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!!!

And the band played on...

....rather Titanic-like, I thought! Nearly the entire village was gathered in a festooned yard celebrating the third Quincenera (a cute touch) of an esteemed matron. The band´s music was amplified to "ear-splitting" and everyone was in very high spirits even rather risque at times. In the brief pause between songs, however, with no warning whatsoever --an EARTHQUAKE shook the ground, the people, the tables -- and the air was filled with a terrific grinding noise. Following that, a moment of utter silence. But then! Moments later, the band cranked right back up with the next song! As they did so, everyone cheered! and they set to dancing all the more! Yes! ..and the band played on.

Three days later at the Quicenera of a truly 15'year'old, I casually asked a dear friend of ours, a fisherman, how the fishing was. There aren´t any fish anymore he said, looking me directly in the eye. The earth is dying, he added. Scientists are saying we will have to move to the moon or to Mars. Pollution is destroying everything, he said. ....and the band played on.

Then there´s a local loner in the village who frequently cranks up his very own amplifier and microphone and treats EVERYone to his, um, his style of singing. He cannot carry a tune, but he is loud. His words are unintelligible to the rest of the village... but this one'man band plays on.

And one night very recently, the deep peace of 2am was destroyed by the loud screeching of our favorite chicken. She had chosen a cardboard box in our yard to lay 13 eggs -- 12 hatched. We were actively working on fortifying her lair to protect her brood from predators, but there was a weak spot still, and thus, the loud screeching. Robert leaped (successfully!!!) out from under our mosquito netting, outsize flashlight in hand --leaped off the porch, through the flower garden and was there in seconds.

The hen was screeching away at a far distance, and in the lair were feathers and tiny bodies -- and a tlacuache heading viciously straight for Robert´s ankle. WHACK! Robert got it on the head and pushed the head hard onto the ground... it wobbled and then ran into the jungle. "They´re all dead," he said. By then I was right there already and we stood helplessly and so sad, grieving really, and watching as the hen raced around the yard screeching.....

But then we learned something! HA! HEY! She was calling for her chicks! And they came! Each from a completely different direction, half of her brood reassembled, leaping over small sticks, wings extended --and then they settled under her protective wing. So! Six lived. Six is good. We covered them all with a large overturned flowerpot for safety -- and with the morning´s sunrise, we were delighted to discover a SEVENTH chick waiting outside the flowerpot. Before sunset, there came an EIGHTH chick. ...and the band played on.

Days later, as I was teaching myself to play "Fur Elise" and "Jesu, Joy of Man´s Desiring" on my guitar, a new kid (to us -- a village kid, clearly, but we had never met him before) came by. "I speak English," he said. And he does. Raised in Beaverton, Oregon -- but with deep village roots so that Spanish was still his first language and he has a slight accent in his flawless English... He and family have moved back home for good, he said. He spent the sweetest day with us alternating between learning to play "Fur Elise" with me, and watching how Robert makes wooden archery bows from a tree trunk. The band plays on.....

Oh, and periodically, there have been really great waves both for surfers and boogiers. Full moon´s a-risin´and that means BEEG waves a-comin´! Yáll come on down. The band is playing.

¡Donde Quieras! Cuando Quieras! y Como Quieras!

(Firstly, before I relate the encounter on the road: we are back in that sweet heaven'realm of village life, with the lilting laughter and play of children like sugar sprinkled on top. Did I say ¨"on top"? The children surround us -- fill our hearts!-- with their absorbed play, spilling off of our porch and filling our ramada, and tossing a frisbee in the yard. Neighbors wave, invite us in, stop for conversations. We are once again home. Even got the house all cleaned up from 4 months of absence. Oh! And we were treated to huge waves at the beach, which, as we all know is like immersing into a heaven'realm of light, and breezes, sounds, and.... ah the sea, theseathesea. But below is a silly true cuento which shows the sense of humor of our closest village friends...)

¡DONDE QUIERAS! ¡CUANDO QUIERAS! ¡Y COMO QUIERAS!
Safe in the tranquility of our little casita porch, with our closest family friends, I was relating the story of an encounter on the road--one where I did NOT succeed in staying calm and present in the face of danger. Briefly:

At a gas station halfway down in Mexico (Robert was in the restroom), a man pulled his camper/truck thru the gas station, so CLOSE to our car that he was scraping off the paint along my side of the car. I banged and yelled on his camper moments before he broke off the mirror on my side.

He responded with profanities directed at my womanhood, of course. To which I responded by calling to the gas station attendant for help, mentioning both the damage to our car and his profanities. The attendant successfully got him to somehow back up and simultaneously move slightly farther away... but still close enough, alas, to bring his window right up to mine. With real hatred in his eyes, he directed another profanity specific to my womanhood. I responded with profanity right back, alas (but in English).......and it really riled me up and I regretted it.

In telling this story to our friends, safe on our porch in our Little Salty Place, I related how I wish I had responded instead. I did so by first telling another cuento: a mutual gringo friend of ours was walking by a lake with a long-haired boyfriend in redneck Texas country when one of a group of rednecks hurled a stone directly into the back of her boyfriend... Her response was to turn and meet their eyes, and say, ¨Hey, man, Jesus loves you.¨ And all three men dropped their stones, and let them pass... I do wish I had said that instead...

To which the laughter'loving wife, on our porch, replied (in Spanish): "Ha! You should have looked him straight in the eyes and said, "¡When you want it! ¡Where you want it! ¡How you want it!" (This, for those of you unfamiliar with it, is a well-known challenge'phrase in Mexico.)

La La Lula Lullabye

Oh, every night when the sun goes down,

People lay their burdens down, and sing...

La la, Lula... La la, Lula... Lullabye

I've never known a better way

To say goodnight to the day, than sing...

La la, Lula... La la, Lula... Lullabye

(Composed for our sweet Amy/David's daughter, Lula Sophia Zelina, born 03/31/10. There will no doubt be more verses as they occur to me. La-la means "Sleep..." in Swahili, but I didn't know that as the song came to me. I do have a digital/e-mailable recording of my singing it, if you're interested. I failed in my attempt to attach it here.)

And since her full name is Lula Sophia Zelina, I composed a song for Sophia as well:

Sleep, sweet Sophia...

Silently slip into slumber as I sing this song...

Sleep, sweet Sophia...

Swing with the stars as they circle the sky...

Sing along...


AND! How could I not borrow the tune of "Coventry Carol" - - thus:

La-la, Lula, thou little tiny child...

By, by, Lula, lullay.

Now close your eyes, until sunrise...

By, by, Lula, lullay.