The Bridge

We went on a beautiful hike.  However, this is not a hike that people take for fun around here, they do it out of necessity.  There are very few people in town who have cars... I can name them.  To get anywhere big enough to have a supermarket, bank, clothing, etc., they have to take the bus.  Except you can't just walk out to the street and hop on the bus.  The bus stop is up on the federal highway (across the river).  Walking on the road would take you way out of the way about two miles, not to mention it is narrow and curvy, thus dangerous to walk on.  A ride to the bus stop costs $20 pesos, and then a ride from the bus stop back home would be another $20 pesos, and people only make $150 pesos on the days that there is work, so it's not very feasible.  So, people walk down by our house, down the steep bank, and then cross the river on the bridge.

 

 



 

Some of the steeper parts have stairs etched into the rock.

 

Here is the looking back at the hill once I was at the bottom.  To get a perspective, look up near the smoke at the top of the picture.  That little speck is a man.  Behind him is our house.  All the little brown sticks are mini-cornfields, with the stalks turned down in half so the ear will dry without rotting.  They later cut the ears and pick off the kernels to save for the coming year to make all of their tortilla, tamal, and corn-masa goods which make up a huge portion of their diet.

 

 

Here is the suspension bridge. Papi calls it "Tarzan's bridge."

 

 

And here is the river below it.

 

Before I actually got there, I swore I was going to go on it and take a picture of the river from the middle. But then, I got there.  I wouldn't say I have a fear of heights, but I have no balance, and I'm not exactly a light-weight girl.  In an effort to avoid sudden death, or at least a panic attack, I backed out at the last minute.

 

While waiting for the bridge to be clear so I could get a picture, over a dozen people crossed it, most of them running (and bouncing) and none of them even holding the sides.  Nope, nope, nope.

 

Papi went up the first part but didn't go out over the water.  When he was no more than 14, he would take bags of guajes (they look like beanpods) across and up to the bus where he would take a four-hour bus ride to Tehaucan, Puebla and sell them to the ladies with the market stands, then buy fruits and vegetables, etc. and then bring them back and haul them across and back up to his house.  Alone.

 

I was later talking to one of Papi's aunts and she said that when she was young (about 6), there was only one upper cable and one lower cable, that you had to sidestep on all the way to the other side.  One day her father (Papi's grandfather) was carrying sacks on his front and back and when one started to slip, he didn't think and tried to grab it, losing his balance and falling to the rocks below.  He died later at home, probably from internal bleeding.  Papi said he didn't even know that was how he died and asked how in the world I can get so much information out of people sometimes.  Because I talk, then I listen, and ask lots of questions, and then listen, and think of more questions to ask next time so that they don't get annoyed with me today. :-)

 

 

 

 

The Moving Rock

This is Sofi's natural "I'm excited that I got to be on top of the rock by myself" smile.  A fun photographer's fact: instead of "cheese" (obviously, since "queso" would make you make a duck face), they say "WHISKEY!"  For some reason, that tickled me.

 

Sofi and her cousins, the daughters of Papi's brother.





 

We went to see the "Moving Rock" the other day.  It supposedly weighs around 20 tons but can be rocked back and forth with a finger, however the machines that were brought in to move it were not able to move it from it's site even a centimeter. 

 

 

The legend is that a couple was turned to stone during an "act" of being unfaithful to their spouses.   There are tons of myths and legends, especially when they have been passed down for many years since the indigenous people.  I have learned that just about everything has a "story."  I also have learned that you don't have to believe in order to imagine!

 

Rejas

Anyone that knows Papi, knows that he has an incredible knack for using/transforming what we already have into what we need instead of buying.  Anyone remember the pinball table turned into ribbon rack? I was so sad to have to leave that one in the U.S....

 

In Mexico, anything with any conceivable future use is saved and used again.  It is really pretty amazing.  I will have to take my camera out and collect some pictures.

 

Just for one example, produce around here comes in these wooden crates called rejas.  If you are lucky, you can get your hands on the plastic crates like my Mom uses at her house.  I haven't been that lucky, yet.  

 

A little scrub with some water and bleach if I am going to use it inside, just because I'm a little weird like that...

 

 

Sofi pushing Fatima's crate swing...



Bookshelves and cubbies at the elementary school...

 

Seat for cute babies on the tricycle...

 

And when they get really shabby, as in, a lot of cracked boards or rotted, people that cook outside on brazeros, basically a camping-style cooking fire elevated up on a table, will come buy them for cooking wood.

 

I love me some rejas. I pick out the nicest looking ones each week and keep finding more uses for them! 

Screens

In theory, screens are supposed to keep things out of the house.  However, since we didn't have electricity/fans yet, we needed to get as much air flowing through the house which meant leaving the door open.  Also, with people (and us) working on the house, the door was pretty much constantly open.

 

I don't think the living things around here know quite what to do with windows and screens.  At our house right now, things get in, but can't get out.  Most "windows" around here are just bars, with no glass.



 

 

Miguel Angel showing Sofi the bird he caught in the house while painting, before letting it go.

 



 

 

This is another guy that I find often in the house, going around and around the window trying to get out.  Around here they call it a "Cuija" (KWEE-ha).  It's skin is almost clear, allowing you to see it's veins.  It also makes a really loud kissing sound... or the sound you make when you suck your tongue against the roof of your mouth to coax an animal to come to you.  It is so strange, it makes me laugh whenever I hear it.

 

Of course, my first questions is "Does it bite?" and "Is it poisonous?" Many people kill them, because they crawl on the ceiling and "if they fall into your food on the stove, it will make you sick."  Well, I cover my food on the stove anyways to save gas, so I guess I am safe.  They eat insects, spiders, and even scorpions.  That's all I needed to hear! Little white guy, you are welcome to stay!

 

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving to all my family and friends in the U.S.! Today looks just like any other day in Mexico, no mention at all of turkeys.  There are turkeys that just roam around my yard a lot, though.  I keep telling him he wouldn't survive in S.C. like that!  But, despite the delicious feast, we are always thankful for all of the blessings and mercies we receive every day.

 

 

It has been 'drizzling' for the past few days so I couldn't go out in the middle of the yard to find signal like I normally do.  It was a non-stop, strange, drizzle.  It floated toward us just like snow does in the headlights at night, so much so that I opened my window to check. Nope, it was warm.

Yesterday and today, it has been "cold" enough to where if you wanted to wear a long-sleeved shirt, you could, without burning up.  I am, as usual, in a short-sleeved shirt and flip flops.

 

We have now made four all-day trips to the big city to the equivalent of the DMV office.  I will never, ever, complain about the SCDMV again.  It now looks like pure efficiency.  Every time they asked us for a new paper or gave us a new stamp, we were sent down street to the copy shop to bring back so many copies and wait again.  Got sent to the bank to pay one of the fees, come back with the receipt, where they stapled it to our paper and said "bring back one copy."  Ahh! You should have told me to go pay at the bank and bring back one copy of the receipt, all in one step!! But it's okay, all done now, we can now drive legally.

 

Yesterday, something strange-to-me and normal-to-them happened.  I have never been to a Mexican funeral (or the night of the death when they stay up all night at the family's house, a really long "wake"), but I have heard stories from Papi. I realize that Mexicans treat death very differently, but I still was not prepared for this, though.  While we were waiting in the "DMV" office, everyone gets quiet and Papi pulls me back away from the desk and towards the chairs, says "shhh" to Sofi and tells me to keep standing.  Ohhhhhh kayyyy?  In comes men rolling a coffin, and with a large group of family crying and recording on their cell phones.  Now, I'm really confused.  A BODY??  All of the workers get up without saying anything and follow the family to a back room.  We could hear some talking and then clapping, talking then clapping, and then everyone came back out with the coffin after about half an hour.  Papi tugged my shirt to stand up again.  Shushing Sofi was pointless because she kept saying "What is that?! What are they doing?! Why are they crying?!" But, I don't think anyone understood anyways.  They all left and the workers returned to their desks and resumed work as normal.  Apparently, the gentleman was working there until his death.  This was one of those "only in Mexico" moments.

 

Today and every day, I wake up thankful for my life, another opportunity to love on my sweet family.  We always have food on the table, even if it's not turkey tonight.  Some things are more difficult than expected but we have run into so many "this is not a coincidence, this is a God-thing" that I don't even get bothered much when things don't go as planned.  We are working hard to finish our house and make it a home for us and our "missing piece," my Estela bug.  We love you and miss you Estela... don't eat too much of Grandma's good cooking tonight!

 

 



Bananas Part II

Obviously with so many bananas, we couldn't eat them all.  And we all know what we do when the bananas start getting too dark (and really sweet, but mushy)... say it with me... banana bread and banana pancakes!  Well, in my momma's house, at least.

 

I realize pancakes are super easy and I don't need a "mix," but curiosity got me to find out what "Hot Cakes" were like.  Papi says they never ate them at home but when the fair comes for the yearly Town Festival that they serve them.  Pancakes? Fair Food?

 

It was a lot harder than I thought to find syrup.  The only one that I found was "Karo" brand, which is funny because in the U.S. I've never gotten anything Karo except for Light and Dark Corn Syrup.  Actually, it's not too odd because all it really was, was maple-flavored corn syrup.

 

 

 

The verdict:  Hot Cakes are way too sweet for me.  Normally, Mexican desserts are not sweet enough for me.  But I definitely am not used to super-sweet pancakes.  I'll just go from scratch next time.  Syrup, well, we'll just use fruit compote or goat-milk caramel or heck, even sweetened condensed milk.  I'll save my craving for Vermont Maple when I can get the real stuff.



The banana bread... from scratch, of course.  I made little loaves and gave them away to family and neighbors, who out of all of them had never tried it.  I might not freak out about bananas going to waste every time, because there are sooo many, but I do look forward to more food that reminds me of my SC home!

Bananas!

I thought bananas grew on trees, you know, with monkeys in them.  Although we may still call it a "tree" in English (I don't know?), they don't use the word for "tree" in Spanish to describe it, because there's no wood at all.  It actually looks like just layers and layers of the banana leaves all together to make up its "trunk."  This is probably why when it is full of bananas, it will fall over and you have to prop it up with a stick.

 

 

 

This is my neighbor and sister-in-law, Marisol. Although in Spanish, the word for sister-in-law would only be for Papi's sisters, of which he has none.  There is a special word for "my brother-in-law's wife" but in English we only have one word.  Anyways, beyond me learning more detailed Spanish, she gave us a whole bunch.  When I asked why you don't let them ripen on the tree, she showed me that if you leave them, they grow too much and start splitting.

 

 

The way they bloom is so neat.  I'll have to share pictures and explain that some other time.  Sofi is a big "snacker," so she thinks it is funny and amazing when she wants a snack and I just say "go out and the yard and find something!"

Plums?

This is the view outside my bathroom window.  When I asked Papi what it was, he said "a ciruelo" (a plum tree).  Later when I commented that it was very pretty and that it must be going to have plums soon because of the blooms, everyone had a confused look.  He said "those are not part of the tree, that's a blight." 

 

Oh, oops. Such a pretty parasite.

 

Back to "normal"

My super-slow USB internet thingy stopped working the other day.  I tried different USB ports, I tried uninstalling and reinstalling the program, and removing it in the Device Manager.  After a few other things, I gave up and Papi drove me to the city.  The young guy at the office said he didn't know a thing about computers so he called a guy from a store a block or two away.  When he came I started the whole story about what I had done, to save myself from doing it all over again. He calmly listened, then when I finished, took my modem, opened it, took out the chip, replaced it, and plugged it back in.  It worked.  Well dang, I love simple solutions but I hate it when someone else comes up with them!

 

So that was the reason for the lack of posts recently, but we are all good and I have more pictures! :-)

 

Sofi is learning to do laundry.  She wouldn't stop begging so we got her a rock to do it just like they did at the river side "in the (not so) old days."  And of course, what she does, her little cousin must do as well.

 

And yes, we are wearing shorts and getting wet still.  It is getting "cooler," as in, last night was the first night we slept without the fan on.  This weekend has a forecast of low of 72F and high of 91F.  And yes, they are wearing sweaters and hats when it hits the 60's and saying that Sofi is going to get sick because she doesn't have a jacket on.  Sigh.  It's hard to explain what "cold" and "snow" and "icy mornings" are to people who have never seen it! :-)

Sugar

Remember when I mentioned when we were in Veracruz and almost home, we got stuck in traffic? This (picture below) was it. If we had waited here it would have been about 24 hours before we moved.  Luckily, we went up and around some unofficial roads to get to this bridge where I took this picture and got on out of there.  What was it?  A major accident? Construction? No. Sugar.

 

You see, around here, sugar rules.  Well, it does because it is the lifeblood of the area.  Besides a chicken farm and very few people that have jobs in the city, everyone relies on the sugar cane industry.  Papi's Dad is a sugar cane farmer.  People in town who don't have land either work as day laborers (especially cutting season starting now through June), or depend on their customers having money from that in order to buy from them. 

 

Veracruz is the largest producer of sugar of all the Mexican states by far.  The last harvest season, the price of sugar per ton was about half of what it was the year before.  Landowners in our town went to the sugar mill to collect their season's earnings and instead got a big fat "0" on a paper after the mill subtracted what was owed for advances for fertilizer, paying workers, etc.  They normally budget this payment to last for the whole next year, to eat, to pay power, to pay workers, everything they can. It is their whole annual income.  They were literally left with absolutely no money for at least the full coming year.  One man in town went to the top of a water tower and threatened to jump. 

 

August and September are normally "dead months."  People usually have no money and are just holding out until harvest starts again where they can earn $10 a day.  (And the fact that "things are cheaper in Mexico" is a big fat lie. Big. Fat.  It is cheaper if you are retired and have American money deposited monthly into your account like magic.)  But these last few months have been the hardest in many, many years.  All levels of the local economy are feeling the effects.  Desperate people lead to desperate measures.  On the day of the photo below, the farmers decided to block off the interstate in order to call attention from the government to their plight.  What exactly they wanted the government to do, I'm not quite sure, but from the little I understand so far they were asking for a subsidy to help offset the low price.

 

 

 

The fate of the coming season still seems up in the air.  We are just praying that it comes out well, many families are depending on it.

 

Delicious sugar straight from our mill, La Providencia.  It's lighter than brown sugar (but not at all sticky like brown sugar), but not white... and very delicious.  

 

 

 

 

 

My First Day of the Dead

On the night of Halloween, we all sat outside around the computer to look at the picture of Estela in her costume.  Sofi wouldn't stop asking when we were going to go Trick Or Treating.  I was at the point of handing out candy to the neighbors and telling them to give it to Sofi when she knocks on their door.  (I still might do that next year).  But luckily, we were invited to come see the elementary school kids perform and see their altars at their Day of The Dead festival. 

 

The altars were beautiful, each one unique to the person they were honoring.  Although the dates line up with Catholic holidays, they really have nothing to do with each other.  This is a continuation of the traditions of the indigenous people long before the nuns and priests arrived.  They celebrated death not as an end of life, but as a passing on and beginning of another life in the after life.  On this day that they honored the Goddess of Death, they believed that the spirits of those who had already left this life were allowed a day to come back and see their family and friends. 

 

I was a little hesitant of the word "altar" since I believe that only God and God as Man (Jesus) are to be worshipped, but it definitely does not have the same meaning.  Petals of marigolds (the Aztec Flower of Death) are left in a line from the street up to where the altar is, and it is decorated with (especially) foods that the loved ones used to enjoy (maybe even a beer or a cigarette if that was their thing), and possibly some of their possessions (especially toys if it was a child) and a photo.  There is a large amount of detail put into the selection and decoration of each altar, which vary incredibly from one to the other.

 

I put the kids to the test, asking them "Why salt?  Why is this one all white?  Who is that dog?"  Someone always piped up and answered, sometimes nudged by a niece or nephew of ours that insisted that I really don't bite.

 

 

 

When I asked why so many people do this even if maybe they don't believe that spirits really come back for the day, a nice lady told me a few things.  First, tradition and customs are very important to them, to not forget where and who they came from.  Second, they used to believe that since this was the opportunity for the spirits to see us one time this year, that we should show them that we are doing well (we have food to share!), we are happy, and we haven't forgotten about them.  Even if you just imagined having being able to have another day with the spiritual presence of your loved ones that had passed, you would want to welcome them like this.

 





 

Many also went to the graveyards (whole trucks full of people at a time) to clean up their family's graves and decorate them with flowered wreaths.  I didn't make it out to the graveyard as we were busy in the morning and the afternoon/evening was met with heavy rains and wind (like, laid down a lot of sugar cane, kind of wind). But, there is always next year!

 

At the school, each grade level (no more than 20 kids each) dressed in theme and performed a song with dance. It was so fun to watch!  Sofi cackled at their antics!  There was a lot of laughing and clapping along.

And yes, all the guys here dance!  I really need to learn how to dance, like, really.  :-)

 

Cutest skeletons ever!

 



 

Some were a bit camera shy, and some were not at all. Ehh, they'll all get used to me one day! There were some cell phones and even one Nintendo DS taking pictures, but no cameras, so many ladies came up to me asking for me to get pictures of their child/grandchild.   

 

 

It is a great opportunity among families to talk about ones that are gone from this life and enjoying their new life, share stories, and remember... to show that if they could see us today, that we are happy, healthy, and blessed.

Morning at the River

We walked down to the river in the morning.  Our town is at the very top with two steep valleys on each side.  One side has a large, wide (but not so clean) river and the other side has a much smaller and cleaner "river", Rio Pisagua.  At the edges you can find lots of natural springs and there is a thick shade of trees above.

 

 

In the picture below Papi and Sofi are walking along the terraced edge where the ladies used to line up and wash their clothes before there was water up to the town (about 10 years ago).

 

 

I can't wait to go exploring more places like this.  I am from the Blue Ridge Mountains, the home of beautiful hikes.  Sometimes I just catch myself staring in awe at the beauty of God's creations!

 

 

Laundry Day!

We all knew the day was coming... the day I would have to eventually wash all of our dirty clothes.  Again, more muscles in places I never knew could have muscles.

 

Washing here is almost always done by hand.  The few 'washers' I have seen are more like agitators. They don't drain/rinse/spin.  You just fill them up with a hose and then they swish back and forth until the timer stops.

 

Every house has one of these cement sink type things outside.  It's a pretty neat idea when you consider how it needs to be all-purpose.  The bottom is ridged like a washboard and the edge has a drain hole.  Whether it's dishes or clothes... this is your washer!

 

Papi's Mom was nice enough to show me each step and not laugh too much (she has now realized that she pretty much has to show me everything... the first time, at least... because nothing resembles the U.S.).  In addition to washing with powdered soap in the water, each piece is taken out and examined for any remaining stains, which are treated and scrubbed with a big bar of laundry soap.  After it comes out, the little bucket is used to dip water out of the drum and rinse it as it run against the washboard again until the water comes clear.

 

 

If it is white, it goes into another bucket with bleach water.  If it is colored, it goes into a bucket with water and a little fabric softener.  Then, my least favorite part, wringing it out.  I'm really, really, bad at this part.  I pretty much gave up and started letting them sit in a plastic crate with holes to let the water drip a while before even trying to hang them up.

 

Finally, they are hung up to dry.  All the houses have their clotheslines out and most days they have clothes on them.  I have seen everything from old phone cords, to fences, to barbed wire fencing used as clotheslines.  I did ask if I am supposed to hang my underwear and bras, too, or would that not be kosher.  Her response was, "they have to dry, too."  Good thing is, everything dries very fast here (except when it is raining).

 

The only American that most people here know personally (unless they have been to the U.S. themselves) is one that came a few years ago and didn't stay long.  What people remember about her is that she didn't talk to anyone, took her laundry to the city to have it washed, and ate out instead of cooking.  Maybe she wasn't Southern.  I wave and talk to everyone, even if I have to ask later who in the world it was.  I love to cook, even if sometimes it doesn't come out right.  And when it comes out right, I have to share and say "try this!"  And I do my own laundry, not only because I can't afford to pay someone right now for that, but I don't want someone else washing my undies, you know?  Word spread quick, and some people came to peek just to see if it was true.

 

It is definitely work, but obviously not impossible.  We now have clean undies.  And, I earned my street cred.

Don't touch!

By now, everybody knows that when there is anything new (to me) or even remotely interesting, to yell "Daniela, come, and bring your camera!"  Sometimes I just come across pretty things.  The good thing about being in our little town is I can grab my camera whenever I want (something I can't do in the city).

 

One day I found a strange, huge, hairy caterpillar-looking thing.  From her house, Papi's Mom said it looked like I was taking a picture of the papaya leaf, which she found strange since the plant didn't even have any mature papayas on it.  She yelled out her door, "Daniela, what are you taking a picture of?"  Thinking that she would find it strange that I was always taking pictures of what they find silly because it is 'normal' to them, I said "oh, just a worm or something."  She asked, "what kind of worm?" and started walking towards me.  I said "Don't worry, I'm smart, I'm holding it by its hairs so that it can't bite, if it is the kind that bites."  About halfway to my house she started yelling "put it down! Daniela! Put it down NOW!" 



 

 

After being relieved that I did listen, and that I was still alive, she informed me that just touching the hairs can make you very sick.  I had never heard of such things, and she kind of knew that I didn't believe her.  So, knowing that I was going to get a picture, she put it on the end of the stick and tried to set it on the papaya leaf for me.   I got a great picture, if I say so myself. 

 

And then, I went to my friend Google to prove that that was nonsense about scary caterpillars.  Ooops. What she warned of was right there on the list of symptoms of contact... bad headaches, nausea, rapid heart rate, strong body pains.. and redness, swelling, and bleeding where it touched you.  Great, even the pretty caterpillars are out to get me!  From now on, poke or pick up everything with a long stick. Got it.

 

 

Brooms!

The first day that I arrived at my house, Papi's Mom gave me a new broom and some sort of rag thing that looked more like a blanket.

First thought: Why would a broom be so important? I probably used my broom in the U.S. about once a week, to be honest.

Second thought: What is this blanket-looking rag for?

 

I soon found my answer to both questions!  With no carpets, and lots of dirt outside, and being in and out so much, I've never swept so much in my life. I have muscles in places I didn't know you could get muscles on accident.  And that blanket-looking rag is called a 'Jerga' and you wet it and lay it over your broom to "mop."  It's a great idea, because a sponge mop would be worn to pieces in two days on these floors.

 

This is Papi's Mom's "outside broom."  (Next time I dress up for Halloween, I am going to be a witch and this is going to be my broom!) Just as most housewives, she sweeps her outside patio every day.  If inside is hard on a broom, the outside is even harder.  She saves the stick and ties on a new handful of dried brush when the old one wears down.  She didn't even have to explain.... my Mom has an 'outside' broom as well. Although, it is not made of brush, but instead just a demoted old inside broom. 

 

 

Even Sofi likes to get in on all the sweeping. 

 

Seasons

In S.C. your main seasons are "hot as heck with a nice afternoon shower" and "oh crap, not ice again, we don't have salt trucks, plows, or snow tires/chains I have leave work at 2:00am in my little Kia and I bet you we won't have power in the morning."  And then the other two seasons are just transitions.

 

In Veracruz, your seasons are:

Winter: Hot as heck + dust

Spring: Get me a bucket to wring out the sweat from my shirt + mud

Summer: Get me a bucket to wring out the sweat from my shirt + mud

Fall: Hot as heck + dust

 

We arrived on the tail end of what they call the rainy season, and I call "mud season."  Although the rain doesn't have a clock, and of course it has rained during the day, most of the time it is at night and every time I ask "Is this a hurricane?"  It comes fast and furious and I watch the palm tree swearing it is going to snap.  It comes in sideways so I only have to close the windows on one side of my house.

 

 

Then, just as quickly as it came, it disappears, the sun comes out, and we have fresh mud!  I also learned the hard way that it is nearly impossible to navigate dirt roads in mud season at night without a flash light.  Although, during the day Sofi seems to think it is pretty fun.

 

To break it down in numbers, the average temperature in July through September is 81 degrees F (low of 74, high of 88).  The average temperature in December through February is 72 degrees F (low of 63, high of 83).   As far as rain goes, in December through May the average rainfall is 1 inch per month.  While in June through September, it is 14-15 inches per month.

 

About two weeks ago it was cloudy with a breeze in the morning and got down to the low 70's.  The Mexicans had on sweaters! And no, I'm not exaggerating.... fleece blankets on babies, sweaters and jackets with hoods on kids.   They insisted I was "going to get sick from the cold" if I stayed in my tank top dress like I usually am.  I just laughed.... I wear my flip flops in the snow! 

Corn!

This is Chilindrina. She delivered corn to our house (with a little help from the human she owns).  I was told it was fresh, local corn. (As in, right here in town). 

 

 

I asked to go next time to see the cornfield.  We went the next day down a long dirt road that leads out from town.  It actually is in better conditions than most so we went in the truck.   Poor Chilindrina couldn't carry us all!

 

 

 

You might not be able to tell from the picture, but it was steep!



 

 

Papi's uncle, Tio Moro (In all these years I've never heard his "real" name), brought up bundles of stalks and all. The green left over will be for Chilindrina to eat back at her house.

 

 

I did not realize that there is only ear per stalk.  Farming is a lot of work!

 



Lemons?

My Dad used to make the BEST lemon meringue pie.  I wanted to make an attempt at his delicious dessert but I can't find any lemons!  In 'school' they teach you that lemon is "limon" in Spanish... wrong!  "Limon" is actually "lime" and I haven't seen the first lemon anywhere around here nor do most people that I have asked even know a name for it in Spanish.  

 

However, I do find myself in the lime growing capital of the region. If you don't see fields of sugar cane, then it's lime trees.  I also happen to have one three feet from my front door.

 



 

I also have a great helper for picking, even if she sometimes happens to pick off leaves and things from the wrong tree (this is the nanche tree, which gives fruit that looks like yellow cherries).

 

 

 

Cold water, fresh squeezed lime juice, and some sugar from the local factory that processes our town's sugar cane.  Now that will make me drink more water like I need to.

 

 

 

I never used many limes in the U.S. because you only got two or three for one dollar.  Here, the farmers are only able to sell a whole box to the packing companies for $20 pesos (about $1.70 USD today).  

The fact that there are plentiful limes is great as most Mexican food calls for lime juice/zest or slices of lime on the side.  However, I'm still in search of a few lemons, or maybe I will just invent some sort of lime meringue pie.

Bath Time

I have never taken so many baths in my life!  At first I wasn't sure if I should be offended or not when everyone kept telling me "take a bath!"  I had already "showered" early and was pretty sure I didn't stink, yet. 

 

Later, Papi's Mom pulled out a heavy plastic tub, and started filling it with water in our front yard.  She pointed and said "get in."  I looked around and figured I have never bathed with an audience of a dozen people before. Obviously she did not mean naked, so was I supposed to change into a swimsuit?  When she noticed my hesitation, she said "clothes on, just like that, get in."  I obeyed.  (She is not a woman I want to mess with.  She is sweet and generous, but she raised all boys, so I don't want to take my chances... haha.)

 

 

Here, most people do not have drains inside since their houses were made long before running water arrived, so (with a small bucket dipping into the large bucket... as you could have guessed from my last post) they bathe outside with clothes on, then go inside and change.  Or at night when it's dark since there are almost no outside lights.  Also, when coming home from work or doing work in the fields or anything dirty, or when it gets really hot.  This adds up to multiple times a day for me!  I thought for sure I would miss hot water by now, but I really don't.  It doesn't come out as 'cold' as it does in S.C. and the coolness actually feels refreshing.  But here, baths are not hot and bubbly. They are cool and quick (unless you take a dip in a tub for a while... then it's cool and long)!  However, I might change my mind in Winter.

 

Wow!  It felt wonderful!  Now I understand what they were trying to say.  It's not good to get hot and stay hot... it wears you down.  Take time to refresh yourself.  They know by now that I'm not a complainer. Thankfully, they look out for me anyways.