Cultivating Corn on Michoacán's Purhépecha Meseta: An Ancient Wager

Looking Across Fields on the Purhépecha Meseta,
or Highlands; at 2,200 meters (7,217 ft); the cerros, hills,
can rise another 900 meters (3,000 ft)

For our first three years in Mexico, we lived in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán. Our initial intent was to focus on improving our Spanish by living embedded among Mexico's people in order to experience as much as we could of daily life, customs and culture. Pátzcuaro was a fortuitous choice. As one of the country's 83 Pueblos Mágicos, Pátzcuarenses are accustomed to Mexican and foreign tourists. Our impression is that Patzcuarenses were touched by our genuine interest in daily life and customs.

We had help. CELEP, our language school, views the process of learning Spanish as one of opening a 'window on the culture'. Welcoming and engaging, CELEP's teachers enthusiastically embrace their role as cultural guides. Needless to say, we took advantage of all the school had to offer!

We choose not to drive in Mexico, relying instead on taxis. In Pátzcuaro, we were regular customers of Monarca, whose drivers came to know us because we invariably struck up conversations about almost anything as a relaxed, low-key way to practice our Spanish.

One of our favorite Sunday pastimes was to engage a driver for a ride up to the Purhépecha Meseta, or Highlands. In an earlier post, I described the countryside, which is stunningly beautiful. When we decided to move to Pátzcuaro, we had no idea that we would encounter Purhépecha culture, vibrantly alive in the region around Pátzcuaro, or that it would have such an impact on us.

So you can imagine the flood of memories let loose when I came across this article in the La Jornada newspaper.  The author is César Moheno,* recently appointed Technical Secretary of the National Institute of History and Anthropology (INAH). Moheno's essay is written in a lyrical, even poetic style, which I attempted to preserve in the translation.

Something to keep in mind is that corn was originally domesticated in Mexico's river basins. Corn is to the Americas what rice is to China and wheat is to the people in the Levant Region of the Middle East. The need to assure a good corn crop, essential for the people's survival, became an essential role performed by Mesoamerica's god-kings.

The current battle to prevent the cultivation of genetically modified corn in Mexico is being waged precisely to protect the multiple varieties of native corn that have grown up over millenia to adapt to Mexico's countless ecosystems ("Our Heart is Made of Corn").

With that context, here is César Moheno's essay, "The Blessings of the Dream" [Los beneficios del sueño]:

"Many days ago I walked along the road of Don Joel Equihua in one of the most remote parts of the forest on the Purépecha Meseta in Michoacán. Despite the many intervening years, he recognized my step and, as if time didn't exist, we sat on the path, resumed the conversation and began to recount the stories of the peoples. They might have happened yesterday or a hundred years ago. These stories serve to guide us in our world. So we are fortunate, he told me, that we never feel alone. 

"Waking early on a Wednesday morning in March of last year, he realized that the day would be warm, very suitable for planting. As he dressed, he remember his father and his father's father. Every year they had planted corn on the same land. He knew that his son would already be preparing the ox team, and his grandson would be pouring the fertilizer into the buckets. He remembered that it had always been so, and it would be so until the end of time. He knew his plot better than anyone, much better than his body, better than his hand, better even than his wife. All had changed over the years. Their lands and ways of relating to it would remain almost unchanged.

Milpa, Corn Field on Purhépecha Meseta, Michoacán
(Photo: Mexico Voices)

"Seeing him walk, step by step, through the newly opened furrow, one thinks of a dance learned at the beginning of life. He knows not to exaggerate his hopes, but he can never prevent yearning for the future ... that dream in which he sees himself walking in the middle of plants as tall as he. He knows that since October [harvest] the blessings of the land have been fulfilled, and he hopes that no late frost might occur. Following the team led by his son and his grandson sprinkling fertilizer into the furrow, he recalls that he had left the land fallow since late November. He sees himself and his neighbors plowing all the plots with a narrower plow. Everything seems like the needles of a large fabric. As in the second plowing of late December and early January, he hears once again the music of the cúrpites that is heard in all the fields as they are worked."

MV Note: Los cúrpites are unique in popular Purhépecha consciousness. Harbingers of spring, they are an awareness that is felt, impalpable. Los cúrpites appear to those who want them. They are pure, unrestrained, boundless fertility. There are no possible limits to their presence, no definitions, no borders. 

"When he had sown more than half the plot, that small twinge began, like every year, between his stomach and his heart. He never knows how to pinpoint it, but it is always present until the plant's 'little needle' sprouted. He remembers the first time he felt it was when his grandfather explained, with a very serious face, that he should put many stones at the foot of his land to prevent the birds and livestock from entering the plot if they tried to approach. He knew that with the first rains in late May and early June the plants would have already grown two hands [about eight inches] and then it was time for weeding, pulling all the weeds contrary to the corn. All this he knew, and he knew that I knew it, but he continued in his head with the benefits that you had to give your corn field in order to shoo away this pang of emptiness that continued between the stomach and the heart.

"Like any good farmer, after weeding he would have to hill up the corn. Many years ago, this work was tended to with his wife. He saw the muzzle made of cord that was put on the team of oxen to prevent them from satisfying their taste for eating the young corn, and he saw himself preparing the special plow for piling the earth against the seedlings so that, by remaining well repretada [hilled up], they could be protected from the wind and rain. This was the last benefit given to the planted corn. For the next three months, he would only watch it grow until toward the end of October the ears are full.

"On the way back to town, perhaps because his son and grandson walk in silence, or because of the late-afternoon light that lengthens their shadows and fades their colors, or simply to give wings to his innermost desire, he recalled that during the months of November and December, the pueblo [village] would be deserted, and he wondered why he felt like singing when, in the afternoon, returning with the caravan of harvesters, all sweaty and dirty, but with their chundes [huge baskets], gunny sacks and wagons full of corn to fill the stalls of the trojes [traditional Purépecha structures used as barns].

Drawing: Troje for Storing Corn

"The harvesters were men and women; young people, children and old folks. Everyone making jokes on the ride back to town, saying coarse things or simply smiling. Everyone was paid in kind: one chiquihuite of corn for each day worked. He smiles when he thinks that in this way those in the pueblo who have no land can have corn for themselves, since they are given preference. By this custom, at times the landless harvesters gather more corn than he himself.

Traditional Troje

"Arriving at his house and while removing the dirt from his feet, he turns to ask, as he does every year upon returning from cultivating his plot, if this time he'll be able to bear once again on his back the weight of a chunde full of fresh-picked corn. Following this unanswered question, as every year since he has worked the land, in that very instant, as always, hope returns.

"From this intensity—from the incandescent energy radiated by these men and women of the rural world in the theater of Michoacán's natural world; from this universe as close to Lorca as to Faulkner, to Berger as to Rulfo—comes the storyline of the times, paced by the pulse of harvest and sowing, of fiesta and challenge, cycles of life among those who plant. 

"So the campesinos of the Purepecha Meseta wager on what must be preserved in order to change. Of what must continue with the blessings of dream in order to preserve the culture and way of life until the end of time. This is the wager that the entire Mexican society should urgently join today. It is an invitation to recover the blessings of the dream." Spanish original

Postscript: I thought I would end this post with the translation, but I had the uncomfortable feeling of having left something unsaid, a sense that something was missing, an unarticulated message about the urgent need to develop sustainable ways of living on our Planet Earth. I never cease to be amazed by what Carl Jung termed synchronicity, or 'meaningful coincidence'—things that happen seemingly out of the blue.

Yesterday in Common Dreams this headline caught my eye: "Walk Softly. This is Earth. We Have Much Still to Learn." The author is Robert Koehler, Chicago-based Peace Journalist. Koehler begins his article by quoting the Arhuaco original people of Colombia:

"When you go to dig your fields, or make a pot from clay, you are disturbing the balance of things. When you walk, you are moving the air, breathing it in and out. Therefore you must make payments.”

Payments is simply another word for describing what Don Joel refers to when he speaks of giving benefits to his corn field. The article continues:

"Oh, unraveling planet, exploited, polluted, overrun with berserk human technology. How does one face it with anything other than rage and despair, which quickly harden into cynicism? And cynicism is just another word for helplessness. 

"So I listen to the Arhuaco people of northern Colombia, quoted above at the Survival International website, and imagine—or try to imagine—a reverence for planetary balance so profound I become aware that when I walk I disturb it, so I must walk with gratitude and a sense of indebtedness. Walk softly, walk softly . . ."

The ground of César Moheno's conversation with Don Joel Equiha is, quite literally, this same profound reverence for Mother Earth. Yes, we do indeed still have much to learn from the world's indigenous peoples . . . if we open our ears to hear.

*César Moheno, Technical Secretary of the National Institute of History and Anthropology [INAH], has extensive experience in the field of investigation; namely, Center of Rural Studies at the College of Michoacán; in the Department of Historic Studies at INAH; and Maison des Sciencies de l'Homme in Paris, France. Moheno's published works include "En la nostalgia del futuro: La vida en el bosque indígena de Michoacán" ("Yearning for the future: Life in the indigenous forest of Michoacán") and "Mayas: Espacios de la memoria" ("Maya: Spaces of Memory").  Twitter: @ cesar_moheno

Travel Journal: 'Thank you' to Uruápan, Michoacán

The natural beauty of the State of Michoacán is legendary. Mexicans themselves speak of Michoacán as the 'soul of Mexico'. So I was enchanted when a friend who lives in Zirahuén, close to Pátzcuaro (where we lived for three years before moving to Mexico City), forwarded a 'thank-you' letter that appeared in the local newspaper.

The writer had visited friends in Uruápan, a city whose lower elevation puts it at the edge of the Tierra Caliente (hot lands, more tropical vegetation) of Michoacán. Nothing would do, of course, but for me to translate it, which I did several months ago. Disgracefully, I've somehow misplaced the link to the original Spanish. Here it is, with apologies to the original writer, and with the hope that I can make amends with the photographs.

"I went to Uruápan, and returned uruapanizado'd. How beautiful is this place amidst wonderful gardens, the vast garden that is Michoacán! 

Cove Opposite the Community of Zirahuén, about a 20-minute ride by motor launch.
Photo: Internet

"I knew that Uruapanenses, like all Michoacanos, are not downcast by either bad governments or bad men. They struggle and work every day to make their city and their state a place where people can live and work in peace.

"Since childhood I have heard of the beauties of Michoacán. In the choir of Zaragoza, we sang the beautiful song that encourages birds to abandon their flight:

• "If you are going to paradise, stop—you are flying over it right now."

• Then later, referring to the lands of Michoacán: "Yes, you have what you hoped for." Wow!

"I saw Lake Zirahuén's calm waters...maintained by its inhabitants and neighbors.  

Lake Zirahuén
Photo: Reed

"I brought home wonders coming from the hands of its artisans. 

"I enjoyed your culinary triumphs: ah, those uchepos [small tamales made with baby corn] are the flavor of 'glory', and those delicacies of the Casa de Blanca, where the rich cuisine of Michoacán rests among the beauty of landscape and tradition! 

"I went to the enchanted place where the Cupatítzio River begins—to see the water emerge from the ground is like watching the birth of God.

Water emerges from underground springs all along the trail
that winds alongside the Cupatitzio River.

"I heard the legend of the Devil's Knee*, and I heard the singing of a mournful pirecua**, Purhépecha song.

The Cupatitzio River makes its way among the rocks, down a narrow arroyo.
Photo: Reed

"Furthermore, by happy chance I found a bookstore—I do not seek books; they find me—appropriately, it is named Paradise, and there I found very good books for just a few pesos. Again I say, paradise. That's Uruápan...and that's Michoacán. 

"Thank you, my cordial, most kind friends from Canacintra: Alfonso, Diana and Luis, Mario and Isabella, for this gift of life that your invitation gave to me and for your kind attentions, as I've already said. I hope with my soul—and also with my body—to return to Uruápan. Meanwhile, I'm already uruapanizado'd... ."

Still Curious?

The thank-you letter brought back many delightful memories and associations, among them the Legend of the Devil's Knee, of which there are innumerable versions! Here's one that appealed to me: its simplicity inviting translation.

"Hundreds of years ago, Uruápan felt the happy life provided by the fertility of its soil. The Cupatitizo River murmured its eternal song in the shade of the trees that were beginning to feel the first fruits. The virgin lands were covered with a blanket of greenery dotted with flowers and huts built at the impulse of the first signs that Christianity was spreading among the people. The smoke rising from their homes into the sky mysteriously veiled the dense vegetation of the immense forest. 

"According to the legend, the day came when the Cupatitzio stopped murmuring as before, leaving the riverbed dry and drying out the stream's crystal waves. Without water or dew, the green fields abandoned their green for the sad yellow of dry leaves, and the trees in the orchards twisted their branches, dropping their fruit without color and without nectar, as tears of overwhelming despair. All was anguish, all grief, all prayers and tears.

"In the darkness of his cell, Fray Juan de San Miguel pondered the magnitude of the misfortune, knelt with his knees on the ground and directed his eyes to the sky in a supreme prayer of anguish. At one point, inspired by a divine ray that penetrated the church, he rang the church bells and made his voice call to the Purhépecha people. When they arrived and hurried to the Friar, they saw on his illuminated face the glimmer of heavenly hope.

"Soon after, the elders led a solemn procession of the image of the Virgin, surrounded by her court of honor. The solemn procession arrived at the source of the river, sad and dry as the eye without light. Fray Juan prayed for a few moments, then taking a little holy water, sprinkled it over the scorched rocks of the empty bed.

"Legend has it that the ground shook with a horrible tremor. An immense cry was heard that echoed over long distances and from the abyss emerged the figure of Satan who, upon meeting the Virgin replete with flowers and covered with aromatic incense, fell back frightened, crashing into a rock, which still has the hole left in it by his knee—the knee of the prince of darkness.

The first waterfall of the Cupatitzio River, cascading into a deep, clear pool, before beginning its journey down the arroyo.
(Photo: Reed Brundage)

"Waters flowed again. The fields again turned green, the fruit ripened and joy was reborn. Since then, the Cupatitizio has never stopped murmuring its eternal song in the shade of dense coffee plantations, while in the branches the wind heralds the eternal symphony of nature."

Here's yet another version of the legend (in Spanish) accompanied by truly gorgeous photos of this enchanting spot. By the way, trout grown locally in farms are served at the restaurant at the top of the falls. Not to be missed!

**Pirekua [pronounced Peer-EH-coo-a] are traditional Purhépecha songs. Here's my translation of an unusually insightful description:

"A traditional song of the Purhépecha communities of the state of Michoacán, pirekua is performed by both men and women. The pirekua tradition draws on multiple cultural sources, including African, European and indigenous, which have combined to give rise to a wide diversity of styles. Regional variations have also been observed in thirty of today’s 165 Purhépecha communities. As a general rule, the pirekua has a slow rhythm, but the form also includes instrumental forms using other rhythms.

"The pirekua can be sung as a solo, duet or trio; it can also be accompanied by a chorus, string orchestras, or groups of string and wind instruments. Singers and interpreters of pirekua, called piréiechas, are known for their creativity and their interpretations of the ancient songs. The song texts are heavily symbolic and embrace a wide range of themes from historic events to religion, but they also touch not only on themes of love and courtship, but on social and political ideas as well. 

"The pirekua is an effective means of dialogue between families and the Purhépecha communities; in fact, it contributes to establishing and strengthening ties between families and the communities. By performing the songs in order to express feelings and communicate important events to the Purhépecha communities, the pirériechas fulfill a function of social mediation [like Europe's medieval troubadours].

"The pirekua is an oral tradition transmitted from generation to generation. Pirekua, however, is more than just a cultural expression maintained today; it is also a distinctive sign of identity and a medium of communication for more than 100,000 Purhépecha peoples."

UTube video: La pirekua, La Canta Tradicional de los P'urhépecha. The narration is in Spanish, but the message of the pirekua songs is perfectly clear; to top it all off, the scenes of Michoacán and Zirahuén are incredibly beautiful.

Travel Journal: Pátzcuaro Revisited

Setting out on a journey means venturing forth into the unknown. The traveler prepares to encounter the unexpected—sometimes bitter, often sweet. But I have to admit, we were completely unprepared for what—or rather who—greeted us on the bus to Pátzcuaro.

We were just getting settled, when a lovely head popped up over the seat in front of us to inquire, in colloquial English, "Are you American? Can I discuss international relations with you? I have an assignment."

Encountering the Unexpected

My immediate reaction was, "Of course, but let's trade places, so you can talk with Reed, then later you and I can chat." So this remarkable young Mexican girl, who turned out to be a mere fourteen years old, but whose thought processes, political awareness and language facility were more like those of an eighteen-year old, chatted away first with Reed, then with me.

She represents Germany in her school's—what we would call Model United Nations—and dreams of  getting an internship at the U.N. in New York City.

The daughter of Ph.D. Chemical Engineers, she lived in Pennsylvania between the ages of four and eight, while her father earned his Ph.D.  But her vocabulary and English usage are quite sophisticated, so I asked how she'd continued developing her English past an eight-year-old's. She told me she and her mother speak English at home, but she is also a voracious reader—all in English.  Bingo, I thought, so that's how she does it.

We felt uplifted by our chat—rejuvenated and encouraged—confident that when the time comes, the baton can be passed with considerable confidence to a generation represented by young people such as this talented, caring, insightful and committed young woman.

Pátzcuaro's Natural World

It's always a strange feeling to return to a place once called home. It is jarring when familiarity collides unexpectedly with 'otherness'. So it was for our weekend visit to Pátzcuaro, Michoacán.

The trip allowed us to enjoy our cherished cerros, hills, of Michoacán—especially Reed's old friend, the dramatic peak called Tzirate. In Pátzcuaro, we walked familiar streets, greeted old friends and bought two kilos of Café de Uruapán to take back with us to Coyoacán, Mexico City.

Tzirate

We stayed at the Mesón de San Antonio near the Básilica and reveled in the hotel's hacienda-style architecture, which features four wings with rooms opening onto covered passageways that, in turn, give way to a beautifully planted garden in the center.

Open passageway outside our room with comfortable chairs for enjoying the sun's warmth and the garden's tranquility. The orange flowers in the pot at the end of the passageway are orchids! 

Same passageway viewed from the garden.

Imagine our surprise when Reed discovered the gangly, orchid-like plant called the Nightblooming Cereus (Epiphyllum oxypetalum) growing happily planted in the ground in the hotel's garden.

Nightblooming Cereus,
'Seymour' is alive and well in Mexico!

The flowers of this strange-looking plant open at about 10:00 PM and are gone by 8:00 AM the next morning. But the fragrance...ay-yai-yai, once enjoyed, is never to be forgotten! Aficionados hold wine parties to celebrate the flowering of this otherwise unsightly plant!

Probably twenty years ago a friend in the U.S. gave us a leaf, which we potted. After several years, 'Seymour' (yes, we named him) rewarded us with flowers like these. Seymour now lives in the Conservatory of the Sonnenberg Gardens, Canandaigua, New York.

Nightblooming Cereus, Seymour's fragrant flowers
Photo: Barbara and Frank Miller

We chuckled comfortably to hear roosters greet the dawn and marveled at the chirping of birds in the bushes. Birds in Coyoacán are mostly loners; only the grackles flock and, well, grackles are ... grackles!

We also heard the first zinzontle (curved-bill thrasher) of the season. The zinzontle sings mostly at dawn and dusk, but we've also heard them sing at mid-day. Their 'calliope' song is sheer delight! I've read that the zinzontle is believed to be the nahua (animal spirit) of women blessed with beautiful singing voices. It could very well be....

Greedily, lustily, we inhaled the crisp, fresh air and marveled at the clarity of the colors everywhere we looked.

Early morning light yields an almost unreal
intensity of color, but the sky really was this blue!

Arriving Friday afternoon before Palm Sunday, we enjoyed strolling through the Plaza Grande watching as artisans set up their stalls in preparation for the annual Semana Santa Tianguis, or Open-Air Artisans Fair.

Friday: Mujeres de Arena

We attended a theater work titled Mujeres de Arena, Women of Sand. The work protests the violence against women perpetrated in the City of Juarez from 1993 to the present day. The protest takes the form of testimonials given by four women (mother, daughter, cousin, victim) interspersed with poems by several poets. Taken together, the work is a powerful cry not only against the violence but against the inaction of the Mexican government to stop, or even to prosecute and hence possibly curtail, these crimes.

Mujeres de Arena has been performed more than ninety times not only in Mexico, but in other Central and South American countries and in the United States.

Before the performance, Reed and I had doubts that our Spanish would be adequate for full understanding. To our shocked amazement, we understood way too much...way too well...of this other facet of Mexico. Sadly, regrettably, we also recognize the role of our homeland, the United States, in promulgating policies that are exacerbating the violence.

Saturday: Shopping, Friends and Ballet Folklórico

During the day, we visited our friend, Ruth, owner with her husband, Sabino Aguilar, of El Jorongo, a shop famous for its unique hand-loomed wool products (rugs, sweaters, vests, sarapes, caps, shawls and more).

We ordered a custom-woven wool rug to be delivered to our daughter in Chicago. Ruth helped us pick out the wool from her hand-dyed skeins hanging in the shop. She also helped us to design a small woven mat to go under one of Reed's more dynamic Ocumichu alebrijes.  It just doesn't get more personal than this!

Sabino and Ruth launched their hand-loomed wool business in 1970 after Sabino had already scoured the countryside for the best Merino wool, which Ruth hand-dyes and supplies to their weavers.

Custom rug from El Jorongo

Over the years, Sabino and Ruth have built a family-centered enterprise, international in scope. A knitting team of over thirty women, including Sabino's aunts, cousins, nieces and their families take home Ruth's hand-dyed Merino wool to create the most beautiful wool products, including our grandson's beloved Merino wool cap and sweater!

After our visit with Ruth, we walked past the Básilica de la Virgen de Salud, Basilica of the Virgin of Health, where a row of Purhépecha women were weaving palm fronds to sell on el Domingo de Ramos, Palm Sunday.

Preparing palms to sell

Late in the afternoon we sat at a sidewalk cafe on the Plaza Grande sipping coffee with old friends, catching up as old friends do, chatting with much affection, much laughter, much good will.

Saturday evening we enjoyed a traditional ballet folklórico performance presented at Pátzcuaro's Teatro Emperador by the dance troupe from a local high school. The quality of dancing is exceptional and reflects the dancers' intense commitment to their art. The dances themselves can be static, even somewhat repetitive. They are, perhaps, best understood as ritual, rather than 'dance' in the Western European sense.

A Mexican friend who danced when he was in high school still goes 'over the moon' when he talks about what dance means to him. He took us to a dance competition in Zacán, up on the Purhépecha Meseta. A friend from Michoacán has a blog with a community and dance focus.  He reflects on dance as ritual. His informed impressions strike me as being 'spot on'.

Domingo de Ramos, Palm Sunday

We spent Sunday with a good friend in the nearby pueblo of Zirahuén, but that's a tale for another post!

Still Curious?

Here's the Wikipedia description of Mujeres de Arena (Spanish).

From PBS Point of View documentary film series: Interview (English) with documentary filmmakers, including a link to Maquilapolis (City of Factories), a community film project undertaken in Tijuana with women working in maquiladoras (factories) and being trained as activists.

Mexico Fiesta: Corpus Christi

11 June 2009: Last night we went to the Fiesta of "Corpus" in Tzintzuntzan, a nearby pueblo that with Pátzcuaro and Ihuatzio formed the three major centers of the pre-conquest Purépecha empire. We went with a new artist friend who lives in Zirahuen and met a young friend from Minneapolis, who has just graduated from the U. of Minnesota in Multicultural Studies (más o menos -- maybe Cross Cultural Studies; in any event she spent five months in Bangladesh and is as hooked on Mexican culture as we are). Here's my account of the Fiesta.

Feast of Corpus Cristi (Body of Christ): Established in the thirteenth century by Pope Urban IV, Corpus Cristi honors the presence of Christ in the sacrament of the Holy Eucharist. In Pátzcuaro and surrounding pueblos, this 100-year old local celebration of Corpus rests on an older indigenous festival of thanksgiving for the bounties of the past year while seeking blessing on the new plantings about to begin.

Corpus is a joyous festival aptly described as a “Happening” (“Rejuego”). The eyes of our young friend Rubén sparkled when we told him we were going to Corpus: "Oh, Corpus is my favorite fiesta because it is so happy."

In Tzintzuntzan the Fiesta is held in the Atrio of its two colonial churches. The Atrio -- possibly unique in Mexico -- is a walled, maybe 2-3 acre, park with 400-year old olive trees planted by the first Spanish bishop. The altars are set up along a broad stone path that flows around the perimeter of the Atrio.

Today, Corpus has been expanded to include blessing the work, including folkart, produced by the various pueblos. Each pueblo or each association builds an altar with flowers, candles and some representation of their work. One altar was for the taxistas; another for tortillas; another for pottery, for fishing, etc. There were probably a dozen altars in all.

The fiesta has two parts: religious and indigenous.

Religious: After celebrating Mass in one of the two churches, the priest carries a cross containing the Host (glassed-in wafer placed in the space where horizontal and vertical meet) and leads a Procession of the Faithful along the perimeter path, stopping to give a prayer of thanksgiving and blessing at each altar. A different band (brass, clarinets and drums) announces the priest's arrival at and departure from the altars -- oh, and did I mention the cohetes (rocket firecrackers)? You know you're in Mexico when really big firecrackers are set off -- more or less randomly.

Savor the scene: Imagine a 400-year old park set against colonial churches (one topped by a Moorish dome), women and children dressed in colorful "trajes tradicionales" (indigenous dress),

the priest leading the procession, various bands playing more or less at the same time (giving an entire new meaning to the notion of cacaphony), firecrackers going off randomly -- oh, and I guess I forgot the dancing horses, one cow and various and sundry stray dogs! Folks, we ain't never seen nothin' like this in the good ole U.S. of A. -- not now, not ever! Anyway, moving on....

Indigenous Celebration of Thanksgiving: To give thanks for blessings received in the past year, vendors, many wearing traditional Purépecha dress, toss their wares to bystanders (their customers, la gente). The excitement of giving and receiving leads to quite a bit of good-natured running and jostling -- especially by but not restricted to the preteens. Reed described the scene as "barely controlled chaos." I watched it all from the middle of the Atrio with my back against a huge tree!

Also, we'd noticed huge pots cooking over wood fires, stirred constantly by young men using very long wooden spoons. It turns out they were cooking Atole, a thick drink made from young corn and seasoned with fruit. It was delicious -- and it was served free to everyone!

This reminded me again that Mexican fiestas are communal undertakings -- created by the people of the pueblo, for all the people -- even foreigners. Vendors were selling their wares, including food, outside the walls of the Atrio, but inside everything was free -- part of the celebration of thanksgiving and request for blessing for the work of the coming year.

But that's not all! The final event centered on a greased, 25' tree - it looked like a telephone pole with some branches on top - decorated with more "wares" -- including a metal washtub, fruit and various plastic bowls, pitchers, etc. Adolescent and young men were challenged to climb this pole in order to get the goods anchored above. Much high hilarity.

After an absolutely spectacular sunset that had bathed the entire scene in a golden rose light, Mother Nature called in Thunder and Lightening to signal Day's End for these expats. We left tired and deeply satisfied by sharing this community celebration.