After a tour of the town, its beautiful church (Ms. M.'s brother is the artist who painted the ceiling!), and a light snack of coffee and tamals at a local soda, Ms. M. drove us to the dairy farm owned by her aunt and uncle. I could write for hours about the beautiful setting and the breathtaking panoramas, but the photos will do a far better job.
What can't be captured in photos, however, is the warmth and generosity of Ms. M.'s family. After greeting us with open arms, her uncle led us on a stroll along a concrete path bordered on both sides by an electric fence to the top of the hill behind the cow barn (forgive my obvious lack of dairy farm lingo!). About half-way to the top, we had to yield to about half of the 60-head herd of milking cows headed down the hill to the barn, ready and anxious to be attached to the mechanized milking machines.
Later as we sat at an ancient kitchen table, covered by a worn plastic table cloth, in a room that hadn't been painted in probably twenty years, eating a simple meal of homemade tortillas with a diced potato filling, natilla (sour cream), and a few bread-type pastries and coffee, it was clear that every extra resource this family had at their disposal was directed at keeping the cows safe, healthy and happy. And with that, their tattered home, a large circle of family, the beauty of their surroundings, and the pride that comes from honest work they, too, were happy.
Life just doesn't get much better.
Pura Vida
