Art Peekel

If one can, toucan, right? I don’t believe I just wrote that. The Devil must have made me do it. My apologies to all and especially to Alan G., the Great Punster from RMHS. The subject of this entry, coincidentally, is toucans. And more...!
My neighbor Noble, he’s my landlady’s stepson, was over the other afternoon. He stopped by to use my house phone. His was out of order. It’s not so uncommon, he assured me. They’ve had electricity in this area for only ten years or so.
While we were chatting he suddenly said, “Do youhear that?”
Well, considering that I hear new sounds virtually every minute of the day and night I said,“What ?”
“That loud sound of birds?”
I wasn’t at all sure which sounds he was referring to because some birds down here make sounds unlike birds I’ve ever heard anywhere else in all my worldly travels. For example, there’s a bird that makes a sound like someone loudly breaking a branch. Kind of a snapping noise. When I first heard it and was told it was a bird I thought, “No way, man!”
“There must be quite a few of them. Toucans, I’msure!” he announced.
That got me excited. I’d seen only one here and that was at quite a distance during my two-week stay back in April. I’d been hoping to see them; they’re so oddly beautiful with that distinctively large bill.
Then he jumped up and moved quickly to the large window that faces west and pointed. “There! Over there! Yep, they’re toucans.”
I was half a step behind him searching the curtain of trees that combine with bushes and vines of every shape and composition to create a backdrop to my view from every window. He motioned desperately attempting to guide and focus my eyes. No luck. But I began to realize what sound it was he had registered. It was distinct for the high decibels and the rhythmic nature of the song. To me it sounded more like great bull frogs on a hot summer night.
“Do you have binoculars?” he asked.
I proudly replied, “Yes!” as I scurried over to a “dry box.”
Allow me to digress and explain a couple things. The feeling of pride was as the result of a memorable visit to Cabela’s in Kansas City, one of the most interesting sporting goods storea anywhere. If you’ve been there you know exactly what I mean. If you haven’t been, do yourself a favor someday and make the effort even if you have to go out of your way to get there. Mike W., my friend and former RMHS student was the first to tell me about the place. It has not only an enormous selection of merchandize, but also one of the most impressive collections of stuffed animals I’ve ever seen. It truly rivals the Field Museum of National History in Chicago. They are in their natural setting and, what really struck me, in the most realistic “live action” still frames imaginable. The one that stands out in my memory is of lions attacking wildebeest on the African savanna. (Believe me, I’ve been there!) Thanks to my dear friend and former Exeter student John P., who is a minister in the area, who took me to Cabela’s, I was successful in purchasing a superb pair of binoculars at Cabe;a's.
I also want to elaborate on the “dry box.” To say the climate here is rather damp is indeed an understatement. I’m staying only a few hundred yards from the Caribbean Sea and practically in the rainforest, so there’s plenty of moisture in the air at all times. The salt water plays havoc with all sorts of things, including computers, cameras and binoculars. Nobel, a technician at an Internet cafe in Puerto Viejo, mentioned that he’s lucky if a computer lasts three years down here. Cars have it bad too, sort of like in Chicago with the effect of the salt used on the icy roads in winter. Anyway, my landlady has three “dry boxes” in her house. One is to protect her paintings. She’s an accomplished artist who works primarily in water colors and deals with natural themes in Costa Rica. Several of her paintings adorn the walls of my temprary abode. I bought a painting of hibiscuses from her last April and hung it in my dining room back home. Another box is to keep clothes from mildewing. They are considered “dry boxes” because inside each wooden container is an electric heating element that is on constantly to keep the air and contents as dry as possible. I went to the one that houses her computer--where she advised me to put my laptop, camera and binoculars.
Back to the window I went with increased anticipation. Nobel told me where to point them. The binoculars would certainly help. I sometimes wear glasses, but only to see. (That’s what I used to tellmy students).
“I see them! I see them! I see them!” I must have said it at least three times. Playing with the focus brought them into clearer view. “Wow, whatcolors!.” The flaming red rumps and sunburst yellowthroats with the thin red necklace accented the mostly black body and stood out against the emerald green of the forest. And sure enough there were those pronounced bills. What aTechnicolor display! It was like opening to a fullpage photograph of toucans in National Geographic.
“They’re keel bill toucans,” he informed me “but the more popular name arpimd these parts is ‘rainbow bill.’” That was understandable given the array of colors on the bill. I wanted to asked him to spell “keel” so I’d be sure to remember but then it occurred to me that I could look it up in the bird guide book Sarah left for me.
“How many can you count?” he inquired.
“Gee, I don’t know, but there are five just in my field of vision!” I scanned for more. There was some fluttering. Birds flitted from branch to branch, all the time continuing their song fest. I saw others, but it was hard to keep track of them as they relocated on the branches of this single tree. “Why couldn’t they just pose like animal crackers for me?” I joked to myself.
“I think there must be at least ten, maybe twelve!” he ventured. His eyesight was significantly better than mine. And the tree was only 30-40 yards away.
“Is this usual?” I wondered out loud. “I mean do they ordinarily congregate like this? And what’s all the commotion?”
“I’ve never seen anything quite like this,” he admitted. “Sometimes they’ll fly overhead or through the trees but seldom this many of them. They’re not like parrots which fly over the tree tops in rather large numbers.”
Nobel had told me when we first met that he was born and raised in Texas, but started coming down here when he was five years old to visit hisfather who was living on this property. He spent his summers here. About five years ago he and his wife moved down here permanently.
“Something special seems to be going on, that’s for sure!” I added as if that were some sort of brilliant deduction.
“Must be that they’re mating,” he concluded. “Or it just may be they’re excited about the hawk that’s flying high above them. See it over there?” He directed my attention to a patch of sky blue.
“Yea” was all I could say as I pondered the possibilities. I imagined them mating and the hawk swooping down and clutching one of them in it’s deadly talons. I had to say it out loud, “It doesn’t get anybetter than this, Nobel!”
He too was clearly caught up in the moment. Then in a flash of brightly colored feathers and bills they disappeared into the primeval forest. But what a show! It actually lasted ten maybe fifteen minutes. I was struck with awe.
Regrettably I took no photographs because the birds were out of range for my small digital camera. I wished I had brought my Sony Camcorder to zoom in and record the event for all my family, friends and others to see. I felt so honored by Mother Nature to have witnessed this special play on Her magnificent stage. There will be other acts during my stay here to be sure. Other performers at this and other venues. No repeat performances of this particular drama however. I did hear the voice of one lonely toucan yesterday, but never saw it. And today I recognized the imagine of one as it flew high over the house, but it didn’t call out in the way that’s now familiar to me.
While writing these recollections fond memories came to me of my childhood and family excursions to the Lincoln Park Zoo and the Brookfield Zoo. How wonderful it was to see all the animals. They were all there waiting for us whenever we wanted to see them. Most memorable was Bushman, the legendary gorilla who always made me think of “King Kong.” I remember how he would play with a car tire suspended from the roof of his cage. He’s stuffed and on display in the Field Museum now. And I loved to watch the monkeys “monkeying around” in their man made environment. The reptile house was particularly frightening. Thankfully all the creatures were always in a cage, pit or pen of some sort--behind bars or a think glass wall to protect us from them and them from each other. If we were lucky we’d see the keepers feed some of the animals. That was always very special. I don’t think it ever occurred to me then to wonder about the “nature” of a zoo.
I see more clearly now. Most things in this world seem relatively unimportant to me in this time and place. And this place is no zoo!