04/17/2026
(part 1 of 2) “Stories From the Trails: Deb’s Story”
“A few years ago, in my early fifties, I found myself in a Costa Rican rainforest, surrounded by all its awe-inspiring beauty—the colourful flowers and leaves, the sounds of frogs and howler monkeys, the smell of fresh rainfall.
I sat on the back deck of my bungalow in the rainforest and watched the birds, brought close to my hammock by slices of banana skewered on a stick. There were at least six different species that morning, all of them glistening with metallic blues and greens, lemon yellows and blood reds. Deep, dense colours, perfectly patterned and symmetrical. Science, sure, but that day the colours seemed more like magic.
I wept, and felt my heart expand with gratitude. I was a small-town girl with a chronic illness, told she would not live past twelve, sitting in a rain forest in Costa Rica, listening to the singsong of birds. I sat still and thought of how lucky I had been year after year, thanks to my relatively good health.”
