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In 1964, an opportunity developed for our family -- twelve in number: eight boys, two girls, and Mom and Dad -- to go to a foreign country, Costa Rica. We lived in Nicoya, a remote town on the Nicoyan Peninsula, where my husband trained local people to operate and maintain road-building equipment. Our family not only coped with living there, but thrived during those two years. Some close calls we encountered took our breath away. The sorrow we felt at the loss of our new baby girl was balanced by the love shown us by the local families. Our children were the true ambassadors to Costa Rica: they brought students home who wished to learn English, they brought teachers who needed letters from friends translated, and they were my interpreters, for they learned Spanish more quickly than I. In writing this book, I fell in love with my husband all over again: a wonderful experience.