Clear signs

You know you live on a farm when you gauge last night's temperature by how frozen your toothpaste is in the morning.

Camaleón

The song that is the soundtrack to everything here:

"Cama, cama, cama, camaleon
Yo soy el camaleon
Cama, cama, cama, camaleon
Yo soy el camaleon
A mi me dicen el camaleon por que cambio de color
Para cada situacion yo tengo un color mejor (bis)
Cama, cama, cama, camaleon
Yo soy el camaleon
Cama, cama, cama, camaleon
Yo soy el camaleon
Si me habla rosa me pongo rojo
Si tengo miedo amarillo es mi color
Si me andan buscando no quiero que me encuentren
Transparente tambien soy (bis)
Cama, cama,...
A mi me dicen el camaleon... (bis)
Cama, cama,... "

- Los Tigrillos

Quince

With all my thoughts about the quince roaming, I wasn't sure exactly how it would go. I first went over to Chyca's house to get ready and try on a bunch of different dresses. I managed to get away without her offering to lend me a dress or a pair of shoes but I couldn't escape her purse and earrings. In the end I chose a gold dress with the flashiest pair of gold heels I own to match and Chyca supplied a sparkly gold purse to top it all off.
After piling little Héctor and Chyca's young niece, Loret into the car, we drove over to the hall in Woodland where the party was being held. During the day I'm sure the building would have looked like any warehouse but that night you could tell from the outside that there was a lot going on. Lights and music were bursting through the roof and the parking lot was brimming as we pulled in. After we finally managed to get to the doors the security announced the capacity was already filled but because of our lucky inside connection, we managed to get in through the back. Ducking in through the secret entrance we made our way through the industrial kitchen where warm mole, rice and beans were being served to all the guests. After pushing our way through the crowds we eventually found ourselves in the big dance room where a mass of tables and families faced the big stage. All around the room had been decorated in pistachio green to match the quinceañera's dress choice, and big colorful lights swept over the band as they cranked out popular mexican songs (none of which I knew).
We ate and talked with the people around us as the usual quince rituals carried on. None of the people around us seemed to care so I continually had to poke Mari to ask her what was happening. With all the distractions, I'm pretty sure I missed a few parts but I did get to see the quince perform a series of studied dances (including a waltz), a very poorly choreographed michael jackson-inspired number performed by some boys in matching green suits, and the quince's parents present her a tiara and a pair of heels to transition her into womanhood.
After her dance, everybody joined together on the stage with no inhibition, old and young alike dancing together. Mari and her husband Manuel danced together while I danced with Chyca and the kiddies.
Finally after a dozen songs the kids began to whine so we decided to head home. But only shortly after all cramming into the car the kids started to complain of hunger so we stopped at what I imagine was probably the only taqueria open at such an hour. The kids nibbled on some tacos and horchata while we sat around feeling cold in our dresses and tiny cardigans.
But as we sat leaning against the wall of the restaurant we realized there was also a lot of music coming from inside the building. Leaving the kids outside with Mari, Chyca, Tony and I went inside only to have our ears greeted once again by the sounds of the uber-popular song, Camaleón. The dark room throbbed with music as we watched couples dance inside, bouncing to the beat. We watched for a few minutes as the sweaty, smoky room pulsed and then turned back to make our way homewards.

Empanadas

I went again to Chyca's chaotic but fun house yesterday. I'm getting used to the rhythm now, barely knocking at the door before going in to find the plebes (kids) crawling around the house like ants. As soon as you cross the threshold they swarm and pull at your clothes as you try to get your bearings.

I went over because I've been begging Mari (Chyca's sister) to teach me to cook and dance. And she actually took me up on it! She decided to start with the easier task of teaching me how to cook a meal that I love.

To make her famous shrimp empanadas we started by peeling a bunch of slimy gray shrimp and dicing them. We mixed these in with a concoction of tomatoes and onions that were simmering on the stove until they formed a nice pastey sauce. Next we made the masa and used the press to smush balls of dough into perfect tortilla-shaped discs. Filling these with our mixture we pinched each empanada closed with our fingers and then submerged them in bubbling oil until they were perfectly golden. Served with mayo and a delicious avocado, tomato, lemon, cabbage, and onion salad, not much could have been better.

Snickerdoodles

Today I was giggly for most of the day until yoga finally calmed me down.

Before I had the chance to do lots of downard dogs and warrior poses though, I made some snickerdoodles for lunch. I must have been the only one affected by the sugar because I was the only one that howled at Rawley's response, "snick me a doodle!" and "pass me a snicker, dude, ul." (But even after my hour-long yoga session, I still think it's clever) My favorite quote of the day by far.

Plums

Not many people have the luxury to finish a day of work and say that they built an orchard. I, however, have this freedom. Most of the day was spent stringing cords, banging stakes, and jumping through the tall grass that filled the entire plot we were working with. Every so often our work would be paused when Sergio would announce, "¡Cada quien a sus wiriris!", "Everybody, to their weedeaters!" and we would each don our goggles and earplugs, revving up our individual motors. After many hours we finally finished and laughed as we looked at each other, covered from head to toe in tiny green specks. Looking out at the field in my camouflage, I saw the neatly staked rows and thought how there are few jobs more rewarding than knowing that the trees I helped place will remain for years and years to come.

Pinto

I sit inside my trailer as the coyotes howl and the pigs grunt outside, thinking about my day. Our prized cow, Pinto Bean, was pregnant today. And I say pregnant today because we didn't know she was pregnant until this morning when we saw discharge starting to come out of her.

After this discovery, the whole day was spent somewhat on edge, with a scout going up to see her every half hour to make sure everything was alright. But I guess our scheduled scouts didn't do much good because it was the crew that first noticed that Pinto was finally in labor. On my way over to the sheep in the little Kubota, I noticed a van pulled over to the side of the road. As I drew closer I realized they were all pointing in Pinto's direction and motioning for me to come over. I pulled up to the window where Pancho told me to run and get Dru to help Pinto who was now standing with great discomfort in the middle of her pen, looking quite miserable.

Only minutes later Dru and I were standing by the gate together, watching Pinto struggle with the baby. After only a few minutes of watching, we couldn't handle it anymore so Dru went in and pulled at the calf until the whole body slithered out onto the hay. With quick movements she rubbed the body, trying to revive it but no matter how she did, the delicate body wouldn't show signs of life. In the end, the tiny calf lay there in front of us as Pinto regained strength and stood up again. It was with sorrow that we watched as Pinto nudged her dead baby and began to lick its entire, limp body dry. With each lick the carcass moved jerkily, flopping around as she lapped up the placenta that stuck to the baby's hind quarters. Her longing moos echoed in the silence of sadness that enveloped us as we watched the scene proceed. As Dru always says, "it never gets easier".

Identification

"Lente oscuro, marijuano seguro"