The first success at watering

We actually spent some of the 2 hours it took (only 2 hours!), last friday, standing around leaning on our shovels and watching the water move... where it was supposed to move.

It was not the frenetic water chasing, dirt shoveling, boots sucking deep into the mud and threatening to fall off, all day or all night, relationship straining, marathon of a time, it has been so far.  I mean, I even had time to walk over and grab my camera and snap a few shots. Hurrah!

Where the water enters the land, from the canal

Other good news in the field: the beans are starting to have flowers, and the sesame, buckwheat, melons, squash, roselle, chia, cucumbers, amaranth, and millet have all sprouted and are growing! 

Excursions with visitors

We had visitors last weekend-- Stevan's mom, family friend, and cousin who will be staying on with us for a bit here-- and a good excuse to go exploring and take a break from projects on the land.  

One of the excursions was to the spring that feeds the canal-- a few miles north of Banamichi-- with the intent to take some water samples, and harvest watercress for a springtime salad.

We managed to get Stevan's mom's car caught on a cattle guard (and spent some time dismantling the mostly unneccesary part that had gotten stuck with the help of some people with tools who were driving by) and only took a few wrong turns on the dirt roads, before walking through a picturesque field of flowering mustard and horses, and arriving at the lush source of water that bubbles from the ground and later reaches us via the canal where we use it for our fields and bathing.  There is something magical about water in the desert.  

We also headed north to the town of Arizpe.  While a herd of cows stood guard over the parked car, we walked through a parade of huge ancient cottonwoods lining the road to one of the old, and no longer in operation, grain mills.  Then we went into town for some food-- caldo de albondigas (meatballs in broth), paletas (popsicles), and to look at a beautiful old church, that supposedly holds the remains of the body of Juan Bautista de Anza.

This skeleton in the floor is slightly creepy, but somewhat interesting.  Rumor has it that it is not actually de Anza's, despite what the plaque says, though his supposedly is somewhere in the church.

He was supposedly the first Spanish explorer to find an overland route up to San Francisco, which he did in 1776 with a whole troop of other people and animals, and was born and lived part of his life here in these parts.  Personally I feel some connection with him, merely because I have lived at both ends of his route-- San Francisco, and here in northern Sonora.  Perhaps if we run out of oil I'll make the trek myself one day, on a donkey.  Just joking.  Maybe.

 I learned recently from a visitor that the de Anza family is of Basque origins, and the father, de Anza senior, is behind one of the legends of the origin of the name of the state of Arizona.   He called it "haritz ona" which in Basque means "land of the oaks" and at some point morphed into what it is today.  Though I must say, oaks arn't the first thing that come to mind when I think of Arizona.  

Teresa, Martha, me, S

Stevan, Elalt, Teresa, and Martha

And for a lovely end to the trip-- we spent the last day soaking and relaxing at the hot springs, just south of Banamichi outside the town of Aconchi.

Green

It seems like there are lots of pictures on this blog that show brown dusty landscapes.   Yes, this is the desert, but those pictures have mostly been of winter, and actually there is a surprising about of green here.  So, some pictures to balance out the others.

The acre or so of tree grove around the canal on the land here is absolutely humming with life right now.  

Literally.  The bees are incredibly loud, morning to evening, as they roll in the pollen on the flowers of the mesquite, which will eventually change into pods that I'm excited to harvest to turn into mesquite flour.

And the walnuts are fully leafed out too, creating this wonderful canopy of various colors of green, and various depths of shade.  Which makes for a good temperature with the breeze blowing through.  I'm having all sorts of insights and inspirations about the concept of a "food forrest."  It finally really truly makes sense to me, and I am living in one.

It's been fun to get up in the trees a bit too, harvesting dead branches and finding the straightest bits to make "plugs" with, which are something we will use when watering the field.  Basically, its using sticks and pieces of tarp to block and then open certain passsageways.

And we actually have kale, and an abundance of carrots are looking great below a thick layer of mulch near the greywater of our kitchen sink.

And then.... the field. Yes! Amazingly, the beans and everything else that came up survived and thrived through our being gone and not getting any water yet.

Below is our first attempt as a team-- me and Stevan and a mule- to plant beans.  Stevan was lammenting about the crooked lines to another farmer who said, "don't worry, the beans know which way is up." 

Today we spent the morning with Conrado and his mule furrowing between the crops to prepare for watering Thursday.  Luckily he is a wizard and acrobat with the plow, and even managed to get through the obstacle course in the picture above, leaving no bean unearthed, and neat furrows between rows.  There were jokes about "plowing Olympics."

We both did much watching and observing, and also spend some time under the reins and behind the plow.  

Ruby meets Pancho

The task: to distribute 20 varieties of tomato seed to the agriculture teacher, and manager of worm compost at the school between Banamichi and Huepac (the next town south).  A friend in southern Arizona who frequents this area entrusts us with the whole bundle to divide up as we please: some for us to grow, some for us to share with other farmers and gardeners in the community.  The idea is to see what does well here, and save those seeds.

Informative sign about worms at the school

A night at Canelo on our way back to Mexico from Tucson leaves us with dozens of small origami packages of tomato seeds which we label with things like amish paste and brandywine and green zebra and zapotec.

There is this thing that happens when I'm around Stevan.  He is our talker and I am the listening observer.  It happens because he is a native spanish speaker, and I am not, and while I have learned much from listening, and he has been helpful in so many situations, it obviously presents some challenges and patterns that don't really serve either of us.  There are many things about coming here and doing the things we are doing here, while in relationship, that have felt like some of the hardest things I've ever done.  It seems like what is happening as a result is my comfort zone is getting pushed and pulled to expand a much wider scope than it previously had (dare I say not the easiest process), and that its becoming clearer and clearer whats truly important to me.

Anyhow, between getting a roof on and windows and doors in, and the field watered, prepped, and planted before Stevan left, we've only managed to hand out one batch of seeds, and haven't yet managed to catch "el profe" at his house.  And we are getting into tomato season.

So, armed with some phrases I googled while sitting in the town square using the free wi-fi and watching the town start to come alive with "semana de santa" activity, I head to el profe's house with the envelope full of the 20 little origami packages of seed.

A dog barks fiercely in the yard, so I opt not to enter the gate and knock on the door, but yell a tentative buenas tardes from outside the gate.  I try to peer into the backyard, and am about to get back in the truck and leave when a young guy opens the door in his socks, and leads me around the corner of the house to the backyard after I ask, es el professor Sarabia aqui?

We walk through probably close to 100 chamomile plants, lining the pathways in bags of soil, that instantly put me at ease, as chamomile is so good at doing.  And there is the teacher, squatting over a garden bed in the far corner in shorts and a tee shirt and wearing sandals over his pulled up socks. He looks up at me, not registering who I am, under slightly disheveled hair.

I grasp clumsily for the pre-researched phrases in my memory, and reel them off slowly until I see a light of recognition on his face.  Ah! yes.  I remember you and your boyfriend that stopped by the school and bought some worm castings from me a month or so ago.

And then curiosity.  Who is your friend in Arizona?  Does he know me?  What are these seeds?

Meanwhile, we are standing over dirt.  Real dirt.  Good dirt.  We walk and he is describing things to me.  The plan for the garden; a plant here; that plant there.  Then I hear him say Beattles, and Creedence Clearwater, and I realize he's telling me what he likes to listen to when he is back here gardening.  It's dawning on me that the radio is on, and the usual raucous Mexican music of the area isn't coming out of it.

We look at a nest in a citrus tree with huge heavy fruit.  It's bigger than grapefruit, but I don't remember what he told me it was in Spanish anymore.  He shows me the peach tree, and remembering that he offered us one back when we first met him, points out the small tree coming up next to it that I can dig up if I want.

And then-- I know.  I know I have truly met a friend, simply because we are both squatting over his compost pile, mutually appreciating the pile of rotting garbage that is crawling with the biggest roly poly's I've ever seen, and worms, and some sort of snail.  To the untrained eye it is, well, garbage.  Garbage sitting on a tarp, full of bugs.  There are rinds and peels, and a volunteer potato plant coming up in the middle of it all.  But we both know and understood what it is in the process of becoming, and I feel so at home squatting there next to it with another appreciative soul.

On the porch he picks up a bird book and makes a quick whistling sound that sounds exactly like a bird, then points at the picture.  I realize he's telling me what sort of bird made the nest in the citrus tree.  He also tells me he records all his daily bird sitings.

Como se llama? he askes me as I'm getting ready to leave, and when we are standing by the front door with the ceramic sycamore leaf next to it inscribed with the family's name: Sarabia.

Ruby? He responds when I tell him.  I'm in a place where my name is truly difficult for the language.  Of course, it is a little tricky, period, but here people's tongues and lips just plain can't wrap themselves around the word Trilby.  At first I was indignant that I wouldn't change my name when Stevan suggested I might want to have another one handy that I don't mind people calling me, otherwise people will just give me any nickname they please--as nicknames are big here-- and it will stick.  But I'm starting to realize that just as the plants around here have another name in spanish, they are still the same plant, and I can go by different names too without it changing--or rather, limiting-- whats underneath.

Sarabia? I ask him back.
Francisco, he says, and smiles.  Pancho.

We smile at each other.  Pancho and Ruby.  I leave feeling victorious.  Like I accomplished my mission, and while maybe I didn't understand all his words, nor him mine, it seems like the meaning underneath was mutually understood.

signs of life

The beans have sprouted!

I snapped this shot of the building early morning, on my way back from inspecting the field to observe the ant hills and see which of my techniques seem to be working in managing them, so they don't decimate the new seedlings.

Looking towards the north over the corn mingla, which I discovered had also sprouted on this morning walk.  I'm now on my way north, and then east, to go visit family and Stevan is in central Mexico.  I  left things as best I could, and an excited arugula eater in town is watering the canal gardens while we're gone.  All there is to do now is hope that the new growth keeps on growing while we are gone....

I'm hoping to post some writing soon about my adventures the last few days.  A few days solo here has proved to be a helpful boost in my confidence in more ways than one, and have left me with some entertaining encounters to share.   More soon!

mesquite green and ocotillo pink

I love the signs of spring here.  Well actually I love them everywhere I've ever been, but I was especially appreciating the new leaves on the mesquite as I did some clearing in the tree grove today.  And then there is the ocotillo, such a gangly and spiny desert plant with such a distinct form.  This time of year the tips of the branches sprout salmon colored bunches of trumpet shaped flowers.  I took an early morning walk to harvest some flowers along with the bees who were happily rolling in the pollen, and stood on my toes or uphill of them, to reach the flowers.  Maybe because so much is brown and dry colored here, the splashes of green and pink and yellow amidst the desert hues feel even more special.

new mesquite leaves!

ocotillo with cottonwood in background

ocotillo flower tea... looks better in real life

I have a medicinal plant book for this general area, and in the lists of uses in the back index, ocotillo flower is one of few listed under the heading "For Tea- tastes good."  I guess many desert plants are potent medicine but might not be considered to taste good... And it does taste good! Sweet, floral, and a bit tart all at once.  This batch didn't turn out as pretty of a color as the first one however, I think I left it in the sun oven too long.

canal garden... also looks better in real life

And speaking of spring, the arugula in the canal garden is harvestable! And oh do salads taste good. Excellent with orange and avocado pieces, and toasted pumpkin seeds.   I guess I just have to work a bit harder for my greens here than in California.  The "L'Itoi Onions" which are actually more like shallots are leaping out of the ground at a visible pace, and there are lady bugs all over the fava plants--seems like a good sign-- which have finally recovered from being mowed down by "mochomos." (the ants)

I am more and more inspired to do food growing here, in and among the trees, rather than in the field, where there is already abundant diversity, good soil, food growing, and some protection from the impending and already building heat and blaring sun.  While certain things perhaps will do better in the field, it seems just as worthwhile to keep observing, learning from, caring for and adding to the food forest that already exists without a whole lot of human input, and to keep questioning prevailing paradigms of how to grow food.

As I was pruning dead mesquite wood, which the trees seem to produce in abundance, I considered best use of it.  Or more specifically where this dead wood would support the most life and diversity added back to the land.  Observing natural cycles, adding it back to the soil, seems the natural answer, as dead branches eventually land under the tree to finish decaying and feed the soil, so I guess more specifically my question is how can we-- as humans with unique tools available to us-- facilitate this natural process to aid the building of soil.

Upon closer inspection the wood I was pruning was already full of ants and some had fungus growing on it, so arguably its already supporting life and perhaps I should just leave it and let it fall on its own time.  I do believe though, that humans have the unique position of being able to aid in some of these natural processes, if we can observe them closely enough and ask the right questions so we are indeed doing something beneficial.

One thing we're both interested in trying here is making biochar, that is basically charcoal which increases soil fertility by providing lots of microscopic crevices for things to live in, and can be a tool in sequestering carbon.

In California I've used branches to make hugels, but I'm not sure how they would do in such an arid place.  Perhaps watering them with our greywater would help out the decomposition...

There are obviously some experiments to come.

Happy Spring!

Seeds in the ground

We spent the day planting!  And somehow, it actually went fairly smoothly.  The morning started observing tractor usage from the roof of the vault.  It looks so barren and like lots of exposed dirt now.  Hopefully not for long:

This is the generous neighbor Luis Carlos who spent the night watering with us, and now helped us out by bringing his tractor and discer over to smooth out the field (which will greatly help with the watering at this point)

We planted many beans.  These are "corcovado," a type that supposedly does well here.

The mule was pretty cooperative, I thought, and the seeds mostly went in the ground in fairly straight lines. This seeder was one method of getting them in the ground.  We also hand seeded the corn, sorghum, and teparies, walking behind Conrado who was on the plow opening up, and then closing the ground.

Planted:

-Corcovado beans from Banamichi

-Pinto beans from Banamichi

-Tepary Beans: San Ignacio white, Pinnacate brown, Sacaton brown

-Cow pea

-Sorghum:  grain type

-Corn:  2 types: Various blue kinds from a few different spots, and "Yoeme Vatchi"

-sunflowers (between the different types of beans)

And now to wait, and hope things sprout.  Apparently people plant the beans when the soil is moist (a week or so after watering) and then don't water them till they are a few inches tall (maybe 3+ weeks from now)  It doesn't feel like they will sprout, but I will try to trust the tried and true method here!  I'm guessing they have a nice hardy root system with that start.  And in a few weeks when we are both back, we will plant the last two minglas with some combination of sesame, buckwheat, vetch, pumpkins, gourds, millet, amaranth.  

Off to the hot springs for a much needed soak!

The door and windows are in!

 

x

A farming all-nighter

At the end of last week we pulled a farming all-nighter.  From dusk till dawn we had the water, and therefore we spent the night in the field, with lights and shovels.  At first it was magical and entrancing and surreal. The night sky was full of stars, the moon was a crescent on its way towards setting, and the water moved slowly.  It was easy and new and mesmerizing to watch a trickle flow across the earth and move the earth from high spots to low spots.  It continued to be mesmerizing and surreal, and even a little magical when the sky brightened with a rising sun, but by then my body was worn out and I was more ready to lie down and sleep than I ever have been.

To back up, I will explain what "having the water" means.  It means that for a certain amount of time, all the water flowing in the canal is yours.  You can open the gate that runs onto your land, and welcome a rushing waterfall that you direct into "minglas"  which is the word that refers to the long strips of field sectioned off by small furrows and hills from other parts of the field.  Except, its not so simple to have the water apparently.  The ins and outs of small town life are becoming more obvious.  Or perhaps less.  I'm picking this up somewhat second hand, since Stevan negotiates with the "juez de agua."  But apparently we weren't going to get a turn at all, because we didn't go ask him, which apparently one is supposed to do every time it is your turn (about every 15 days, unless you are growing beans, and then it is 8 days).  And not only that,  but this time he said we could not have it because we do not have crops.  Apparently word got around that earlier in the winter, we used the water to water the tree grove where a mix of mesquites, elderberries, walnuts, and mulberries grow with an understory of chiltepines (a wild very hot pepper that supposedly all peppers originate from) and lots of other shrubby plants and herbs.  But the whole point about needing the water now, is so we can grow "crops" or at least crops that are considered "crops" around here.  The ones that grow in the field.  I guess we are going into the most intense period of the year- from April to June- and people get worried there isn't enough water or time in the watering cycle.  Or something.  But it was starting to feel rather ridiculous hearing that we couldn't get water because we don't have crops, when we need water to be able to have the crops.

Anyhow, our turn this time wasn't really supposed to start till 2 am, and around 7pm, after a full day already, starting with getting a lesson with the seeder at the neighbors place (which is another story altogether, but lets just say involved lots of guys enjoying the new batch of bacanora, and some mules, and bean seeds that were more or less going into the field) we were getting ready to go eat snacks and reconsider plans.   Maybe actually go get some rest for a bit.  But at this point, the neighbor who was currently watering his field next door, came over unprompted and started shoveling, to help ready our field for the water.  It had only just been plowed with "lines" an hour or so before, so the water wouldn't all run off.  And what can you do when someone with more knowledge than you just comes over and starts helping? Well, of course we had to go back to work too, and pretty soon the plan became to start watering then, with the trickle that slipped past the neighbors gate, before we got the whole torrent of a canal which probably would have blown through everything and ended the process right there.

I made a big mistake at this point, not to run to the store in town for fresh batteries for my headlamp before it closed.  For some reason, using the solar powered reading lamp from Ikea seemed smarter.  Sure the light was brighter than my headlamp, and at that point I figured I could find some way to fasten it to my body. It was fine draped around my neck for the first part of the night, but come 3 am,  started to really be a headache to get to stay there just so.

I was blown away by the generosity and help from the neighbor though.  Until 4 am he helped us, going every hour or so to his field to switch the water from one mingla to another.  I guess other than that he didn't need to be there because he'd spent much time grading it and smoothing it. And then around 4am, the neighbor who had been using the seeder earlier in the day, and a friend of his, showed up.  It felt a bit like being part of some sort of organism where things just happen a certain way.

I was gearing up to write "how not to water a field" from my first watering experience a few weeks ago when all this happened at the beginning of the weekend.  The bullet points from that were:  1) Don't ever skip your turn, because it means you will come get woken up at 7am on a sunday to be told it is now your turn... which gets everything started on a bad note and leads to point number 2) Don't think you know better than your partner who at least has done this a few times where you have never done it, because its not helpful to be arguing while trying to persuade a gushing torrent of water to go where you want it and not wash away all the top soil.  3) There is a reason why those designer steel-toed rubber boots sold on the street corner in Nogales were only $12.  They leak.
and more...  but that is a snippet of what I learned the first time around.

Anyhow, thats the story on watering for now.
After the all nighter, we took a weekend and didn't do much at all, which was great, and are now back on, working full days to close in the building.

I am curious, if anyone who might be reading this has thoughts on flood irrigation.  It dosnt make sense to me yet, and doesn't feel like the best things for the land either, but I'm curious to observe it further.

Adventures off-milpa

I left last Thursday morning for my first solo drive in Mexico up to Magdalena (a town not to far north of here) to meet up with a handful of other people from Tucson who were driving down to Kino Bay. We were going to spend a couple days camping with some Seri Herbalists and learning from and about their medicine chest-  the plants scattered about on the dry landscape next to the Sea of Cortez.  The land we camped on was a few miles from the sea, in view of "Isla Tiburon," the largest Island in the Sea of Cortez- which was a mass of rock that turned beautiful colors in the dawn sun.  The women we predominately spent time with were Luisa, and her mother Ortensia.

Looking across at Isla Tiburon

The Seris were a semi nomadic hunter-gatherer group of people who have lived in this particular area in and around the Sea of Cortez for a long time, and who have retained more of their knowledge and culture than other indigenous groups in Mexico.   The land supposedly only receives about 5 inches of rainfall a year, but the influence of the ocean moisture was causing many plants to bloom.  Some of the plants growing there I knew, others I was learning for the first time, and had to juggle hearing 4 different names spoken for them:  Seri, Spanish (the common language between those of us visiting, and the Seris), English, and the Latin name.  Phew!  We harvested twigs off of the Elephant tree- Torote Prieto- Bursera Laxiflora- to make tinctures.

After a few fascinating days wandering and looking at plants, sitting around looking at herbs with the women, sampling barrel cactus, making salve, and going to bed and waking up early, we all headed back north and stopped in Imuris to meet Dona Olga, and older but very lively and spry herbalist who has traversed a wide radius in her burro cart harvesting medicine.  She sat us down in her house- that mostly had no walls, was surrounded by little gardens in both the back and front yard and a lovely warm breeze blowing through, and fed us lemongrass-cinnamon tea and lunch.  After touring her garden we sat in front of a table laden with plastic baggies full of different types and combinations of roots and leaves and flowers and tiny miniature sea creatures, and asked her questions.  Her eyes sparkled and she listened intently as someone would ask about a certain herb on the table or an ailment they were trying to cure.  She would lapse into story in her answers, and at one point talked about climbing in a tree 9 months pregnant to harvest something when she almost reached for a very large snake, instead of a branch... and other stories.

From there, we headed onto Tucson.  I'm really coming to appreciate Tucson. I spent a few months there years ago on my migration westward, so I don't know it well, but I did enjoy getting a dose of certain American subcultures that I am removed from in Mexico.  I found the coffee-shop equivalent of one I enjoy now and then in Berkeley (and acquired a hand grinder so I can make good backcountry coffee).  I had some fun and very successful thrift store shopping stops, so we now have more than four bowls and three spoons (visitor ready!).

I also got a more in-depth look at an organization I am deeply inspired by-- Native Seeds Search.  Their mission is to conserve, distribute and document the adapted and diverse varieties of seed in this unique area of the great American Southwest, and Northern Mexico, and their means of getting seed and knowledge into the community are varied and inspiring.  I went to the Conservation Center in Tucson for the first time, and picked up 2 pounds of corn (two different kinds), and 4 pounds of bean (some Teparies, and Cowpeas) and got a tour of the walk in fridge where hundreds of accessions are stored, and there is a walk in freezer with in that.  And then, on my way home, and the suggestion of my friends, old seed school teachers and current directors, I stopped but the Conservation Farm, in Patagonia, AZ to pick up a little bit of Cover Crop.

I was going to buy some Buckwheat in Tucson, but it is all grown in colder places, even though it is a hot weather crop, so thought it would be better to get some more adapted to here.  Not only did I leave with some buckwheat grown soley on Monsoon rains, but 7 or 8 other things that the farm manager carefully bagged up for me from huge trashcans in the barn, all the while sharing tidbits of helpful information.  I became envious of having a freezer (we don't) when he opened his to show me why he now appreciates Tomato Horn worms.  Frozen little pellets of protein packed chicken food!

Navigating my way successfully back to Banamichi, passing cottonwoods growing by the dry rivers that are now full green with spring leaves, I felt incredibly grateful for the wealth of interesting people and knowledge that I was able to come in contact with over this past 5 days or so.  About 15 minutes away from home, I saw a truck parked on the side of the road next to the beehives I have always wondered about.  Embolded by my success at speaking spanish on my own (without my trusty translater, speaker, and understander by my side) I turned around and went back to meet the beekeepers.
   "Tengo una pregunta!" I asked, after greeting the two veiled men.  "Venda la miel aqui en pueblo?"
   "Si!"  He answered enthusiastically.
     What followed was a short conversations of him asking where I could be found (eh... a milpa in Banamichi? Or the hotel! they know us)  and telling me where the honey could be found (a ranchita a few hundred meters up the road I'd just driven down).  I drove away smiling, at navigating a conversation successfully, and finding local honey.

When I came home I noticed the garden had grown.  The arugula that has gotten munched by both the mule (who jumped the canal to get it) and the mochomos (the leaf cutter ants who have been carrying away the fava plants before my eyes) has bounced back and is ready to be harvested for salad.  Hurrah!

And, while I'd been off on learning adventures, Stevan had been having his own here.  He plowed and harrowed about an acre of field with the neighbors mules, and it sounds like not a lot of help or very clear instruction from them.  And nearly finished the vault.  Which as I sit here, is now is completely closed in.  Also, as I sit here writing this under the stars on the upper patio at the hotel (which is our internet spot), it is warm at 9:30 pm, and smells like blooming citrus.  Spring is here.

Mustard greens and snacks from the still

 I get a serious craving for fresh green things here.

Lately the chlorophyll craving has been satisfied near by, and consists of a walk along the canal to the neighbor's alfalfa field, which is growing more mustard greens than alfalfa it looks like at the moment.

The recipe du jour is to just mince it up real small, squeeze lime all over it, add some salt and squeeze it till it wilts, and then drizzle olive oil and balsamic vinegar on it.  

And while on the subject of harvested food, I got to snack on some agave the other day.  We ran into Prieto running the Bacanora still, while returning on bikes down the road from looking for his brother who was in the field plowing with the mules.  They are an interesting family- more on them later. 

I was feeling a bit camera shy, and this is the only photograph I managed to take.  Its a bit hard to know what to photograph over there, with piles of junk and barrels, and guys and dogs and horses hanging around.  On this day though, there was a tarp loaded up with the "hearts" from the agave plant, ready to be thrown into the fire and roasted, and then later thrown into the vat to be fermented.  Below is a hunk of the roasted stuff that was handed over to chew on.   Hard to tell from the picture, but it was quite tasty.

the roof is growing...