Some jungle dwellers are aware of days, weeks, months and have added the understanding of these outside elements to their world view. For other more remote jungle folks the concept of the days, weeks, and months is unknown. They live their lives by the change of the seasons. But no matter if December means just a change of seasons or if it includes an understanding of the holidays it’s a big deal for the jungle folk.
All the rivers and streams are confined within their banks for good till April or May of the next year. The sand bars will be out till the same time. Now the two main species of turtles will begin laying in earnest. That is great news for the folks living along the bigger streams and rivers. Turtle egg hunters will be out every morning, each dugout canoe load of searchers hoping their’s will be the first one to the turtles favorite laying spots.
Low water means better hunting and fishing. Better hunting because thirst forces the animals out to the banks of the streams where hunters are active day and night hoping to bag a tapir, a capybara, a paca or a caiman. The several species of wild turkeys that live along the river banks will now be singing every morning leading the careful hunter right to the tree they happen to be roosting in. And how great the fishing becomes! The fish are now all concentrated in the rivers and lagoons instead of cruising around in the flooded rain forrest. Fish can be caught on hook and line in the daytime and speared at night. All things being equal, night hunting is probably the preferred way to hunt for the jungle dweller. He paddles his dugout oh so quietly along the river bank hunting dinner for his hungry family back home. The night is full of dangers and the hunter can quickly become the hunted. There are caimans and anacondas about. Poisonous snakes abound. The hunters spotlight finds them hanging from the vines their eyes glistening white against the dark of the jungle. Night wasps love to swam to the light and will nail a sleepy hunter but good. Imagine yourself paddling ever so quietly along a jungle stream near the river bank, your ears straining to place the direction of the tapir’s whistle you’ve just heard. You try not to make even the slightest of sounds as you glide toward the spot on the bank you’ve chosen to climb out and try and whistle the tapir in. And it will be just at that moment the water all around your canoe literally explodes with dozens of fish rocketing straight out of the water. Some of these fish will clobber you before falling back into the water and always but always some will land in your canoe and turn your quite approach to the bank into the biggest commotion you’ve hard in your life. It’ll be wonpity ,clompity, flopity, bangity, wapity, and on and on. If the tapir was far enough away he may not have heard the commotion but if he was close by he’ll be long gone. And another angle on the rocketing fish is that if you get smashed in the face by a two foot peacock bass you won’t forget it for a long time. Actually hunters have gotten seriously injured by these spooked fish.
If you live far inland, away from the bigger rivers and streams and you move about by foot on the jungle trails you love December (you just know it as the real beginning of the dry season) because the walking and camping out is so much more pleasant. So many jungle fruits are coming into season and the new blossoms on many jungle trees mean the honey harvest will be good. That dry season breeze sweeps over the jungle as well as the rivers and dries things out nicely.
There are so many facets of what December in the jungle means but I want to focus on what December in the jungle meant to our family. It all goes back to my first post about community. Our experience there begins back in 1949 when my parents arrived at a little riverside village on the banks of a midsize river to begin ministry. Eventually my Father moved his family several days travel by dugout canoe further into the rain forrest to the site which would become a Tribal center for three diverse Indigenous groups. In the course of time Diana’s family moved there for ministry as well. Her Father Russ taught the tribal men outboard motor mechanics and was the only dentist for days and days travel in any direction. We became good friends with our tribal neighbors. We shared the blessings and difficulties of life together, we laughed and cried together. My brother Joel and my father Robert died there and are buried there.
Years passed and Diana and I were married. More years passed and the time came in our lives when our there kids were grown and gone, either doing ministry themselves or preparing for ministry. And now in December at Christmas time the kids were coming home to the jungle where we still ministered. What an indescribably exciting and joyous time! All the complex travel arrangements and details were behind us and now the kids were on the final leg of the journey home for Christmas in the little one engine airplane. Note. In the beginning days there was no airplane, all travel was by boat or trail. We would eagerly follow the one and one half hour flight as the pilot reported in every time he passed one of the familiar land marks along the way. Finally you could hear the plane and then you could see it and then they were on the ground and then came the hugs and more hugs. As we’d walk hand in hand out to the house on the river bank we’d all be talking at once and making plans for the next few weeks we’d be at home together for Christmas. How good it was to be together for Christmas. Some days we’d just hang out and enjoy being together. The kids got to spent time with their Tribal friends. Some afternoons we’d motor up river, jump over the side and let the current take us back home. At night we might motor over to one of the now huge sand bars and walk marveling at God’s handiwork in the night sky. We’d go fishing and we’d usually bag a turkey for our Christmas Day feast. I can’t forget to mention that most of every day we spent working together, Indians and missionaries on some project for the community.
How soon our time together would come to an end. How fast the days passed and it would be time for the kids to leave. But even as the kids flew away in that little airplane we were all thinking of next year’s Christmas when we’d all be together again at home for Christmas.
I can’t wait for that final home going, that for which we were created, where we’ll be forever at home, living at home in that perfect community with our Creator forever and forever! Amen and Amen. Rev. 22:20b “Surely I come quickly. Amen, Even so come Lord Jesus”.
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