Turbonada

My back kitchen/dining area this afternoon.

I learn new words best when I associate them with an experience. Today's unforgettable new Spanish word is: turbonada -- a sudden storm or squall.

We are in the midst of a serious dry spell. There were predictions last week of electrical storms with chances of some precipitation, but nothing much happened. Then, today in the midst of a very hot afternoon, thunder rumbled and dark clouds actually appeared.

But what started out as a welcome afternoon thundershower quickly escalated into something more. As lights dramatically flickered I hurried around the house unplugging appliances. Not long after that, I left the shelter of my bedroom in an attempt to secure a back kitchen door that was banging after being wrenched open by hurricane-force gusts. When I entered the kitchen area, I discovered that some light-weight rattan dining room furniture had scooted several feet across the floor and mosquito screens had been blown in.

Two large potted coconut palms which live outside on the patio had blown over and had their tops lying inside the dining area. The wind made a clean sweep of the kitchen counters closest to the open door; everything was on the floor. Rain pelted horizonally through the back of the house. Artwork from the walls lay on the flooded floor.

Large fallen branches fill my neighbor's back patio

Howling winds uprooted trees and downed power lines. An old ramon tree lost large branches, leaving the neighbor's walled patio looking like an Easter basket full of fake green plastic grass, waiting for colored eggs. A metalwork trellis, which I had built along the top of my garden wall, failed completely and fell, carrying with it a couple hundred pounds of vines and leaves, on top of my flower garden. Many plants in the ground and many of those in pots ended up crushed or lying horizontally.

The garden plants and shrubs suffered the worst.

My vented skylights leaked. As soon as the lightning stopped I climbed to the roof and discovered why: the downspouts were plugged with branches and leaves, and my flat roof was covered in more than six inches of water. This began to drain as soon as I had cleared the debris.

During the storm, I'd heard hail the size of peas pelting the doors and windows. Afterward, I discovered many garden plants had their leaves shredded. Bits and pieces of this blender-residue debris is sort of wet-pasted all over the exterior of the house and on window screens.

Walking down the block later, I noticed one cable down on the street, and intersections flooded. I was told that falling branches have damaged a lot of cars. My friend Jonathan out at Hacienda San Antonio Xpakay called to report that his kitchen's sheet metal roof had blown away.

I suffered little real loss from the turbonada. A young palm tree was uprooted, but I suspect that once propped up it will recover. The metalwork that was damaged will cost me a bit to repair, but not that much, really. Most of the plants will survive. The house is messy with blown leaves and dirt, but in a day or two will be presentable. The pool is murky and full of garbage, but a couple hours of elbow grease and a few dollars worth of chemicals will take care of that.

I guess today was a good practice, in its small way, for hurricane season. Now I have a few new ideas about things to be taken care of before we get a real storm one of these days.

As I began cleaning up with squeegee and mop, I took time out to buy some beer and order a pizza. It arrived late. However, although it was a bit cold, the pizza tasted good. 

Nature: Fertility

It's a cold and snowy winter up north. That makes it the dry season in Yucatán, and although the countryside can be brown and dusty, commonly we see flowers, particularly flowering trees, in bloom right now. Many of these trees have lost their leaves, making the colors really stand out. It's a pleasure in this parched season to come upon such an unexpected burst of color.

Of course there is a reason. In a few months, following the dry and hot spring, suddenly Yucatán will be blessed with abundant daily rains. The riot of flowering now means there will be lots of seeds, ripe and ready to sprout, when moister weather conditions give them a better chance to mature. 


In places like the home gardens around Mérida, where many of us water and care for our plants through the winter drought, this can be a season of particular richness.

The bloom at right is a good example. A couple of years ago my neighbor Gilda gave me a couple of sprigs from her "copa de oro," cup of gold plant. On her direction I stuck them in the ground and after that did little but water them occasionally. Last summer, after growing very slowly and apparently investing energy in putting down roots, the copa de oro poured on a burst of speed. The stems are now about four meters, at least twelve feet high, and have begun to flower. This blossom fell to the ground the other day.

The nopal cactus is flowering like crazy, attracting hummingbirds and leaving hundreds of knobby fruits to redden as they mature. If not picked and eaten, the tunas will drop, leaving thousands of seeds in the soil to sprout later in the year. Nopal also regenerates from cuttings. Any piece of nopal that falls to the ground will quickly put down roots and grow.

I am still eating bananas from bunches that matured in January. Even though the birds and zorros, or opossums, got their share, I have eaten my fill of bananas and given lots away. This is the last of the second bunch, stored on the cool floor of the interior patio where they are safe from the animals. These are the best bananas I have ever tasted. I suppose that's because I'm still accustomed to the flavor of store-bought bananas that were picked green. These ripened on the plant. There is an amazing difference.

Way at the back of the patio, the bugambilia and thumbergia have intertwined and rioted so far out of control that I suspect a major intervention will be necessary to re-establish my possession of the corner. I haven't had the heart yet, since they look so great with their lavender and hot pink flowers mixed. I'll cut them back before the rains start in June. Meanwhile I'll cede temporary title to the back corner to these rowdy plants in exchange for the beautiful vista.

Also in back, not far from the occupied corner, the naranja agria, sour orange, tree is in bloom, dropping its white petals to float on the surface of the pool. This used to annoy me a bit because the petals are tiny and cost me some work to clean up, but I have come now to appreciate their snowy froth on the water in the morning. The aroma of orange blossoms gives the pool area a wonderful atmosphere. Next fall the oranges will go into a variety of Yucatecan recipes and make refreshing drinks.

There are many, many other native and introduced plants that blossom at this time. One of the locals, a hennequen plant in my patio, pushed up its baseball-bat-thick spike and commenced to produce about thirty large bunches of pale flowers a couple of months ago. After flowering the plant produces hundreds of tiny, fully-formed plantlets, which fall to the ground to find soil in which they can grow. The mother plant will now die, hopefully leaving many progeny to replace it. I will gather some and root them in containers, for later planting when I have room.

Meanwhile we continue to enjoy cool, flower-scented nights in Yucatán. But not for long. Before the rainy season comes we must endure the worst of the year's heat. The temperatures are rising, and will peak out in May. At some point in late May or June regular rains will cool things a little and saturate the soils. That is when a lot of the seeds that right now are being produced will begin to germinate and plant growth will accelerate dramatically.