just one of the beautiful dawns
that could make living in Santa Cruz worth remembering. In those
days more than a quarter of a century ago this city in eastern
Bolivia was an unpaved frontier on the edge of a vast vanishing
jungle. Missionaries, local preachers, often moonlighting as
teachers, physicians and nurses arose each day committed to reach
out to pioneer settlers with the Gospel, highlighted by arts of
health and learning. While Jayne got the children ready for
school, I grabbed the makings of a lunch, then headed for the
jeep.The schedule included picking up Augusto Roman, the Bolivian education supervisor, to travel some fifty miles north, visit several farmsteads, and hold church committees and teachers’ planning sessions.
We were to end the day at a charge conference some five miles east of the last one-room schoolhouse. The better traveled road made a Y on which we took the left fork. I had previously explored a lumber track that crossed the top of the Y. As the birds began to seek their nests we headed into the bush for our last assignment.
Then, naturally, that best-laid plan ran into the unexpected. Surrounded by thick jungle, the jeep suddenly stopped its advance, but surprisingly wouldn’t retreat either. The motor purred reassuringly, but our four wheels were locked. We opened the doors to the neighborhood of twilight mosquitoes, looked about, checked under the hood, swatted at the swarm, while puzzlement creased our brows.
Finally, Augusto saw that we were straddling a fallen log; the under bolts had hung on some of the holes in the motacu palm tree. We actually had to jack the car as dark doubled the trouble. It took both of us jumping on the log to dislodge the bolts and then drag it from under the chassis. When we finally reached the small church, Pastor David Torres and family had turned in for the night. That charge conference has yet to come to order.
You have noticed, I am sure, that we best remember trips where something unusual happened. I have just returned from a visit to Bolivia, including the new metropolis of Santa Cruz. My trips always set aside time to indulge my hobby of fossil hunting. When I tote up all the results, I may remember this trip for a lucky find. In La Paz I acquired the small head of a trilobite that is skewed like someone with facial paralysis, including an eye at half wink. The picture and description is bound to appear in a scientific paper shortly.