La Pura Vida

An unnamed energy filled the secret world inside the plain brown building. Zookeepers stood atop small sand dunes, working the black sand with shovels and rakes. As Paolo looked down, he noticed baby Green Turtles, with their dark green shells, crawling through the sand. He looked across the room. Hundreds, maybe thousands of baby turtles crawled across the dirt-covered floor.
A row of three fenced turtle pens lined the far wall. A mother turtle rested in each cage. Paolo approached the turtle pens and leaned against the fence.
"Why are they caged?" he asked his father.
"We're keeping them safe."
"What do you mean?" asked Paolo.
"They became injured by fisherman's nets or propeller blades. We’re keeping them here until they get better, like a turtle hospital.”
The children followed Sr. Vasquez around the interior of the building, giving any baby Green Turtles the right-of-way. The workers shoveled pits and carefully filled them with turtle eggs. Unlike chicken eggs, turtle eggs were soft and light pink. To Paolo they looked like tiny melon balls.
"All the baby turtles in the world must be here,” said Paolo.
“Far from it,” said his father, “these are just the Green Turtles,”
“Aren’t all turtles green?” asked Paolo.
“Green isn’t just a color. It’s also a species of turtle, like Loggerheads, Leatherbacks, or Hawksbills.”
“How do you know what kind they are?”
Sr. Vasquez plucked a baby Green Turtle out of Paolo’s bucket.
“The easiest way to know you’re looking at a Green Turtle is by their beak. It’s very short. Also, the bottom edge of their beak is serrated. It’s like a butter knife. Also, the top of the beak is unhooked.”
“What do you mean unhooked?”
“See the hook on his beak? Baby Green Turtles use it to break open their eggs when they’re born. After a few months, it breaks away. Almost every other type of turtle has a beak their entire life.”
“Why do Green Turtles lose their hook?” asked Caprina.
“The hook is used for tearing meat. Green Turtles are herbivores.”
Sr. Vasquez stopped at the other end of the room and grabbed two plastic tubs from the stack in the corner. He handed one to each of his children.
"What are these for?" asked Paolo.
"Fill the bottom with baby turtles. We're going to release them today."
Paolo kneeled down and grabbed a turtle in each hand and carefully placed them in the tub. He repeated the process until the bottom was covered with turtles. Their fins flapped about as they crawled back and forth over each other.
"Is this enough?" he asked.
"About twice as many," said his father.
Paolo filled the tub as his father requested. Turtles flipped and turned as they crawled over each other’s backs. After he was finished, he showed his father again. Sr. Vasquez nodded.
“It looks like everyone is ready,” said Sr. Vasquez. He led the children back to the shore.
“We’ll drop them here on the beach.”
Sr. Vasquez tipped his bucket sideways and gently shook the turtles out of the tub. As soon as they spilled onto the beach, the turtles knew what to do. They paddled their way along the sand, headed towards the sea. When each wave came in, the turtles rolled in the foamy surf.
“Papa, they’re never going to make it!” said Paolo.
“Of course they will. Turtles have been doing this for thousands of years without our help.”
“I always worry about them, though,” added Caprina.
“If it will make you feel better, you can take them further out to sea,” said Papa.
Caprina kneeled down beside the army of tiny turtles. She grabbed her shirt just as she had done earlier. As she gathered the turtles, waves pushed them this way and that, making it hard to gather the babies. She grabbed what she could and took them into the surf. Paolo did the same. They each only collected a small amount of the turtles.
“There you go, my little babies,” said Caprina.
The turtles plopped into the surf and quickly swam underwater, avoiding the current. They tumbled around each time a wave spilled onto the beach.
The turtles plunged downward into the tidal currents. The outgoing water pushed the turtles back to the surface. The outgoing water was called undertow. As waves rolled into the beach, the undertow was responsible for taking the water back to the sea. Paolo could feel the forces of the undertow pushing against his ankles.
By the time they returned to the beach, all the turtles had made their way to the sea.
“I guess you’re right, papa,” said Caprina.
“About what?”
“The turtles didn’t need our help to get to sea.”
“Maybe they didn’t need it, but they sure used the help. The quicker they get to sea, the better chance they have to survive.”
“Papa, you always know the right thing to say,” said Caprina with a smile.
“I do? Then let’s see if I can get this next suggestion right.” Sr. Vasquez put his hands on his waist and looked into the sun.
“What is it, Papi?”
“I was thinking it sure would be a good time for a break,” he said.
He walked down the beach with a child at each side. A small vending cart sat just beyond the bait-house. Sr. Vasquez got in line and waited.
“What are we getting?” asked Paolo.
“Pan de maiz con dulce de leche,” said his father.
“Ahh, yes,” said Caprina. She had been treated to this before. Paolo had eaten the sweet corn bread before. He had also tasted the sweetened chocolate milk syrup on his ice cream. This would be his first time enjoying both desserts together.
The vendor worked quickly as he did everything himself. He pulled the muffin tins from the oven and dumped the pan de maiz on the counter. After they cooled, he placed them in a Styrofoam bowl and ladled the syrup on top and added a spoon.
Pan de maiz means cornbread in Spanish. In Costa Rica, though, cornbread is made with a cup of sugar and grated cinnamon sticks. Ticos eat pan de maiz for breakfast or dessert. With the sweet dulce de leche, the cornbread tasted like a caramel-covered donut.
Caprina found a bench beneath a patch of leafy almond trees. Sea breezes blew over the waves and up the beach. As Paolo eased back into the bench, the breeze cooled his face.
“Ah, la Pura Vida,” said Sr. Vasquez.
“Si, la Pura Vida,” repeated Caprina.
Indeed it was the ‘pure life’, thought Paolo. It was good just to sit under the almond trees with his father and sister. As he ate his snack, Paolo leaned over and watched the hermit crabs crawling over rotten almond shells laying on the ground.
Paolo dropped a bite of pan de maiz on the ground. The hermit crabs scurried over the almonds and fought over the crumbs. They reminded Paolo of the turtles. ‘How wonderful it might be to own a crab or a turtle,’ he thought.
“Papi, could I have a pet?”
“Why do you want to own a pet? How do you think animals feel trapped in a cage?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I think the best place for an animal is in their own home.”
“What about the turtles and crocodiles you keep in cages at the Nature Reserve?”
“We keep those animals in cages because they would be unsafe in the wild.”
“I just think it would be nice to have a terrarium with a turtle.”
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll see if you can volunteer here at the Nature Reserve. Then, you can visit the turtles whenever you want.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Paolo. He really didn’t want to work – he just wanted a pet.
“I’ll ask the director,” said father, “in the meantime, we’d better get going. You still need to return the canoe and I need to clean up the turtle pens.”
They returned to the beach where the red canoe waited. Paolo put on his life vest. Sr. Vasquez secured their buckles and laces before sending the children on their way.
After Paolo sat down, Caprina pushed off and away they went. They paddled quickly through the canals, making their way back to the canoe livery. When they arrived, Sr. Vasquez was waiting near the passenger ferry.
He had a coil of garden hose over one shoulder and a small bag labeled ‘seed’ under the other.
“What are we growing?
“Birds,” said Sr. Vasquez.
“You must be joking,” said Caprina, “What are you really growing?”
“Birds,” said Sr. Vasquez.
“You can’t grow birds. Birds are born.”
Caprina heaved a sigh and said nothing more the whole way home. Paolo’s curiosity, on the other hand, was getting the best of him.
As Paolo rode home on the ferry, he tore a finger-sized hole in one corner of the bag. He dug a pinch of seeds from the bag and looked at them. Sunflower seeds, oatmeal flakes, and kernels of corn spilled out of the bag.Paolo smiled the rest of the way home. Nothing could be sweeter than the pure life – except maybe the excitement of knowing Papi’s secret to growing birds.