A wake of gold dust

What do they say about the best laid plans...? My journey here in México is a lesson in patience and roll-with-the-punches good humor.

Eva and I planned to depart at 8 AM for San Juan Mixtepec. She needs to head to her bank first, she informs me as we meet outside my house. Oh, and her bank doesn't open until 9. Ok. We trek up to her house for a breakfast of black bean soup with nopales (cactus), and warmed tortillas. After schlepping it to her bank eventually, we head to the San Juan Mixtepec transport pick-up location. We're now heading out at 9:30 AM.

Turns out it doesn't matter when we left. Eva uses the hour-long ride to chat up her seat neighbor; and thus, she realizes where my tortillera lives. When we hop out at the neighborhood of Independencia, nestles in the hillside just above SJM, we encounter the sister of my interview subject. The tortillera is gone. It's her turn this week to stand guard over the town's forrest. It's her tequio service. She won't return until nightfall. Or I should say, . It's one of my new vocabulary words!

We take the opportunity, then, to talk to the sister about her craft, barro rojo (pottery). She shows us to her small workshop--clay bowls, pots and pitchers sit stacked against the wall inside the cool, brick room. Freshly-made pottery, still slick with moisture, golden powder mixed into the mud, sunbathe outside the door to the shop. She shows us the red-gold dust, gathered from nearby hills, that she churns with black clay to make just-the-right combo for her pieces. We see the fire ring where she "cooks" each pot and jar; soaking in a bowl of milky water are the tools of her trade: jicama husk, elote core. Each is used to shape and meld mud into form.

She sits down, and in a matter of minutes makes this clay jara (pitcher). My camera can barely keep up with the speed of her fingers. "I can't help but get dirty," she tells us. It's the consequence of her craft--hands dried with yellow-red earth, the mud slipping into cracks and wrinkles, under nail beds, between fingers. You can look at her fingers and see she's productive, prolific, even. (I look down at my hands, unsure that there are any marks from my craft. Is there such thing as a radio callus?)

Before we depart she offers me a jara to take with me as a gift, and a quick bowl of cool guyaba juice (freshly squeezed from their tree out front).

I leave word that I will return Friday to visit her sister in the Plaza where she sells tacos. I leave behind a print of a picture I snapped of her over a month ago.

Eva and I climb down the ridge to the town center in search of Anderson Bautista. It's a bit of a hike--but I welcome it after our bumpy ride from Tlaxiaco. I interviewed Anderson and his father over a month ago when they were guests at the station one afternoon. I need to ask a few quick questions before I can complete their story. Unfortunately, Anderson is gone and won't return until Friday afternoon. His dad is shy, and prefers to be interviewed later when Anderson is present. So instead we chat, we nibble on oranges from the Bautista Family's trees, and then head the Municipal Building further into town. Eva needs to snag an interview before we return.

When we finally depart San Juan Mixtepec it is around 5. What we both though would be a quick trip has taken all day. I have no tape to show for it. Boo.

I get home and shuck off my shoes, smothered in dust. Once my head hits down, I know I don't have enough energy to carry myself to the center of town for dinner, or even to shuffle a few blocks down to use the internet. It's only 8:30, but I decide to read a bit and sleep. God, I'm an old lady now! I must rise early to depart for San Andres Chicahuaxtla tomorrow. Hopefully, I'll have more luck recording there. Thus, early slumber will do me good. G'night!