Beloveds in our pueblo...

What joy and wonder as a little 3-year-old gazes at a piñata bigger than he is -- filled with balloons and toys. He is also from "our" family, mentioned below.
Well -- this is not so much about a photo of me (on my "will-you-still-need-me, will-you-still-feed-me" birthday) as it is a photo of the gifts brought to me that morning by beloveds in our pueblo... A beautiful piece of hand-made needlework; home-grown roses; and "I LOVE YOU" -- in English, you'll note -- this from our Ariana.


Speaking of whom -- here's almost everyone in the Ramirez family (for whom we are informally regarded as the Abuelos, the grandparents). Guille, Sara, Ariana, Flori, and Sandra (of Quinceñara fame) -- goofing off before presenting me with a Tres Leches birthday cake which we made short work of, along with sundry other sweet gifties...
And here is sweet Diana Laura (caught in utero by the Migra--now there's a story), with her mother and little sister in the background. Our next-door neighbors... a continually changing scene. So much to say -- but ah, how the photo shows the sweetness of Diana Laura and the bond we share.

And!!! Little Luis (his story is mentioned numerously in earlier blogs) who also used to live next door came back to visit! He has been successfully, deliriously happily adopted by a loving family in Zihua... How his little body shook with excitement as we met eyes again for the first time since then... He drew me this particularly happy face as a gift.... And here is a photo of him from that same day, deep in concentration.

Confirmed in the Faith....

By the time the Confirmation Mass began, the church was filled and all of us outside were seated in chairs -- right in the road (stopping any traffic til it was over)--with more folks seated along the side to the right. All of our little playmates from our first years living here --growing up! Ah, but of course, there's always a new crop of preschoolers...

Here's a glimpse inside -- a church built by the local parishioners over a number of years, and still in progress.
And here is one of our dear kids-growing-up -- Ariana Ramirez.

The greenness of our casita....

(But first -- a dreamy photo taken one evening, from the porch...)

So! Living in the sub-tropics is an immersion into greeniness....

And so.... we just went ahead and painted our buildings green (different shades every time) as well. This is taken from the ramada looking at our porch (where we LIVE--not inside the rooms). The sky-blue walls appear washed out in this photo -- but they are convincingly sky-blue such that birds and insects occasionally fly right into it (no broken necks!).


Then, turning around and looking the other way is a view of our green-pillared ramada in all its lushness...


...and this is yet another view of the ramada, taken from our porch.


And -- the porch itself. It is from here that we "watch TV" -- all the hummingbirds and butterflies and lizards and.... and... and... Care for a cup of coffee? How about a ripe mango--all of those yellow fruits in the foreground--they came from our own trees. Of a morning, I just wander around our four trees and pluck the the fruit, falling into my hand when ripe.

Robert at "Home Tree"/Mexico Spring 2010

There he stands, contemplating a risky task -- cutting off a diseased limb as big as a tree unto itself -- without getting caught under it.

And! There he stands, successful.
Not pictured are the days/hours spent sawing it into planks to be turned into furniture...

But here's an idea of just how heavy those planks are, once Robert cut them.
Guille is hauling them into our yard, where they carried them/stacked them inside the casita-- to dry til we return in the fall.

Robert (and friends) at work

Before the work begins, Santos of the Italian-accented English, and Sara Ramirez stay in the shade of our back porch.

Robert, Guille and Memo mixing the cement in the shade of our carport with the edifice to be constructed looming behind them....Our new wash-house.

And here, the men begin, by blocking out the walls to be constructed....

And a rather some time later....

And the close-to-finishing touches ...

Guille has such a fine eye for detail (as does Robert)

And here is where we left it til we return in the fall. Enough! We'll smoothcoat the outside walls and then paint them. Following that, Robert will begin with his woodworking projects to make a door to the shamrock-shaped shower room, and shelves for dish and clothes washing to the right of the shamrock.

The Last Three of Thirteen...

I can't just leave the chicken story. So here's how it progressed up to when we packed up and headed north. When I last wrote, there were 8 chicks and a hen...>>

Just before leaving for a towntrip to Zihuatanejo, we saw the mother hen lurching and falling, wings spread all cockeyed. A village kid said that clearly, she had been stung by a scorpion. Give her garlic. We ground up a clove and got it down her mouth, put her in the shade, with water, and propped up upright with two bricks. One chick was also missing (presumably scorpion as well). The remaining six chicks hovered nearby as we left for town...

When we got home, our neighbor had taken the hen back to HIS yard, where he just left her flopping on the ground. He gave her no water/food/garlic. Said she didn't want any. The chicks slept by her at night and wandered our yard by day. Not surprisingly, the hen died. The chicks continued to sleep where their mother had lain....

Well, if anyone is actually reading THIS far: those 6 surviving chicks were reduced to 4 in a 3am tlacuache attack... The screaming survivors came racing over to our yard, waking us up to their desperation. We covered them up with a big flower pot, and that became their new safe home.

Of those 4, one actually had already also SURVIVED a rat attack that temporarily crippled one leg. We called him Hopalong, of course.

Then an eagle swooped down and reduced the flock to 3... Three roosterlets.

Those 3 continued to sleep by our porch each night under the flowerpot. Every single evening at dusk, they came and waited for us to drop it over them! If we were late, they'd huddle on the spot where the flowerpot SHOULD drop.

When we left Mexico, we turned them over to our neighbor who insisted that all these chicks were theirs in the first place (but made little effort to protect them). We will probably never know the ending.

Declarative Death Sentence(s) (and...)

But first, before the essay: our life in the village and on the beach continues to feel like Eden --such gentle beauty of flowers, greenery, natural sounds, fruit growing all around. We have very sweet connections with our friends here, and in fact we feel like part of the family with one group. Originally, speaking of "our" family, a man and woman (still living here) had some 9 or more kids. Plus they had brothers and sisters themselves. Hardly any of them seem to have left. Some who did are returning. Thus, from a farmhouse filled with kids, a village has appeared -- brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, cousins, all built and now live in their own homes nearby, in close and amiable proximity. I laugh, remembering one little boy of two years of age running stark naked from his house, through the twisting dirt-paved lanes, to visit his cousin who is also two. There are other extended families here as well. Kids from all these families drop by our house to play with the toys, draw, paint, goof around -- they come and go as they please. It is a deep pleasure to have them visit.

Furthermore, the waves continue to astound, and bounce us around (boogie-boarders dream). The beach has returned to that mellow "aloha" vibe, easy'going and friendly. Our house is now painted (pix posted on our return) and other construction projects underway, plus numerous fruiting trees are now planted to complement our abundant mango trees. Think grapes, figs, avocados, lemons, guavas, tangerines, grapefruit.... what have I forgotten to mention?

The odd little essay below is.... just that. An odd little essay -- a testimony of respect for little lives. It is followed by a few more comments on life as we know it in the village...

DECLARATIVE DEATH SENTENCE(S)
There was a hen in a box in our yard when we arrived from the States. The hen laid 13 eggs in the box. Twelve eggs hatched. Two days later a tlacuache killed four chicks. The neighbors came over. They said the hen was theirs. They took her. They tied her up. The chicks had no mother to guide them. They wandered the hazards of our jungly yard alone. A feral cat ate one. The neighbors released the hen. The hen was stung by a scorpion the next day. One of her chicks was also poisoned by a scorpion. The chick died. We treated the hen with garlic and water. She began to rally. The neighbors came into our yard when we were away. They took the hen. They did nothing to help her. They did not even give her water. She died. The chicks roosted at night on the neighbor´s porch. They were unprotected. The spot where they huddled is where their mother´s body had lain. A tlacuache came. It killed two of the chicks. The remaining four ran to our yard screeching in the night. We hid them under a large upturned flowerpot. The neighbors said the chicks were theirs. They took them. That night they closed them up in an outdoor cupboard. They crushed the foot of the remaining rooster-chick when they closed the door. They did not let the chicks out the next morning. The chicks had no water or food. The neighbors released the chicks late in the day. They ran to our yard. The rooster-chick hopped, of course. They were very hungry and thirsty. Now they come every sunset to the flowerpot. They expect us to drop it over them. We do. Now we worry. We will be leaving in early June. We have done all we can. The chicks can fly. They like to sit on branches. This is where adult chickens spend their nights. They fly up into branches. We hope the chicks will fly into higher branches when we leave. It is out of our hands.

SO! After that cheerful little preschool tale, here are a few more random glimpses into our pueblo life, by no means complete:

More villagers who speak English are revealing themselves. One cheerful and friendly man (also a member of "our" family here--brother of the original farmhouse wife) turns out to speak English with (get this) an Italian accent (from years in a Little Italy section of a US city). The way he walks and moves his body feels/looks American. He told us that he came back here for the same reason we love it here. It is a little paradise of mellow, gentle people sharing life together.

There are two kids who speak fluent English as well. Apparently just visiting from the States, tho' their family/ancestry is from our pueblo. Who knew? I smile as I type this: perhaps they were testing us to see what we said to each other when we thought no one could understand -- and we passed the test. We do know, also, that the pueblo's middle/high school kids study English, but not one practices with us. For sure they have been listening all these years.

In fact, hey you guys!! ¿How many of you are secretly visiting this site and reading these entries? If you are reading this, let us know. Do this: come up to me and touch my nose and then touch your nose. And smile! ¡¡¡Then we will ALL laugh!!!