose in the landscape. In California, eucalyptus was introduced with the best intentions by Jack London and Luther Burbank roughly a hundred years ago and since then has been one of our most destructive invasive species. It acidifies soil, burns incredible well (explodes) and tends to grow top heavy and fall over. Ugh. I only pray that where it is introduced here it will be properly managed and kept under control.
Another of the highlights of the week for me was touring Agua Santa with Carlos Gomez. They have been working now about eight years to establish an economically viable regenerative farm producing coffee, lemons, laurel among other things. Compared to the syntropic agroforestry, the techniques he has been using were very familiar to me. Agua Santa is an incredible example of various water retention techniques with a number of gorgeous Roman arch style check dams for water infiltration as well as a tiered pond system fed by a perennial spring. He makes Bokashi style compost, harvests indigenous microorganisms, lactobacillus and biochar all onsite. His only offsite inputs are his trace minerals (magnesium, zinc, etc) which he is going to start producing onsite with sea salt soon. Similar to the syntropic agroforestry system everything is planted in diverse polycultures but the management is geared towards producing a high quality and economically viable crop for export. Their latest crop of lemons went to NYC and the their shade grown coffee is branded as Cafe Humano.
Beyond the esoteric details of various land management systems, the real joy of my time here has been the people. From the moment I met Carlos (mi tocayo) we were immediate friends and allies of the water and soil despite our language barrier. Wandering the streets of Barichara you are constantly running into people that you know and greeted with enthusiastic smiles and buenas dias. Friday night Chad and I wandered to the main square of town where there was live music being played on the street; a lively upbeat rhythm of drums, saxophone and marimba along with a steady stream of beer from the corner stores fueled the dance party. Despite being brand new to this place it didn’t feel foreign and seeing Carlos leading the conga line felt just right.
I am constantly impressed by my fellow Earth Regenerators in their intelligence, knowledge and passion for regeneration of the body, soul and land. Each of these people are incredible gifts to the world with such amazing insights and values to share. We have started recording podcast audio, brainstorming NFTs and leaning into what the Ecoversity could be here and beyond. Simply getting to spend time in the real world, crawl through bushes and share meals with these beautiful people has provided an entirely different perspective for me beyond what can be discerned through a computer screen. I feel incredibly blessed to be a part of this team.
There is quite a bit more to share but I think I will leave it here for the moment. Specifically, I think Origen del Agua deserves an article of its own as it has some of the most severe erosion and land degradation but is already showing clear signs of regeneration after one year!
Hasta luego amigos.
First Week in Barichara
I have now been in Barichara one week although it feels much longer.
I arrived a week ago in Barichara after an eventful travel. It started in SFO waiting in line with an intimidating face tattooed leather clad crew of ‘Soldiers of the Cross’ headed out on a mission trip. This gentleman in particular kept yelling his catch phrase of ‘Jesus Chroist!’ at full volume all throughout the check in, boarding and flight and was being constantly asked for selfies with travelers and airline employees alike. This continued all through the flight until we reached Panama. Quite bizarre.
Arriving in Bogota I must have arrived with a number of other flights as it took hours to reach the immigration desk. I had quite a bit of time to stare at the large posters claiming that the airport captures and reuses 100% of its rainwater. I am always mildly skeptical of the need to shout these things so loudly but generally it felt like a good omen.
After waiting in line for some three plus hours (and already missing my connecting flight) I made my way to the immigration desk where I made the mistake of trying to explain what we were doing down here to the large mustachioed Colombian immigration official. Did I say something wrong or was he just jealous of my far superior mustache? We will never know conclusively but I was then taken into the florescent windowless bowels of the airport where I was told to sit on this bench, go to that desk, take papers out, put them away before being returned to the main immigration area where a much nicer Colombian official stamped me in without question or hesitation.
I had missed my flight by quite a lot but got on a later flight to Bucaramanga and was soon in the arrival hall where I was greeted with hugs and smiles from Joe and Penny! How amazing to finally meet in the flesh! From there we got in the car for the dark, wet and windy drive up Chicamocha Canyon towards Barichara. My first impressions felt similar to my time in the Himalaya in a way with seemingly suicidal motorcyclists passing buses and trucks on blind curves and men sitting out in the warm dark air drinking beer. Definitely not in California anymore and it felt great. We arrived in Barichara in a torrential downpour and I promptly passed out in Joes guest room thankful to have arrived.
The next morning I had my first cup of Colombian coffee with Joe. We took our steaming mugs out to the forest behind Joe’s house and I started to soak
the magic of this place. It somehow felt like I had transported into a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel; some type of parallel universe that seemed impossible to be coexisting with the frantic energy of California that I just left hours before.
From then until now, time has blurred and feels much longer than the seven days it has been. Joe showed me the Bioparque , the syntropic agroforestry site and his Rio de Suenos. More Earth Regenerators morphed from being a small talking heads on a screen into fully formed humans. Ross and Kathy were already in Barichara and in the following days Chad and Alpha arrived. Instead of feeling foreign and strange, it has felt more like a homecoming with old friends all meeting in the right place at the right time.
I understand so much better why this place spoke to Joe now that I am here. It is a special place on many levels and I think that everyone here is intimately aware of that. From a purely ecological perspective its estimated perhaps 80% of the plants here are endemic to this region. Geographically the town sits at the major curve in the Andes on a small sky island perched above the rivers some thousand meters below. The indigenous Guane people called Barichara a ‘place of rest’ and considered it sacred. Being here I understand why. There is a calming spell that is cast here you can’t avoid and wraps around you like a warm blanket on a cool evening. There is nothing static here as everything is moving, swirling and alive from the ever changing views to the deafening sounds of the forest buzzing with insects, birds and life.
I am starting to grasp the scale and importance of the project as I lean into this land and listen to what it has to say. There feels a heavy aura of optimism for what we can do her to regenerate this place not only for the wildlife but also to benefit the human population that lives here. I am a newcomer here and after a week have only just dipped my toe into what is obviously a deep pond that goes back some 7000 years of human habitation in this region. Slowly as I walk the land here and meet more people my understanding will grow but for the moment I will leave it here.