Annotations for Places: Mexico--zacatecas

Yo crecí en Chicago. I grew up in Chicago, but every summer, my family would pack up an overloaded station wagon and drive across the border to visit my homeland, México. I have many wonderful memories of those trips to less urban settings. That was where I came into contact with nature, driving across the mountains and deserts of México. I often think that, like me, many Latinos who return to the land of their birth or where their parents or grandparents came from do so for the joy of going back to where the simple things of life are still valued. A few years ago, Texas artist Luis Guerra moved to a village in the state of San Luis Potosí in northern México. He says he was recently reminded of why he made the move as he took a long hike in the mountains in La Sierra.

La subida es dura. It's a steep climb, but after a few hours, the walking gets easier. The valleys and peaks of this beautiful, rocky Sierra spread out before you like a solid ocean suspended in time. This is a dry land, almost a desert, yet sometimes I'll find a tiny spring in a niche of a canyon wall. Or I'll happen upon a small shrine in a lonely valley. Almost every day, I'll come across a shepherd tending his flock or I'll hear the sounds of children and discover they are gathering wild herbs like oregano or rosa de castillo. Often, early in the morning, I'll see a woman or a man driving two or three burros loaded with mountain produce heading for a nearby town or city. I make it a point not to camp close to someone's home just out of respect and so as not to use up firewood that doesn't belong to me. Firewood is scarce around here. This day as I crested a hill, I spotted a ranchito, just a little two-room house, adobe walls with a flat roof.

Smoke was rising from the chimney. I was barely 300 yards from the ranchito and it would be dark soon. It was too late to move on. It was going to be a cold night and the only firewood I could find was already cut…tú sabes, for the rancho's wood stove. Ni modo. I used the firewood. I felt guilty, but warm that night. Anyway, I would make it up to them in the morning. After breakfast, as I was packing my things, the campesino from the ranchito showed up, a barrel-chested man with strong hands, a weathered face, and a scraggly beard. "Buenos días." I walked up to him and offered to pay for the wood. He brushed my words aside. "Mira, everything you see all around you is mine. Estás en tu casa. This is your home." To him, I was already his guest and my offer to pay was almost impolite. He reached into his bag and handed me a small bundle. "My wife packed this for you," he said. It was bread, goat cheese, and jamoncillo, a homemade candy made from fresh milk. We talked for a while.

I told him I was a painter who took inspiration from the Sierra. He told of his early life as a shepherd in these same mountains and of his many years as a minor in Zacatecas. "The mines are bad luck," he said. "Es muy duro, siempre en lo oscuro… always in the dark, digging with dynamite for God knows what or for whom. Here on top of the earth, we have everything a man can need. What more can one ask for? Dios provides the earth, the sun, wind, and rain. We provide the labor." He smiled. Somehow, my pack felt especially light that whole day.

A few years ago, Texas artist Luis Guerra, moved to a village in the state of San Luis Potosí in northern Mexico. He says he was recently reminded of why he made the move as he took a long hike in the mountains in La Sierra.

[Background--natural sounds--crickets] La subida es dura. It's a steep climb, but after a few hours, the walking gets easier. The valleys and peaks of this beautiful rocky Sierra spread out before you like a solid ocean suspended in time. This is a dry land, almost a desert, yet sometimes I'll find a tiny spring in a niche of a canyon wall or I'll happen upon a small shrine in a lonely valley. Almost every day, I'll come across a shepherd tending his flock or I'll hear the sounds of children and discover they're gathering wild herbs like oregano or Rosa De Castilla.

[Background--natural sounds--birds chirping] Often, early in the morning, I'll see a woman or a man driving two or three burros loaded with mountain produce, heading for a nearby town or city. [Background--natural sounds--farm animals] I make it a point not to camp close to someone's home, just out of respect and so as not to use a firewood that doesn't belong to me. Firewood is scarce around here. This day, as I crested a hill, I spotted a ranchito, just a little two-room house, adobe walls with a flat roof. Smoke was rising from the chimney. I was barely 300 yards from the ranchito and it would be dark soon. [Background--natural sounds--crickets] It was too late to move on. It was going to be a cold night and the only firewood I could find was already cut, tu sabes. For the rancho's wood stove. Ni modo. I used the firewood. I felt guilty but warm that night. [Background--natural sounds--fire] Anyway, I would make it up to them in the morning. [Background--natural sounds--rooster]

After breakfast, as I was packing my things, the campesino from the ranchito showed up, a barrel-chested man with strong hands, a weathered face, and a scraggly beard. Buenos dias, I walked up to him and offered to pay for the wood. He brushed my words aside. Mira, everything you see all around you is mine. Estas en tu casa, this is your home. To him, I was already his guest and my offer to pay was almost impolite.

He reached into his bag and handed me a small bundle. My wife packed this for you, he said. [Background--natural sounds--birds chirping] It was bread, goat cheese and jamoncillo, a homemade candy made from fresh milk. We talked for a while. I told him I was a painter who took inspiration from the Sierra. He told of his early life as a shepherd in these same mountains and of his many years as a miner in Zacatecas. The mines are bad luck he said, es muy duro. Siempre en lo oscuro. Always in the dark digging with dynamite for God knows what or for whom. Here, on top of the earth, we have everything a man can need. What more can one ask for. Dios provides the earth, the sun, wind and rain. We provide the labor, he smiled. Somehow, my pack felt especially light that whole day.

Commentator Luis Guerra is an Austin artist who now resides in the Mexican state of San Luis Potosí.