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!