A Latin American Christmas

I am unapologetically a Grinch. No...correction, I am THE Grinch. Most people find this character flaw in me surprising, even reprehensible. It's a long story for another post...maybe. Oddly, I have found that God in His infinite wisdom seems to balance out all our faults by giving others an excess of whatever we lack. For this very reason, I am certain, He brought Eric Bowman into my life.

Eric exudes Christmas joy and good cheer. If I didn't like Eric so much, I might even find this excess annoying. (Grinches are just that way, we can't help it.). Eric loves to decorate and string Christmas lights....by the thousands. I HATE hanging lights, even just one strand. However, even this excessive exuberance of Christmas spirit has it's side benefits. Eric spent three days patently and joyfully, as difficult as I found this to believe, stringing Christmas lights around the Spanish Institute of Honduras. He risked his neck on shaky non OSHA approved ladders, (rumor has it he actually fell) battled wasps, receiving several wounds in the process, patiently looked for blown bulbs and daily ran functionality checks on the system with his ever present, handy dandy, all-in-one Christmas light repair tool. The results where outstanding! Not only did we have a beautifully lit Institute and home for Christmas but when Sindy was married here two weeks ago, the place looked wonderful.

The Spanish Institute of Honduras and our home, tastefully decorated by Eric

Eric's home in Kentucky...see what I mean by excessive spirit? (photo used WITHOUT permission)
I was just now, after publishing, informed that this is not actually the Bowman's Old Kentucky Home, but rather National Lampoon's. I, however, submit to my audience that Eric wishes it were his and therefore it shall remain. (lawsuits are uncommon here in Honduras)

Our teacher/daughter Sindy and Rhoamedhy's wedding.

Here in Latin America, Christmas Eve is celebrated in a wild and joyous way. Firecrackers! For three weeks leading up to Christmas, Siguatepeque has been under siege. It's as though we are living in a city embroiled in guerrilla warfare. The rattle of small arms fire (aka firecrackers and cebollas) are a constant in the street and throughout the night. On Christmas Eve the intensity increases...the city is now under attack from a much larger force. The battle is all around us. The air begins to fill with the smoke from the explosions and from the fires lit in the streets. Mortar rounds add to the overall noise as do the screech of incoming missiles (bottle rockets). As the the clock reaches midnight a full force, D-Day invasion is underway. Ten minutes of roaring, ear shattering noise envelopes the city, slowly dying away to sporadic burst from Barrios near and far. In the morning the streets are littered with paper from a million firecrackers. Still there is no peace. As I write, I hear a continual smattering of explosions. This will continue all week culminating on New Year's Eve in one final night of wild celebration.

Out side of our house as I write.

On a personal note, the Wolfe house has been pretty quite (apart from the above exceptions). Highly unusual and honestly, much needed. Typically our house is full...constantly... with teachers, students, house guest and passerbys. And we love it, and tomorrow life will return to normal busyness once again. We have an all day teachers workshop on Friday. Our friends from Maine, the Keim family, will be arriving, friends from Teguc and La Paz may be dropping in and we have at least two new families arriving at the Institute who we are looking forward to welcoming. Oh yes, and the New Years Eve party we will be hosting. Complete with our very own fireworks show.

But for today it is only the four of us and Carlos. Luis went to Valle de Angeles with Tita, one of the ladies who raised him, and Nolvia is spending the week with her family. The presents under the Christmas tree were pretty sparse. My new Kindle Fire HDX 7 came down with the Cadmuses on Saturday and of course there was no way I was wrapping it and placing it under the tree and waiting. (Grinches are also impatient and despise wrapping presents.) The Keims will be bringing some of the boy's gifts on Sunday as well as special things like Jif peanut butter and Nutella.

Of course we miss Mark tremendously, but he is being well cared for in Seattle by Barbe's family. We Skyped with Mom this morning and will do the same later with Grammy. I also took time to call and wish a special friend in Maine Merry Christmas. He is 95 and still going strong, plowing snow and staying busy. (Grinches do have their good side).

So to all of you, my friends, Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year.

Why I'm Mad...and Sad

Okay folks. No photos, no feel good stories, just some straight talk.

Right now I'm a little ticked off. Maybe more than just a little. But I'm also sad at the same time.

Why?

Amnesty...that's why!

I'm going to ask a question. Do you think granting amnesty to an estimated 12 to 20 million illegals living in the States will hinder or help the problem of illegal immigration in the future?

Let me share the stories of two men I know personally.

Roberto (not his real name) is a hard working, well respected man in his barrio. He's actually the president of the patronato, kind of like the mayor of the neighborhood. He has a beautiful wife, a beautiful family. He's a good dad. He has a nice home and owns his own business. He and his wife went to the US, illegally, a number of years ago, worked hard - two jobs, stayed out of trouble and saved all they could. They came back home with enough cash to start a good life...BUT, it's hard to go from making $8.00 per hour to making $8.00 per day and although he doesn't say it, I think the savings are long gone. He longs to go back to the US. So does his wife. They talk about it all the time. 

I saw Roberto the other day. The first thing he told me is that a friend from the US called him and told him to hurry back, illegally of course, so that he could apply for amnesty. He wanted to know if I thought it was true. I didn't say a thing. I have no idea. Zilch. I do know this. The trip north is far more dangerous today than it was 20 years ago. And I know this too. I can't bear to see one more fatherless family here.

It made me sad. 

Note: I add this comment one year later. At the cost of nearly $30,000 USD, Roberto has now sent his family north to join him. He hopes that someday they will all become US citizens

________________________________________________

I go often into a certain store here in Sigua. Six days a week I would see Juan, (not his real name) smiling, waving at me. We'd fist bump over the counter and ask how each other's day was going. I like Juan. He's a good looking young man who had worked his way up to a decent position. Probably not making a whole lot, but hey, it's a decent, steady job in a country where those are hard to come by. Two days in a row I go into the store and, no Juan. "Hey, where's Juan?" I ask. "Oh, he doesn't work here anymore" they say. "Why?" I really want to know. "He headed north. Someone arranged for a "coyote" to take him. Friends in the States told him to come. He left without even collecting his last paycheck." Another one of Honduras' future fathers and community leaders...gone.

It made me mad.

I asked myself, why would a young man leave without even collecting his paycheck? Why the urgency? Why the willingness to brave the dangers of a drug cartel infested trip through Mexico? Could it possibly be the hope of arriving in time to receive amnesty?

I googled "how much does an illegal pay a coyote" and came up with this answer. 

$4,000 to $10,000 USD! 

Say what?

Even at the low end that's a years wages and at the high end...3 to 4 years wage. With no guarantee that you will make it to the USA alive...or not be caught and deported back home. 

I'm mad because:

• No one here seems to think it's wrong to go illegally to someone else's country.
• Too many young men and women think that life will be so much better living illegally in the US, where they will be given menial jobs at half of what a US citizens would make...if they'd even do it.
• Our policies encourage such actions.
• Our newspapers lie, trying to make it sound as though young people here are fleeing a war zone. Lies! And we buy into it.

I'm sad because:

• I see the debilitating effects of homes without husbands and fathers.
• I see teenage delinquents who receive just enough money from the States buy booze and become alcoholics at an early age, often fathering multiple children by multiple women because there is a shortage of available men...and caring for none of them. (Ok, that one makes me mad too)
• Honduras is losing their motivated leaders and workforce.

I'm going to be blunt for a moment and I'm going to say something to my fellow Christians, some who will probably disagree with me..and that's okay.

Stop bringing in free stuff and start bringing jobs!

Missions is a multi-billion dollar business. Yes, that's right, Billion with a "B". Most of it directed towards bringing in free stuff, building free buildings or doing free work. AND I'm okay with some of that. There is a place for charity. We practice it often. But here's the deal IF ONLY we'd stop, look and listen. Almost every man and woman I know...they just want a job. They want the dignity of being able to provide for their own families, with their own hands. They don't want the free stuff...until they find out that's all their gonna' get.

So, Church...you want to help?

Send some of your businessmen down here. Send your entrepreneurs. Use some of those billions to start businesses, give micro loans or build schools to teach trades. Maybe this should tell us something. People are leaving here in droves, willing to risk their lives to find work. .

On second thought, I'm not sure I blame them.

I'd probably do the same if I were in their shoes.

So...Do you really want to help?

A Recent Trip to Antigua, Guatemala

Several weeks ago me and my assistant Chris drove to Antigua, Guatemala on a four day business trip. Some really cool folks from Business Connect, Lou and Jereme, put together a Sawyer distributors mini convention for Latin America and very generously covered all the food and lodging cost for us. All we had to do was get there.

So, leaving early on a Wednesday morning, we got in our "office" (my little, silver Isuzu pickup) and headed for Guatemala, a 590 km drive. What should have been a 10 hour trip ended up taking 15, but we arrived safely in Antigua around 8 pm. 

A view down 6th ave looking towards Volcan Agua in the distance.

I love Antigua. I lived there way back in 1980 and have the best memories of my time there. What was then a quaint, low-key, tourist destination has become, unfortunately, "tourist central". Even with it's high prices, foreigner-crowded streets, and having lost some of it's old world charm in the process, Antigua is still a place worth visiting.

Sawyer distributors from Latin America

Pictured above is our group of distributors from all over Latin America. We had a lot of fun together and everyone shared what they were doing, what was working for them as well as some very new and innovative ideas using Sawyer filters to purify water. A very worthwhile trip.

Some of you may remember reading my blog post, El Volcan Agua; a story from the past, where I tell of some of my adventures as a 17 year old boy in Antigua. In this post I wrote about climbing Volcan Agua and of a little Mayan maiden named Rosita with whom I whiled away many afternoons sitting with her in the central park where she and her mother and sisters sold Mayan weavings and souvenirs. I'm not sure what they thought of me back then as I spent hours sitting with them, studying Spanish and chatting, but they were always kind and generous to me, and this at a time in my life when I desperately needed that.

The final afternoon we were in Antigua, we all went down to the market where the souvenirs are now sold (vendors can no longer sell in the park). At the first stall I came to, I asked if by chance there was anyone there from the village of San Antonio Aguas Calientes. "Yes, who was I looking for?" After much questioning and double checking of names, the woman told me that she was Rosita's cousin. Rosita and her sister Bilma had booths several blocks away and when Sara called them, to my amazement they actually remembered me and all of my family. I spent a good hour or more reminiscing about the past and catching up on family news. Sadly, their mother, Maria, had passed away three years earlier. 

Rosita, myself, Bilma and Seldon

All in all, Chris and I had a great time. Many thanks to Lou, Jereme and Mike for all the work they did to make this happen and for their generosity. Definitely need to do this again next year!

For those of you who read my blogs as a travel log, here is a bit of useful information should you be thinking of traveling from Honduras to Guatemala.

Although longer, taking the coastal route out of San Pedro Sula through Omoa and crossing the border just south of Puerto Barrios is by far the better option than either El Florido or Aguas Calientes...unless of course you live near Copan. We returned through the El Florido  crossing and the road on both sides of the border for miles is intolerably full of washouts and potholes. Last February when we arrived in Honduras, Aguas Calientes was no better. 

Below are a couple other photos I wanted to share.

Mayan weavings

One of the most beautiful McDonalds in the world

Chris, on the roof of the hotel we stayed at with Agua in the background

And, the "office" on a recent mission.

20,000 plus!

When I started blogging I never dreamed that I would have readers around the globe or that I would ever reach 20,000 page views. But that has happened!

I still love to go back and reread some of my old blog post. They bring back so many memories. Today I was missing a good friend, Trey Russell. He played a prominent roll in many of my blog post, as well in the life of our family. A few days ago I went to check on a well he helped me drill and I remembered the good times we had drilling it. I went back and read Six Days in the Life of a Well Driller and relived some of the great moments we and my boys shared together. Blogging has become more than just a blog, it has become a journal and I am honored that you are willing to journey with me.

Recently, I wrote about a baby Barbe and I are caring for in Carlos: the baby in the bag. This post, within days, had soared to the most read post I have ever written. It seemed to touch peoples hearts in a special way as they shared the post with others. Through facebook we received so many words of encouragement and concern for Carlos.

Live like a King on $1200 a month continues to week after week be viewed from all over the world.

Beef and Roxanne are still in the top 10 most popular. Here is a quick update on them. They are here in Honduras, more specifically, they are here in Siguatepeque studying Spanish at our Spanish Institute of Honduras and preparing to move to Santiago, HN in January to begin construction on the new children's home. You can see pictures of them hard at work here in school in a recent post We are the New Owners of the Spanish Institute of Honduras. If you are interested in partnering with these guys, it is a worthy cause they are working towards. You can find more information about them and the children's home project at Sparrow Missions website. We will soon be drilling a well at there new location, so we are excited about that.

I always have my own personal favorites. A Boring Life?  Avoiding the God Complex. Bittersweet. I Turn 50.  Each one, whether written from my heart or just a lighthearted commentary on our life in Honduras, means something special to me and brings back the memories and the moment.

Thanks for sharing in them with me!

We are the New Owners of the Spanish Institute of Honduras

Just over a year ago, I was asked if I would be interested in managing the Honduras Spanish Institute, by founders and Camino Global missionaries, Mark and Michelle Fittz. It's hard for me to believe that it has already been a year, but if memory and my blog post are correct, then it is true. As the saying goes, "time flies when you're having fun".

When I was asked to do this, Barbe and I were already deeply involved in the school. The teachers were like family to us and so many of the students had become friends and were part of our weekly home fellowship group. For us, it was an easy decision to take responsibility for the day to day operation of the school and student care.

The Institute was growing and was beginning to acquire a name for itself within the missionary community as a quality "Spanish as a second language" school and as an alternative to some of the larger and more expensive schools in Costa Rica and Guatemala. For those missionaries who would be serving in Honduras after language training, it made sense to learn the dialects and customs in the country they would be living and working in. (here is a link to what MTW's Mike Pettengill had to say about this)

As the school grew, it was also experiencing growing pains. With our love for the school, my passion for bringing jobs to Honduras and 30 years experience operating my own business, I felt that I would bring to the table what the school needed in order to move forward. I saw several issues we needed to face immediately. One of those was moving the school to it's own facility and out of the space it had shared with a local seminary for the past several years. Within a few months, I had located a large, beautiful mansion in Barrio El Carmen and made the decision to relocate the Institute. I also made the even larger decision to move our family there as well and to be an integral part of the school on a daily basis.

Our new facility located in Barrio El Carmen, Siguatepeque, HN

We officially opened for business in our new location on January 1, 2014 and it has already proven itself to be a wise decision. The grounds are beautiful, the house spacious, the atmosphere tranquil and because we live here, we are able to give the Institute the family atmosphere that makes our school unique while still retaining the quality one on one classes we have always had.

Classrooms are indoor and outdoor, depending on your study preference.

As the school continued to grow, employing ten teachers, a bookkeeper and a part time grounds keeper, I helped the school transition from an idea that had matured and grown out of a need Mark had seen four years previous into a legitimate, job and revenue producing, tax paying Honduran enterprise.

On June 6th of this year, Mark and Michelle officially turned ownership of the Institute over to Barbe and me. Although they too love the school, Mark made the tough decision to let go of it and concentrate his energy on the rapidly growing Hope Coffee. Mark had begun buying and exporting coffee with the intention that profits from sales would come back to Honduras as funds to help local churches provide shelter and aid to those in need, especially to widows, and the business was growing in leaps and bounds as churches all over the US caught the vision and began serving "Hope Coffee". Not only do sales support missions, but it is an excellent, quality coffee and we proudly serve Hope Coffee here at the Spanish Institute of Honduras...all day, every day.

Mark and Michelle Fittz with our teachers on June 6th, 2014 as they officially pass ownership to us.

One of the things we needed to do as part of the transition to us as the new owners, was to legally close the school and reopen it as a merger with our existing Honduran business, Inversiones Wolfe Honduras, SA de CV. That transition was successfully made accompanied by a slight name change. The Institute's new name is, Spanish Institute of Honduras, operating under the umbrella of Inversiones Wolfe Honduras.  Our website is still under construction, but check it out when you can.

Other than the location, the name change and the new ownership, the core values the Institute started with remain the same; commitment to quality language acquisition, learning in a relaxed and personal manner and staff that truly care about our students and their success.

Yessica and Roxanne enjoying a beautiful afternoon in class.

Mercedes and Eric...hard at work.

We even have classes for kids. Yarely and Ella under the gazebo.

The living room where students and teachers study, use the internet and hangout.

And of course there are our school mascots, Alfredo and Tiger. 

Barbe and I bring to the school our own passion to care for each student individually. We understand firsthand the difficulties students face learning a new language in a new country and we do all we can to provide encouragement, emotional and spiritual support as well as a home that is always open to any of our students, anytime day or night. Combined with the love and care our teachers show each student, I have no problem saying...as I often do, that we have the best language school in the whole world.

Our slogan is; come as friends, leave as family...and we mean it!

Some of our students and teachers on a recent field trip to a Lenca potter's shop. 

Barbe and I are grateful to the Fittz's generosity to us, to our very special teachers with out whom we would have no school, to our students who willingly come to class each day to learn the language in order to better serve the people of Honduras...and to God, who faithfully provides all our needs.

A Day of Donuts

Last Thursday Kevin, Chris, Thomas, Luis and I went to Comeseb, better known in Sigua as "the Mennonite store", for donuts. This place is a must visit when in Sigua. Homemade ice cream, homemade breads, cinnamon rolls, cheeses, yogurt, granola, apple pie...so, okay, you get the picture, it's my kind of place. Anyway, I know it was Thursday, or maybe Friday, because they only have fresh made donuts on these two days. Unfortunately, there were only three left. So after buying them out, we went in search of a donut bakery I had only recently heard of. (and I thought I knew all of them here)

We finally found it in Barrio San Antonio in an old billiard hall. We bought a bag of 12, warm and fresh for 20 lempiras, less than a dollar and sat on the tailgate of the pick up and ate every one of them...and went back for another bag.

Nice selfie.

I stood at the doorway and chatted with the elderly lady and her daughter through the bars. I shared with them my lifetime love affair with donuts. She must have found in me a kindred spirit, because before I knew it, this 82 year old baker of donuts had unlocked the side door and ushered me into the inner sanctum, the place where it all happens.

I felt honored...and privileged...and awed.

She told me of a lifetime of baking bread, going back to her childhood. Her mother, she tells me, was an incredible baker. She shares with me her desire to get "the machine that flips the donuts on it's own" as she reaches in to the hot oil with a skimmer and expertly flips three or four at a time. It would cut down on labor cost she says. For 20 years now she has made donuts. She stopped baking bread a number of years ago and only makes donuts now.

3500 donuts a day, over 300 lbs.

Racks of fresh donuts line the walls

I watch, fascinated with the speed her daughter exhibits as she grabs three donuts in each hand, rubbing them in the sugar and placing them in a bag.

The "sugaring" process.

I have made new friends.

I leave them, with the promise that I will be back...soon!

Kevin, one of our new language school students and me.    Muy contentos!

Carlos; the baby in the bag.

Imagine yourself walking along the sidewalks of Comayagua. You see a plastic trash bag on the sidewalk ahead of you. It sits on the walk in front of a church. You are curious. What's in it? Maybe something of value that you could reuse or sell. You stop, lift it. It doesn't weigh much. Less than five pounds. You open it. Inside is a newborn baby, it's cut umbilical cord still attached lying in it's own afterbirth. The baby is barely breathing...if at all. He has been in the closed bag long enough to have used up most of the air his little lungs need to sustain life. He is catatonic. What should I do, you ask. Will he even live? Maybe you should just reclose the bag and walk on. No, your heart has been touched by the terribleness of what has happened. You lift the little bundle in your arms and seek help.

This is Carlos Benjamin. And that is his story.

As soon as the person who found him took him to the IHNFA center, they hurried him to the hospital. He was having trouble breathing. The next day he was transferred to Hopital Escuela in Tegucigalpa where he spent the next nineteen days of his life.

On the nineteenth day, I received a call from the IHNFA office begging us to take Carlos for "just" a few days while they tried to find an NGO or home who would take him. Barbe and I agreed, of course. I mean really, what else as Christians could we do, and so we waited in Comayagua all afternoon for Carlos to arrive from Teguc.

He was so thin. And tiny. And his little ribs stood out. And he was very quiet.  

Carlos' story is not really all that unique here. I hear of the same thing happening all too often in Teguc or San Pedro. I wonder who Carlos' mother is. Is she a prostitute and Carlos was just part of the cost of doing business? Another casualty on an already long list of the same. Maybe she is a young teenager, too afraid of the consequences and realities of keeping a baby. Or a mother with already to many mouths she can't feed.

I am learning not to judge other's actions too harshly. I have never been in the shoes of a young, pregnant, teenage girl or a mother of ten who cannot feed those she has. BUT, I find it almost impossible to believe that anyone, no matter what the circumstances, could throw a baby out as trash. 

Unfathomable and unimaginable is such an action to me.

More than two weeks later, Carlos is putting on weight. His cheeks have filled out and his little, stick like legs are getting meat on them. He very clearly let's us know when he is hungry...which is most of the time. He is getting lots of love. He is very popular with the ladies. Last weekend we attended a missions conference and we rarely saw him, unless it was seeing him being cuddled and loved on by one of the women.

Our boys are going to be great dad's. That is obvious. They do their part, holding him, feeding and changing him. Both Thomas and Ben have taken care of him at night, feeding him every couple of hours, letting Barbe and me catch up on sleep.  I am proud of them.

Thomas and Carlos

I do not know how much longer we will have him, but I suspect it is going to be awhile. IHNFA is being dissolved and a new department, DINAF, is being formed. Everything is on hold. The paid foster family program is being discontinued and only the unpaid, like us, will remain. The news coming from the new agency is that they want NGOs and churches to take on the huge burden of orphan and foster care in Honduras. I see disaster looming in the not too distant future. 

The need for foster families is huge. 

Children should be in families. How I want to see more families, Honduran and otherwise, step up and fill this need. I understand the cost involved to feed a child, to buy pampers and formula. I understand the risk of losing one's heart to this child, only to have him one day taken from you. But really, what else can we as Christians do? Can we leave a baby, abandoned by his mother, to just...just what?

It is more than likely that we will receive another call from IHNFA soon. 

They told me yesterday that there is another baby, a little girl, who will be leaving the hospital soon...with no place to go. Barbe and I are trying as best we can to do our part, to live out our faith. But, I know this; we cannot personally take care of every abandoned baby we are asked to give a home to. 

Sometimes I wish we were part of an organization with access to donors and funding. If I had the funds, I would go through the legal requirements to start a transition home. It would be a home to receive babies until foster families could be located. It would not be a long-term care facility. I would find a Honduran lady, maybe with a couple of children of her own who needs the work, rent a house for them to live in, furnish it with what they need and set up a nursery with several cribs. Here would be a safe place to receive abandoned babies, a safe place until a family willing to foster them could be found or until they can be adopted. It would not cost very much to do such a thing.

This is what is in my heart to do...if I had your help.

Dia de Independencia

Today, the 15th of September, Honduras celebrates 193 years of independence. Actually, all five Central American countries; Costa Rica, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua celebrate their independence from Spain. In 1821, on September the 15th, Central American leaders accepted a plan drafted by a Mexican, Agustin de Iturbide, that established their independence, but left them united as one country called the United Provinces of Central America. This lasted until 1838 when Nicaragua seceded from the Union and the region became embattled in civil war.

Here in Honduras, Independence Day and the several days leading up to it, are marked by parades of marching students. It is obligatory for all schools to march in the parades. These can be long and tedious for the students who stand in the hot sun all morning. I feel really sorry for those who live in areas like San Pedro Sula where it is very hot and humid. The air is filled with the beating of drums and the clash of cymbals in the weeks leading up to the big day as the schools practice for endless hours.

One of the many schools carrying flags of HN and other nations.

Luis, too, had to march and had the "honor" of carrying a rather heavy banner which bears the quote from Gandhi, "If you want to change the world, change yourself". He attends the bilingual school, American Continental.

Luis (left) and a classmate.

Hondurans recognize their Mayan ancestry, almost more often than they do their Spanish roots.

So as the students fulfilled their patriotic duty, the rest of us lined the sidewalks cheering them on while eating pupusas, baleadas and carne asada from the street vendors. The boys wandered through the crowds with friends while Barbe and I visited with many of our own friends. Even though Siguatepeque has a fairly large population, it still has a very small town atmosphere.

Barbe and Mark with one of the Spanish Institute of Honduras' new students.

We relaxed for the afternoon and later some of us went to the new park in Barrio Parnaso to watch Don Wyatt and his orchestra perform. Very well performed, by the way. As they played, we could see the fireworks show going on in the plaza. The show was put on by the Army and was one of many shows going on around the country, each one synchronized to happen at the same time. All the fireworks for this year's events were supplied by myself and my partners. It was very cool to play such a large part in this year's celebration.

Don Wyatt, directing the orchestra.

Families seated in the small amphitheater listening to the music. 

Nostalgic

I'm feeling nostalgic today. Actually, I have been feeling this way all week...and for even longer than that. If I could, I'd go back 15 years in a heartbeat. I miss my boys being little. I miss the times we spent on the road together. I miss the companionship we shared as we traveled the highways and byways of America.

Ben and Mark

Mark will be heading back to the States soon, the first one to leave us. I'm already missing him...immensely. I'm sure that is why I feel this way. He and I started traveling together when he was 18 months old. By the time he was 10 he already logged more miles with me than most people drive in a lifetime. At 15, he was the best ground man I ever had as we worked together doing disaster relief, cleaning up after hurricanes, tornadoes and ice storms.

My other two boys are also growing and changing. Tall, lean, handsome, they come and go, busy with a life of their own. As it should be. Still, I can't help but remember the days and weeks we spent on the road together, right up until the day we left to come to Honduras. We always had a BBQ grill with us, usually our bikes too. Spending the weekend once a month in Colorado, biking the Platte river in Nebraska, stopping to play catch, working together loading cars on to the trailer, listening to audio books while we drove late into the night. Good, good memories!

Little America, WY

Mount Rushmore, SD

USS Alabama, Battleship Park, Mobile AL

Balancing Rock, Garden of the Gods, Colorado Springs, CO

Gettysburg Nat'l Park, Gettysburg, PA

Erie Canal, Somewhere in upstate NY

For years I lived with the fear that because I did not have a normal 8 to 5 job and wasn't at home every night that I was a bad father, even though at least one of my sons traveled with me all the time. Now that I do have a normal life I know that was not the case. Both the quality and the quantity time I spent with my sons is irreplaceable and a gift that few fathers are ever able to experience. I now count myself fortunate to have had such a rare opportunity.

Yanney Tower, Kearney, NE

Thomas, learning young.

Sharing lunch, somewhere in the USA

Me and my crew.

As I sit here tonight on our beautiful veranda, enjoying a relaxing Honduran summer evening, living the normal life, a huge part of me is longing for the abnormal and the unusual once again. I could go back to it. The boys could still travel with me and in a year and a half Mark will be old enough to driver interstate. I have to be honest, it's tempting at times, it really is.

But life is good here too. Normal, but good.

My veranda where I enjoy the early mornings and late afternoons.

As I went through our photos, walking down memory lane, there were so many I would have liked to share. Here are a couple more of my favorites. 

(All photos by Barbe)

Ben and Mark, truck schooling in the sleeper of our truck.

My three sons on the Jacksonville boardwalk.

Thomas.