Coming Home

Michelle writes:
Time to return to the States, to family and friends. Thank you for sharing this experience with me. Your notes of support were much appreciated. It has been a learning process and a delight. What a gift to have had this time. Love and light to all of you as you explore your life's dreams.

The Playa

Michelle writes:
This morning I had the opportunity to accompany Dona Rosa and Rosa to the playa. The playa is a flat expanse where everyone from the village has a portion of land to grow their basic foods: maize, beans, and squash. Today, I witnessed the beauty of the three sisters, as these vegetables are called, with their complementary growth pattern. The acres spread before me in the morning mist as we arrived at the playa.

Dona Rosa had said to be ready at 5 a.m., when the morning was clarito (clear enough to see your way in the dawn light).  At 5:20, she arrived at Kathy’s home. 

Rosa, leaving her 10-month-old twins at home, had come a few minutes before, making sure she was there to join us. I turned off the headlamp I was using  and joined them. The morning light was weak, but we were able to discern the uneven terrain of the road as we left the village.

The air was brisk; when I had checked, it was 70 degrees. For here, that felt cool. If I were home in Idaho on this April day, I would have been jubilant for the unseasonable warmth. I wore a long sleeve shirt over my T-shirt, but not for long, as the sweat began to bead with the movement and humidity.

For an hour, we walked on the new road, up and down, following the lay of the land. Leaving the road, we dropped down into the field and crossed a creek on a log that had been whittled, making a flat and irregular surface to provide traction during the rainy season. 

As we started across the flats, Dona Rosa used her machete to slap at the vegetation we walked through. Snakes are a common concern in the tall grass.

 

Dona Rosa’s garden is close to the road, and we saved another hour's walk by not having to travel to the far end of the community garden.  The maize was drying on the stalks, heavy ears drooping. At her garden, I saw the quisguil that Dona Rosa planted, vining on the stalks and lone tree. This squash is boiled for its sweet flesh. 

I followed Dona Rosa as she made her way through the lush, dew-moist, vegetation. Rosa took a large cloth and slipped the ends into the waist of her skirt as she followed us. The dew is so heavy that your clothes are wet after a few paces. 
Dona Rosa and Rosa started picking the day's harvest: squash blossoms, young tender leaves from the squash, and various squash, along with another hierba, one of the many that create the thick lush carpet. 

I followed, carrying the bounty, and reflecting on how my life had been guided once again. I am here, sharing an experience with a Mayan matriarch, learning the ways of the Maya and their connection to the earth. This culture is centuries old, and I am part of it, here in this quiet little corner of the world where life still remains much as it has always been, gathering the local wild plants for a simple but nutritious diet.

We returned to the lone tree, which I realized is the landmark in this maze of maize. Here we placed our armsful of fresh produce in the center of a brightly woven cloth, tied the corners together, and securing the load to carry home. Dona Rosa had brought breakfast: scrambled eggs, tomatoes cooked with onions, and, of course, tortillas. I had brought almonds, which were something new for both Rosas.

Dona Rosa, one of the leaders of the village, embraced me, the gringa, with her culture. She had allowed me to accompany her the other evening as she visited three pregnant women whose births she will attend. As the local midwife, she visits the mothers weekly.  ,While at the homes, she felt for the position of the baby and turned the one baby that was posterior. She allowed me to check for the baby's position as well. Through Kathy, I told her I had a home birth and had attended four other births, after basic midwife instruction. She was happy to share her skills with me.

After breakfast, we gathered more hierba, punte ayote, and squash before setting off for home.  Dona Rosa’s carga, the fabric-wrapped bundle, was heavier than my mochila, backpack, so I told her we could switch loads. She was surprised. 

I carried the carga using the head strap as she slipped on the backpack.

Salvador, the local hero, was visiting Kathy when we arrived. After unloading my backpack of freshly-picked produce, Dona Rosa and I joined Kathy and Salvador for a glass of cold rosa Jamaica, hibiscus tea. After a quick demonstration of how to prepare the squash blossoms, leaves, and tendrils, I was ready to make our meal. Salvador helped. With left-over potato water, onions, garlic, and tomatoes, the greens and blossoms became a delightful, tasty meal.  Salvador confirmed that this is the food of the Maya.

Happy Easter!

Michelle writes:

Happy Easter! It's a quiet day here in Antigua compared to the past week. Only two processions today, compared to Good Friday when they started at 1 a.m., then 4 a.m....throughout the day, seven in all. It was raining for the 1 a.m., so we didn't go out.  The rainy season begins in May, so this is just the beginning. 
Many of the carpets were ruined by the rain. A lot of money, time, and effort go into creating these beautiful art forms.

On Good Friday, the morning processions were of Christ carrying the cross. By evening,  the procession was Christ in a gold and glass casket. It was raining again, so we watched on national TV. 

I did see men moving floats on wheels depicting Christ being taken down from the cross, Mary holding His body, wrapping the body, and placing it in the tomb. These were not carried, as it was the deceased Christ. 

Here, the Bible stories are very visually vivid. Earlier this week, churches had huge cloth canvases illustrating a Bible story, e.g., the Garden of Gethsemane. 

 Canteloupe Swan

 Eggpplant Penguins

Watermelon Cathedral

The floor of the altar had a carpet of fruits, vegetables, and breads shaped as animals.

Today the procession was joyous--no more funeral dirge. The risen Christ emerged from the church, open armed and robed in white, as confetti showered the crowd from the church belfry.  

The actors from Palm Sunday had drums, tambourines, and conch horns to proclaim the glad tidings. The jubilant music of the orchestra filled the streets. It was the perfect culmination of my visit.

I'm sure each family had a part in the festivities: carrying, decorating, selling, etc.  Three members of Dora's family helped with carpets during the rainy Thursday-Friday nights. Someone said 100,000 people participate in carrying the floats. With all the tourists, it's quite an event.

We made special food for the holiday, none of which I'm anxious to repeat. My contribution was flan and some Mexican cookies I've made before. The bread I made back in February was a bigger hit. Our taste for sweets differ between the cultures.

Tamales 101

 Jewelers arrive with supplies to make tamales.

 Everyone brings masa.

 Water is added to masa...

...then the mixture is boiled...

 ...and strained to the perfect texture.

 Banana leaves are washed...

 ...then torn to the proper size.

 Sabila prepares a pineapple for the drink.

 Chicken is chopped into pieces with a machete.

 Jalapenos are also chopped.

 Setting up the assembly line.

 Ready to assemble.

 Masa topped with chicken, jalapenos, and a ladle of sauce.

 Ready to wrap.

 Tamales are steamed.

Ready to eat!

Semana Santa - Holy Week

Colored sawdust carpets on the street

Incense

 Woven palms for Palm Sunday

Into the Selva (Jungle)

Michelle writes:

Romolo agreed to take us on horseback and muleback to the jungle. Kathy called to see if the conditions were acceptable for this outing. Yes, we’re going. Kathy’s mule, Gitana, hadn’t been ridden for months and was at the neighbors. It was time to get her saddled and ready for the day. After some maize and water with salt and sugar, the mule was sweetened up and obedient. 

Romolo arrived alone. Often another man will accompany him on these days of special service to hermana (sister) Kathy. I was to ride Romolo’s horse, while he rode another mule.  I hadn’t realized I was on a stallion until later.

Kathy and I had western saddles with stirrups and saddle horns. Romolo’s saddle was a mule’s work saddle and a wooden V-shaped frame meant for carrying loads. My rear end was thankful for the shaped-leather seat as we set off. Taking a road unfamiliar to Kathy, we passed women washing dishes in the outdoor sinks, children playing in the yard, and as we crossed a creek, and women doing their day's laundry. 

Allowing the animals to pick their own path, we climbed on a rugged, rutted trail. We passed a large area being cleared of trees for cattle pasture. With the intensity of the sun, it now looked like death and desolation compared to the otherwise lush green. As we rode along the spine of a ridge, the view would occasionally open. A majestic tree, the Ceiba, sacred to the Maya, came into view, the broad canopy reaching to the heavens. My camera couldn’t encompass its grand scale. As the trail became increasingly steep, crossing logs and 18' drops, all I could do to calm my racing heart was put my trust in God and this animal that had passed this way before. We came to a cardamom field, where we dismounted and led our animals, due to the steepness of the terrain.  

From there we traveled by foot. Romolo took the saddle off his mule while Kathy and I waited, holding the ropes of our animals. Because Kathy’s female mule was standing in front of my horse, he started to whinny and was no longer acting calm. Then I looked more closely: he was a stallion! I should have known; all the male animals have their parts intact. There are high testosterone levels in this country!  We quickly separated the two animals and restored tranquility.  

Romolo cleared the path with his machete as we descended to a steam. We walked along and through the water until we came to a series of pools connected by small waterfalls. At our destination, we dropped our packs.

Romolo produced a snorkel mask from his pack!  He had come to go crabbing. On his belly, wearing swim shorts, he peered into the deep pools of water, then came up with a smile.

He had seen a crab. With the homemade harpoon gun loaded, he stuck his head again in the pool, and this time came up with a crab attached to the end of his line. He was excited; it was going to be a good day. 

We followed along as Romolo slowly moved upstream, peering into the deeper round pools, looking for crabs and snails. I carried the plastic gunny sack that was filling with the bounty from this delicatessen in the jungle. Kathy decided to stay at a large pool to bathe, while we pushed on. Navigation became more technical as we picked our way up and over boulders and downed trees. Romolo was the hunter in pursuit, and finally, I decided to stay put when we reached another steep ascent. 

I sat, enjoying the beauty around me, listening to the chatter of the birds mingle with the babble of the creek. What a gift to be here among the people, experiencing their culture. How many Americans have visited this sacred place where clean refreshing pools provide food?   

I returned to the larger pool and Kathy, where we both bathed, laughed, and shared the wonder of this daily ritual: women coming to the river to bathe. It is uplifting to take the time to gather at the river, to wash away the heat and sweat of the day in the cool flowing waters, to chat with family and friends. The communal bath has long been a part of many cultures. With our large homes and inside showers and bath tubs, we in the USA have lost some of this sense of connection. 

Romolo returned for lunch with several pounds of snails and five crabs. He gathered firewood and used dead palm leaves as tinder to quickly start a fire. We washed the crabs in the stream and made soup. Kathy’s small kettle hung from the end of a branch over the fire. We added snails and juice from our can of sardines. 

Romolo and Kathy had brought tortillas, which are necessary for every meal. We dove in, cracking the shells with our teeth or by tapping them with a knife. We enjoyed the savory meal, which tasted like any other crab I have eaten. The snail meat was harder to retrieve. The hard scale that had been the foot was first pulled off, then with the tip of the knife or tip of the crab claw, we slowly pulled on the easily-retracted body. With luck, the elongated body pulled out, only to coil into its tight spiral when released.  

Satiated, we sprawled out for the afternoon siesta. The shade along the cool creek was the perfect place to rest during the heat of the day.

With the coming spring weather, I hope some outdoor picnics are in your future!