Costa Rica Living: An Odd and Graceful Package – September 17, 2006

Almost eight years ago, I decided to sell the farm and move to Costa Rica. It was an easy decision and a difficult one.

I’ve moved twenty times in my life. Each time I’ve dragged my chairs, kitchen gadgets, sheets, and life to a new apartment or house. And, I carried with me hope, dreams for a fresh start. After the 18th or 19th move, I became suspicious of hope and wondered if I’d donated it to the Goodwill with my old sweaters.

In those twenty previous moves, I’d stayed close to home. Now, I was moving 5,000 miles away – far away from where I’d always parked my bike and stored my shovel. My move to Costa Rica recycled hope and gave me the chance to learn how to live, in the moment, for the first time.

Boxes and boxes full

In order to ship all our belongings to Costa Rica, we acquired mounds and mounds of boxes, pounds of bubble wrap, and yards of tape.

Customs in Costa Rica required a list of every item in each box. So, every sock, every pan, each book had to be written on a list. Where to start? I wandered around the house. How would I ever get all this into boxes? The books – I started with the books.

I pulled each book off the shelf and ran a cloth over it, wiping away the dust. I fanned the pages and smelled the paper. I debated on throwing out my copy of 1984, the cover eaten by a previous dog of mine, but I packed it next to Animal Dreams. I closed the box, wrapped it ten times with tape and labeled it #1.

Box number 129 contained: a moose oven mitt, a fish candle, four boxes of photographs, a bag of unopened underwear, three boxes of paper clips, and a dog brush. I wrote #129 on top in black marker. It was the last box.

The Snow Cometh

It was cold the day I left. I returned a few blankets and pillows I borrowed from my sister and gave her all my plants. The car waited for me, packed and ready to leave. I walked up and down the halls of my home for the last time.

The cat was hiding – she was not fond of traveling. Her favorite place to hide was under the stairs. I hammered at a floor board with a metal pipe. I knelt upside down and spotted her long furry tabby tail. I pinched the tip of her tail and dragged her as her claws tried to cling to the unfinished wood.

I replaced the step and walked upstairs; the empty rooms seemed so big. I rubbed my hand against the brown and gold wallpaper. The cat dug her claws into my shoulder. I left, locking the door and leaving the key under the mat for the new owners. I looked at the Mississippi river which ran before me; a tow boat floated by. I inhaled. It smelled like winter.

A Final Thought

I believe there is a place for everyone, that place we belong. I don’t believe Costa Rica is the answer to everyone’s prayer, but it isn’t a bad place to give life a whirl. When I packed that first box, what I didn’t know, was that I would embark on a journey with a tiny little country full of more grace, and oddities, than I could have imagined.

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Written by Susan Carmichael, who is a freelance writer living in Costa Rica. She has developed several education curriculums for children and adults. She has also taught journalism. Susan’s website is Mother Jungle, she has produced and hosted radio programs and documentaries in Costa Rica including a short story program called “In the Moment” and an hour long interview program focused on the issues of women called “A Womans Voice”.

Andrew Makarik

to@welovecostarica.com

Andrew Makarik is the main editor of WeLoveCostaRica, a fan of this sunny country. He is also a loving husband and a has a lovely daughter. By being a devoted family man and the biggest Costa Rica fan, he wants to make more people feel at home there. WeLoveCostaRica unites people and helps them find new home or a new travel destination. This website is a friendly community where everyone can find not only information, but also new friends and travel pals. Andrew is also passionate about IT and programming, so he himself maintains a friendly atmosphere in this cozy environment of WeLoveCostaRica.com.