“Watch out for the peppers!” Andrea called from the doorway as I waved my final goodbye to the Gmz workshop participants who had come over for dinner that night. “Oh great,” I sighed heavy, “is that what those are?” I should have known, for while rushing out to open our compound gate, my foot HAD slipped on something…stinkin’ peppers…but, if only they were actual peppers.
You see, when visiting from the U.S. last August, my parents had dragged themselves out of bed at the ghastly hour of 4:30am in order to get an early start on our drive out to Gesas. In those early morning hours, we were loading the car with the final items, mostly our crates of fresh veggies and other delicate goods. On one such trip out to the car my dad announced, “Oops, I think I just stepped on a pepper.” “Uhhh, that’s not a pepper,” I responded from the back of the pick-up. “For whatever reason, the seven ankle-biting mutts that guard our compound each night consider the area just off our porch to be their dumping grounds. It would be best to wash your shoe before you go back in the house.” Indeed, they are stinkin’ peppers!
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