How not to throw an armadillo over a moat
Tales from the eco-farm, where no live animals were hurt for the purposes of this story
It’s difficult to know where to begin with this week, but armadillo disposal seems as good a place as any. I could see what was going to happen in the split second before it all went wrong… in my mind there is a freeze frame with Dave launching the sadly deceased off his spade – not quite high enough to make it over the water – the look on his face pure misery as we both knew what was coming next.
Then the frame unfreezes and I hear the almighty splash, bubbles as the armadillo sinks towards the bottom of the five metre-deep moat. The silence. “Oh shit,” and “I should have flung him by the tail like we said.” (I caught it all on video, of course. DM me if you want to see it, probably best not to ruin anyone’s lunch unsolicited.)
Today’s newsletter come to you from somewhere near Aguas Dulces in north-eastern Uruguay, where we are staying on a sort of eco-farm. This all happened through Workaway, which if you haven’t heard of it is a website that connects willing travellers with local families, farmers, gauchos, or other similar people around the world who could use a bit of help with their land/business. Generally speaking, hosts provide backpackers like us with free accommodation and meals in return for work of some kind and cultural exchange.
I signed up because we were looking for a way to see a bit more of the ‘real’ Uruguay, away from the more touristy coastal towns. There’s so little information about Uruguay’s vast interior in the guidebooks, and it was difficult to know where to stay that would be both accessible by bus and worth the trip, given this is not a cheap country to stay in.
Fede’s farm is our first Workaway experience and I think we’ve lucked out. He’s interesting, warm and welcoming, as are his many animals. But for something like this, you really have to not mind getting a bit grubby. There are cows and horses and dogs and an undetermined number of cats, not to mention a couple of snakes and all manner of other wild woodland creatures – including armadillos. All a bit of a pace change from the city-hopping of recent weeks.
The farm (which is more of a smallholding, albeit on 28 hectares) is the project of an Argentinian artist called Federico, who moved out here with his wife 15 years ago. They hand-built their huge, barn-style house with wood (whole eucalyptus tree trunks), clay and thatch, had a couple of daughters, and have been managing the land around them with the help of Workaway volunteers ever since.
It’s beautiful here, and truly wild. We are surrounded by sub-tropical forest and the garden gets all sorts of unexpected visitors (Fede set up a night camera once and saw a Margay wild cat!) – which is how we ended up with the armadillo situation.
After spending a couple of days with us here and showing us the ropes, Fede left us alone to house-sit while he went back to Argentina for a few days for a wedding. Everything was running smoothly. I did wake up to a lot of barking in the night, but didn’t think too much of it – the dogs sleep outside and do a good impression of guardians, warning us about every tiny sound real and imagined. But then we woke up the next morning to find a dead armadillo on the porch, and three guilty looking dogs.
Sure, I’d been brought dead things by pets before, but nothing quite this robust. We messaged Fede, who said what he’d usually do in this situation (usually?!) was put the armadillo in a tall tree so the vultures could take it. Alternatively, he said, we should throw it across the moat, which runs around the property as a fire break. That way the dogs wouldn’t get at it and it would be far enough away to have a peaceful after-death.
It wasn’t that Dave wanted to be the one to fling it exactly, but let’s face it: no man wants to have to admit to his friends that his girlfriend was the one to dispose of the armadillo carcass. So we got a shovel to carry the poor thing across the field and down to the water. I do remember Dave saying it was “surprisingly heavy to carry…” and you know the rest.
My immediate panic was that in dropping the armadillo in the water, it would start to infect the nearby swimming pond, or the underground drinking water supply. Or even if it didn’t, I’ve seen enough crime dramas to know what happens to dead bodies after they sink. We had to get it out, which meant finding a way to get across the moat.
After some pacing and discussions over which was the narrowest bit of water, Dave took a running jump over to the other side, and I performed a heroic hurling of the rake and spade over to join him. Lucky that I’d filmed the whole bloody episode so I could watch the film back to work out where exactly it had fallen in. Miraculously, Mr Armadillo hadn’t rolled too far towards the deepest point, and Dave was able to wrench him out and carry him into the woods for a semi-respectful send off.
The past week has really rammed home just how persistent nature can be. And, I suppose, the perils of living in a wood and clay house in the forest. I am accepting of spiders, because they eat the flies and mosquitos, but it’s still a surprise to find ones as big as your hand just sitting at the foot of your bed.
We patched up the bottom of our bedroom door one night after a (very little) snake kept appearing through the gaps. Fede had already warned us about a much larger resident snake in the garden, which meant we weren’t too freaked out when it appeared one afternoon, about an hour after we’d finished the armadillo exercise, while Dave was patching up some of the veranda. I sent a picture to Fede to be sure. “That one’s friendly, not venomous,” he assured us, “he’s the type who just strangles his prey to death so no worries.” Great.
The weather has been seriously hot and humid, and we’ve had a few storms at night. Sometimes it makes the house feel all the more cosy. But a couple of times it’s freaked us both the fuck out.
The power went out around 9pm on Saturday, and we scrambled to find some candles to sit with in the dark, eating our lukewarm dinner. Without wifi or phone signal, I realised I couldn’t even message Fede to ask if it was a local issue or just the house. What even was the emergency number for Uruguay, by the way?…
Shuffling sounds outside caused the dogs to lose their minds, and I sent Dave out to check what was out there. Several pairs of eyes reflected back in the torchlight… cows. The neighbour’s cows had found their way into the garden. Still, it didn’t stop us from spending the next two hours of darkness telling each other exactly how much every aspect of our situation was adding up to the plot of a horror film.
But the real enemies in this place are almost invisible, and much more difficult to fight. Tiny red biting devil ants are taking over the building… they live in the thatch and fall in your clothes and your hair and your cats. It doesn’t matter how much I sweep up or vacuum, the place is covered in them. And to make matters worse, they are pretty much exactly the same size and colour as my freckles. What are the odds?
The most important job we have been doing this week is looking after these tiny little fluff bundles, who we rescued on our first night here at the farm! I’m completely obsessed and could watch them bouncing around all day, which makes it very difficult to get anything productive done. But more kitten content next time – I’ve already rambled on too long for one week.
Stories from the (not so ancient) archives
Argentina is famous for at least two things: its steak, and its diabolical economic situation. But my lord, those steaks were cheap. Here’s a blog I wrote back in November, mainly about feeling guilty about all of the above.
So glad I got to read the full armadillo story
Excellent inaugural post Pellsy! I'd be up for seeing the video btw