Flashes of Copper

In the earliest hours of morning, Paolo was disturbed from his sleep. He jumped to his feet and rushed to his window to peer at the world outside. Birds of all shapes and sizes pecked at the birdseed he and his father planted on the ground the previous afternoon.
“Hello little birds,” said Paolo.
“Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!” they chirped.
Paolo slipped into his bathrobe and sandals and went outside. Paolo knelt beside the birds, watching them hop through the grass. When he reached out his hand, they fluttered this way and that. After a few moments, thought, they returned to the birdseed.
Sr. Vasquez heard birds chattering and knew his plan worked. He joined his son on the patio, holding a warm cup of coffee between his hands.
“Yigűirro,” said Sr. Vasquez.
“Isn’t that Costa Rica’s national bird?” asked Paolo.
Sr. Vasquez nodded.
A group of clay-colored birds, each about as big as a fist, gathered around the birdbath. They pecked at the birdseed spread on the ground. Sr. Vasquez whistled softly. One bird turned his head and whistled back. His call was soft and sweet. Sr. Vasquez called back to the thrush, singing a duet with the bird.
“Here comes the rainy season,” said Sr. Vasquez.
“Why do you say that?”
“Whenever you hear the yigűirro’s call, that means the rainy season is just around the corner.”
The few clouds that hung overhead were white and puffy. The sky was clear and blue like the sea. Paolo gave a thoughtful look at his father.
“Just wait and you’ll see,” said his father.
Paolo didn’t have to wait, though. He knew all about the upcoming rainy season. He’d seen it arrive every April his entire life.
Unlike the northern Americas, April brought more than spring showers. Costa Ricans had two seasons: Verano (summer) and Invierno (Winter). Winter began in April and ended in October. Also, Costa Ricans never experienced snow or ice. Their winters included only heavy rains.
The Costa Ricans also called it the Green season because of the rich green foliage growing throughout the rainy winter months.
“Invierno can wait. Let’s enjoy the birds while they’re here.”
Sr. Vasquez smiled at his son as they watched the thrushes hopping around on their patio.
One particular yigűirro flew back and forth between the garden and the trees near the cliff. She transported seeds to his nest in the tree.
“She must be feeding the babies,” said father.
“That’s a lot of work,” said Paolo.
“It’s not any different than anyone else. A parent provides for its child, whether it’s a hermit crab, a turtle, or even little yigűirro.”
“I’ve noticed she keeps dropping seeds. It would be easier if she just took what she could carry,”
“If she did that, then she wouldn’t be doing her other job.”
“Her other job?”
“She’s a seed transporter,” said Sr. Vasquez, “When she drops a seed in the grass, it may take root and grow. It’s just another way of the world.”
Paolo sat with his father, silently watching yiguirro the seed transporter. She was as busy as a bee. She had to be. Her chicks squawked in their nest, high up in the Achiote tree.
“What are you two doing?” asked Caprina from the doorway.
“You should see our garden,” said Sr. Vasquez.
“We grew birds,” added Paolo.
Caprina forced her way between Papi and Paolo as she came out onto the patio. Sure enough, the garden was full of birds.
“You did not. That was birdseed you put on the ground.”
“What better thing to grow birds than birdseed?” said father.
“Papi, that’s not funny,” said Caprina.
“You didn’t ask how we were going to grow them.”
“I’m not going to argue with you. Breakfast is ready whenever you are.”Sr. Vasquez and Paolo went inside and joined Caprina in the kitchen. A platter of pancakes and fried plantains sat in the middle of the table. Still, the kitchen was empty.
“Where are Pilar and Mama?”
“They went to the market,” said Caprina.
“Why didn’t they wait for breakfast?”
“The freshest fruit is sold early in the morning.”
Paolo enjoyed breakfast with his father and Caprina while Pilar and mother scoured the market, searching for the freshest fruits.
Every color of the spectrum and every taste of the tongue were represented in the market, from guava to avocado.
“What do we need?” asked Pilar.
“A little bit of everything,” said mother. She picked through piles of papaya fruit, thumping their outer skins with a finger. She placed the bad ones aside and put the good ones in her canvas tote.
“What is the freshest?” Sra. Vasquez asked the vendor.
“They are all fresh.”
“But what is the freshest?”
“One of the farmers brought an oxcart full of berries in today. I bought bushels of tamarind, blackberries, and raspberries.”
“Let me see what you have,” she said.
The vendor brought a small basket from under the fruit stand. Berries of all colors filled the basket.
“How much for the whole thing?” asked Sra. Vasquez.
“Mama! Why so much?” asked Pilar.
“It’s so fresh and you know the rainy season is just around the corner.”
Sra. Vasquez pulled a few colónes from her change purse and paid for her basket of fruit. As the morning stretched on, people began to fill the market place. Pilar and her mother pushed through the crowds, moving from one stall to another. This hustle and bustle was normal, especially for a weekend.
“What kind of fish would you like for dinner tonight?”
“How about Tilapia?” asked Pilar.
They walked to the fishmonger’s market. The fishmongers were fisherman who sold fresh fish for a living. The market smelled like the sea – fresh fish and saltwater. Fresh fish lined each vendor’s stall. Some even had chickens hanging from meat hooks overhead, ready for purchase.
“Senor, puedo tener dos tilapias, por favor?” asked Sra. Vasquez.
“Absolutamente!” said the vendor. He picked out two fresh fish nd wrapped them in paper for Sra. Vasquez. She put them in the totebag, all alone so they wouldn’t stink up the fresh vegetables or fruit.
“Gracias, Senor.”
“Muchas gracias,” replied the vendor.
Some vendors even sold fresh produce from their oxcarts.
“Perdon me, Senor?”
“Yes?”
“Do you have any yuca?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the vendor.
The old man pulled a yuca from his cart and handed it to Sra. Vasquez for inspection. The yuca looked like a plain brown potato, only longer and corn-cob shaped. It tasted like a potato, too. The thick, starchy flesh was often used for hearty soups or eaten with a piece of steak.
Tonight, however, they’d pair it with fish.
“I’m trying to think if there’s anything else we need,” said Sra. Vasquez.
“Do we have any plantains at home?”
“I’m not sure. Let’s get some just in case.”
They found another oxcart strollign through the market. The vendor was selling bananas, plantain, and pineapples. Pilar picked a bunch of plantain and paid the vendor. She added them to her tote bag before they left for home.
The walk home wasn’t very far – a fifteen minute walk at most. As they headed home, they passed oxcarts on their way to market.
Each oxcart was brightly painted to distinguish it from all others. In fact, artists were well-paid for their work. Painted wheels are one of the truest Costa Rican art forms – some are even displayed in art museums.
To Pilar and Sra. Vasquez, though, it was common to see these brightly painted oxcarts. They passed the oxcarts without a thought except for getting home.
When they finally reached their house, they noticed the yiguirro gathered in their backyard. Sra. Vasquez and Pilar unloaded their groceries.
“Look at all the fresh fruit!” said Caprina. She took a handful of berries and popped them into her mouth.”
“May I have some too?” asked Paolo.
“You can have a few, but I don’t want you spoiling your appetite,” said Sra. Vasquez.
“They’re not for me. They’re for the yiguirro.”
“I noticed all the birds in our backyard. I hope your father understand that he is the one that will have to clean up the bird droppings all over the patio.”
Paolo plucked some berries from the basket and went outside to feed the clay-colored thrushes gathered outside.
As he knelt down next to the birdbath, the birds gathered at his feet.
“Hola, Senora Yiguirro. Te gusta fresas?” he asked the bird as he held a berry in his hand. The yiguirro stretched her neck and plucked the berry from his hand.
She flitted back to her nest with the raspberry firmly grasped in her beak. Her chicks chirped until she fed them. Paolo walked to the edge of the cliff and looked out towards the sea.
“I guess you want to be with your family now,” he said to the birds in the tree.He ate one of the raspberries and then dumped the rest on the ground beneath the Achiote tree. He figured Sra. Yiguirro would fetch the berries soon enough. Afterwards, he went inside and watched television and spent the afternoon with his family, too.