Life Among The Clouds

By Micaela Wells

I love grass. Most people don’t seem to have strong feelings one way or another, but there is nothing I like better than the feeling of Wisconsin’s green, springy turf beneath my bare feet from spring to fall. Though I enjoyed my family’s many vacations around the western and southern States when I was a child, the most joyful part of each trip was returning home and once again feeling soft grass underfoot.

When I chose to study abroad in Costa Rica this semester, I knew I would be leaving my beloved grass behind. I was quite willing to exchange it for the beautiful biodiversity and cultural immersion afforded by OTS’s tropical biology course, and I thoroughly enjoyed our class time outdoors. Be it tropical dry forest or messy mangrove swamp, all habitats have their charm.

Then we arrived at Cuerici, and I came home. Don Carlos’s little lodge is cozy, beautiful, and seems beyond time entirely – it at once is brand new and completely familiar to me, as is Don Carlos and his warm family. The bright gurgle of water from his rainbow trout farm is ever-present, the happy farm dogs come and go, and the hot chocolate is the best I’ve ever had. And the grass is thriving.

Tropical montane forests are much like Wisconsin forests, apart from a few novel adornments. As elevation increases in the tropics, the plant adaptations required to deal with the wind and chill bear increasing similarity to those adaptations found in temperate forest plants; smaller growth forms conserve energy, hairy or waxy leaves protect against water loss, and clustering conserves warmth and affords protection against winds. This bears out in the literature; plant families found in tropical montane environments are often more closely related to temperate plants than to their tropical kin.

Today, we hiked in an oak forest comprised of Quercus costaricensis instead of the Quercus velutina I know, but the shiny alternating leaves, as well as the thick crunch of their fallen brethren underfoot, were as recognizable as ever. It was reminiscent of home, save for the bright red epiphytic bromeliads that adorned the trees—sustained by the mists of passing clouds—and thick stands of bamboo that crowded together in the forest understory. The same pattern was noticeable around the lodge itself; in between the familiar alder trees and blackberry plants stood countless other tropical species that I had never seen before. I cannot wait for those, too, to become familiar.

When I left home this semester, I could not wait to seek out adventure. I was excited to see the strange and different, but I have fallen in love with a place that is more home than not. I appreciate the efforts that Don Carlos has taken to preserve the unique montane forests on his lands. He has struck a very rare balance between sustainable, eco-friendly farming, and managing his forested land in a fashion that promotes the greatest overall preservation of biodiversity.

I’m excited for the next stop of OTS’s program, but for now I’m going to eke every possible bit of enjoyment from life in this nostalgic fairytale. There is the odd viper, but I suppose nowhere is perfect.