The Long Thirst, the Sudden Song

Having lived most of my life in North America where four distinct seasons mark the year, I am still adjusting to the rhythm of only two in Mexico. Amy and I have been here over six years now, and while I’ve grown accustomed to the shift, it never quite feels natural. We are nearing September, which means the rainy season is winding down. Soon, the long dry months—about eight of them—will return.

The change is stark. The fields that now glow with vibrant green will fade to brown. Some trees shed their leaves, and the ground turns brittle, reduced to dust in the wind.

I have always been a “plant person,” like my mother before me. Trees, flowers, green things in general speak to my soul. By the end of the dry season, many of the plants around our home—each one I know personally—seem on the verge of death. Though I water what I can, most rely on the drip system. Still, by late May, just when I find myself whispering prayers to stave off their passing, a few stubborn buds appear—miraculously. I scratch my head and wonder, where did they find the strength?

Then the rains come. At first scattered storms, and then, finally, a rhythm. Plants rejoice, bursting forth with such abandon that I spend my days cutting grass and brush, trying to keep up. Sometimes I imagine those first fragile buds are the plants calling out for the rains—and nature, listening, answers.

Now, the cornfields surrounding our village stand tall and healthy. If the skies grant just a few more generous rains, they’ll yield a good crop. But if the drought lingers year after year, the harvest suffers, and families sell their land for home lots. Already, the edges of our village are filling with new houses.

Landscape. 4 min. video

We prefer, for as long as possible, to be surrounded by nature.

Angels and Ants

 I thought about ants. They work so hard and industriously, making kingdoms on earth. In New Mexico, USA they seemed innocent enough, even noble, crawling busily over the high desert floor. At the time, I had traveled much and made art for over thirty years. Deep down I felt like stopping everything to simply become an observer. Watch ants work every day. Meditate.

Almost two decades ago, after my oldest daughter died, a poem came to me and included ants as a metaphor for elemental spirits of the world:

Angels and Ants

My pen tries to speak,

but the language it has learned 

is too sublime

for mere scratchings.

You taught me a new tongue—

the expressions of angels.

Alas, an ocean is between us 

which cannot be passed.

Wandering alone in a daze

I am left with the ants 

traveling over the dust of this world.

Amy and I have been living in Oaxaca, Mexico now for almost a year. For the first time in my life my home is in a place without winter. We grow flowers year around. The nearby plant nursery always welcomes us with myriad colors, exotic trees and shrubs and prices a fraction of what we would pay in the USA. Blooming rose shrubs cost 1.50 USD. Our eyes are dazzled and we make sure to smell them, to be certain of fragrance. 

Destroyed jasmine plants

I planted seven roses, caring for them, watching them slowly take hold and grow new leaves. Suddenly they were almost wiped out. By ants. Not just the roses, but many other of our trees, vegetables, and shrubs were being decimated. The jasmine plants in pots by our back door were denuded. By day I could not see much activity, but at night, by flashlight I saw legions of ants in long lines carrying cut leaves to their holes in the ground. 

The old lady, matriarch of the family who owns the nursery, when asked what could be done about ants, looked us steady in the eye and said, “kill them”.

I dug up my roses and put them in pots, then took them to my roof patio where they have revived and are producing marvelous blooms. Meanwhile, sadly I have had to declare war on the ants.

I have had to ask, plants or ants? 

Phoenix Rising

 Lluvia is the Spanish word for rain. Now that the wet season has come to Oaxaca, the rain falls most days—and it is sweet. The dry, brown landscape so brittle, hears the thunder and opens its arms to embrace the downpour. The earth has softened and breathed again, changing from brown to green.

    

Typically, the rain arrives with the clouds that roll in during late afternoon and evening. Temperatures are cooler, and water cleanses all it touches. I like it. The sun always come out again but the earth is rejuvenated and never gets bone dry. Plants that I thought were dead are showing verdure and unique beauty. It is like a phoenix rising from ashes.

THE PHOENIX

By Hafiz

My phoenix long ago secured 

   His nest in sky-vault's cope; 

In the body's cage immured, 

   He is weary of life's hope. 

Round and round this heap of ashes 

   Now flies the bird amain, 

But in that odorous niche of heaven 

   Nestles the bird again. 

Once flies he upward, he will perch 

   On Tuba's golden bough: 

His home is on that fruited arch 

   Which cools the blest below. 

If over this world of ours 

   His wings my phoenix spread, 

How gracious falls on land and sea 

   The soul-refreshing shade! 

Either world inhabits he, 

   Sees oft below him planets roll; 

His body is all of air compact, 

   Of Allah's love his soul.

Regeneration

A big wind knocked over a panel of sheetrock in my backyard. It struck a jade plant I had placed outdoors for the summer months. The jade is old—over forty years, and has sentimental value to me. Since it arrived as a twig in a pot, it has been with me through thick and thin over the decades, bearing silent witness to my life and changes. 

When the panel hit, it's main limb broke off, as if a person had an accident and lost their leg and arm. I grieved a few minutes, then determined to care for my plant and watch it reshape itself from its deformed state. I saved the broken piece to put in soil and see if it would live. 

 

 It has been several months, and both plants are living—the power of regeneration.

This is what I have had to do many times. The wind of fate breaks like a storm upon my life and though I feel crushed, even unable to move, something stirs within to regenerate and flourish again.