Mike Humfreville - 12-10-2003 at 12:50 AM
The rain had been building as the hurricane closed on them, the thatched fronds of a roof of an adobe home that allowed a few drops of rain to pass,
but mostly just rustled, struck with the heavy drops, at first pelting dust upward, later directing mud toward the sides and down the walls of the
home, where it collected in small puddles and flooded tiny burrows in the earth. Inside the hut a family collected. The gray sky turned black.
Lightning flashed and immediately thunder boomed. The darkening desert was lit for an instant by the flash. A burro brayed and hens fussed under the
hood of a 1954 Ford Fairlane that had been salvaged to act as the cover for a coop. Taking advantage of the unhurried time together and to keep her
children's minds away from the threat of irritated gods, a senora carefully places a few small bones of a decomposed Cirio limb into an old adobe
oven, arranging dried desert plants beneath. She strikes a wooden match with two colors on its head on the edge of a cast iron pan that has been in
her family for longer than she can remember, the only pan. The fire begins and soon throws flickering shadows across the dense grays and onto the
rich brown clay and straw walls, a warm golden light, somehow staying the problems of the rain. She mixes water and flour and lard and pats the paste
into flat cakes that she cooks over the flame, in her pan. Her husband and children spread a spoonful of frijoles on the cakes as they come off the
stove and enjoy them until there is no more paste and the fire has dwindled to a few embers. She allows her pan to cool and wipes it clean and
returns it to its resting place on the adobe. Her family sits on the single bed in the single room home and is glad for the disruption of the storm.
They are accustomed to the desert ways and are always happy to have a moment to sit together, often enabled by a remote threat, to share the time
where there is nothing to distract them or require their attention, except each other.
TALENT
Capt. George - 12-10-2003 at 07:01 AM
Mike,
When you gonna write a book? We're all waiting......
Capt. George
Anonymous - 12-10-2003 at 11:58 AM
Thanks for a good "time-out" story, Mike. Brought back this memory for me: One of the most memorable meals I ever had consisted of nothing more than
beans and tortillas. I had hitched to Mexico over the Christmas holidays during my Senior year in college. I encounterd a Mexican teenager who
wanted to practice his English. He invited me to stay the night with his family so I could help him with his English. The weather was depressingly
cold and damp and since I hadn't yet found a place to spend the night, I jumped at the offer. I followed Agustin as he made his way from the main
street down through side streets and back alleys until we landed on the poor side of the tracks. I worried a little about what I might be getting
myself into, but the cold, whipping wind pushed me into going ahead with my decision. We stopped in front of a wooden shack and entered. The first
thing I sensed was a comforting warmth, and a tantalizing aroma of toasted tortillas. In the living room sat nine members of Agustin's family.
They were wrapped in bundles of warm clothing and seated on the wooden floor. The floor served as the dining table as they dipped their tortillas
into a pot full of hot beans. There was no heating system in the house other than the heat from the little two burner camp stove and the warmth
created by body heat. I was introduce to the family and room was made for me to squeeze in amidst the group on the floor. A tortilla was slapped in
my hand and the mother spooned a portion of the beans on top of my tortilla. I was starving, and the beans tasted wonderful. We ate until all the
beans and tortillas were gone. Afterwards, we commenced with the English/Spanish classes. Fun was had by all...."El Mochilero"
So Much More
Mike Humfreville - 12-10-2003 at 08:53 PM
When folks have so little (financially) and continue to be giving it means so much more. Of course they have other riches many of us can only dream
of.