Tierra de mi abuelito

After a sixteen hour truck ride, half of which was spent in the back of the pickup. A slightly painful trip but also again a trip filled with splendid views of a diverse Mexican landscape and an excursion that led me through the mountains and jungle like scenery of Puerto Vallarta to the grandeur of Guadalajara City, on through the countryside full of crops and various tequila plants filled with miles and miles of the maguey plant crop. We passed through Zacatecas where my mom's side of the family is from and later Aguascalientes and finally we arrived to our destination. Venado, San Luis Potosi, la tierra de mi Abuelito.

My time spent in Venado was short because I had to report to Mexico City, however, in that brief period of time it was good to meet other family members for the first time and to see where my Abuelito grew up. I met my grandpa's sisters and brothers. Sweet moments of life and wisdom were shared, like when my Tia Estefana reminded me of sabbath taking. She closed her little makeshift store in one of the rooms of the house that is conveniently on the corner of the street every week out respect for the sabbath. She told me “En el séptimo día, Dios tomó un día de descanso. Por eso, cierro la tiendita…” (On the seventh day, God took a day of rest. That's why I close the store). It reminded me that God still provides for my family even in economic uncertainty.

I had the chance to see, or better, imagine, what life must have been like on the rancho. I had the chance to taste fresh aguamiel which is taken from the maguey plant once it completes a certain age. Without a doubt, it is a Mexican rarity and treat. Family members who lived there still lived a very different lifestyle than one I am accustomed to. Many lived the same way as those who came before them for generations and generations. Of course some things had changed. Even something like a rancho, where the closest neighbor could be half a mile away or more, could not remain virgin from a globalizing world. Chevy and Ford trucks replaced horses or just the use of legs as a method of transportation as well as farming techniques.

One moment that was special for me was visiting the well where my Abuelito and his brothers would retrieve water and the small canal bank which provided the source. I saw my Tio climb the stairs enthusiastically and even my Abue, whose brittle legs don't hold up so well from day to day, made his way determined to relive the memories this space elicited even as it stood now as a relic. I'm not sure what exactly they thought about. The moment was too peaceful to interrupt. I all of sudden became extremely sensitive to the elements around us. Wind breezes soothingly blowing by while the leaves whispered age-old wisdom and the branches crackled rhythmically off-beat. Meanwhile, it was apparent that this moment was special for my Abuelito. “Yo siempre venía aqui mijo. Jugaba aqui. Sacaba el agua para mi mama...” (I always used to come here son. I used to play here. I used to get water for my mom...") I was trying to recall how and when I ever felt something similar to try and identify in this moment. I knew what my abuelito meant. In that magically surreal moment, I began to understand better what this meant for him. It is like those moments where the spaces that one occupies and inhabits begins to develop meaning and significance on its own. Where the space itself is no longer defined by those who use it, but also the other way around. The space begins to define and shape the being and vice versa. The two become inseparable forever burned into one another. This is what this moment meant for him and now interestingly enough...for me.