Insights & Observations

By Joe Stuver

I guess I should carry a sign while I’m working cleaning Patti’s memorial flower bed that says “I’m ok!”

The other day, three good ladies came to my rescue, several with no little amount of panic and concern etched across their faces. All three, of course, also showed considerable relief to find out that in fact, I was not having an attack of some kind.

Thanks friends.

A few more memories and thoughts of Old Mexico

It seems as though all we hear is of the dark side of Mexico. Where there is always a dark side in every culture and city, like here, and like everywhere I strongly suspect that the good people far outnumber the bad. The majority of Mexican people simply want to be left alone, to work, go to church, and raise their families and have as much fun as possible.

I am friends on Facebook with a number of Mexicans. Their posts are always of family, happy and fun events, or posts of humor. They don’t seem to care what color your hide is, how you worship, or what your political beliefs are, if you are judged to be a good person, or a person in need, you are made welcome.

I read somewhere that many of the ancient Aztec cultures made it a law that farmers leave the outer two rows of their crop, to feed hungry passersby. I noticed that in many places that practice is still kept. I would imagine though that the invasions across their borders of hoards heading north in search of a better life, has by now stripped those fields.

There is not a lot of actual drug abuse, though they care little if stupid Gringos want to kill themselves. Drug abusers are pretty much shunned from both society and family and concentrate in certain areas; areas that the locals know well and know not to go there. You can in fact buy opiods over the counter in most drug stores. Their great destroyer of person and families is alcohol, as is again the case in many cultures.

I watched a DEA documentary the other day, in which one of the agents suggested that Mexico does not have a drug problem; the United States does. That has led to untold slaughter and deaths both there and at home.

Again, my happiest times were spent in the little village of my family. But all is not well there either. A huge Mayan Palace resort is going up, right across the fence from the home momma Mony gave to her daughter Vicky and husband Angel. The work has led to cracks in many of the centuries old homes and businesses surrounding the construction. Vicky had to abandon one of her rooms when the ceiling collapsed. They are continuing the fight for repair and restitution, but thus far nothing has developed. It’s a true David and Goliath story.

I noted that at my favorite, three table street side mom and daughter restaurant, that they now not only have a menu, but one in both English and Spanish.

I think that it is probably going to be the end of Jarradadates.

We were driving up the coast and I noticed a one-ton truck with a gravel rack, but instead of gravel it was packed with people. Mony told me they were Indios, and had come down from the mountains to pick the hot peppers. Apparently there is work so nasty that Mexicans “farm” it out.

My time there came to an end to quickly, and on March 1 I began the long drive home. I was a bit more educated on the route though, and despite a couple of “joes” I did ok. I drove up the coast towards Mazatlan, and then skipped east to Durango. I noticed the exit for the pay road, but thought there would soon be another. Not. So for three hours, I laboriously made my way east, switch-back by switch-back up into some very wild mountains. Worst of all, I could see the magnificent, four lane highway running parallel. Finally, 3 hours and a scant 50 miles later, I went down a one way the wrong way to the highway. It is indeed one of the most prolific engineering and construction feats of modern man. The highway is often suspended from the sheer cliffs, with drops of hundreds of feet below. Where needed, they blew tunnels, through miles of granite.

I reached Durango in the early evening. After checking with John, Dee and Billy, who all strongly suggested I wait two weeks, I holed up there for a couple of days, and then spent a couple more nights in the beautiful old city of Chihuahua. I arrived on a Sunday, the family day for Mexico. The entire downtown, with the centuries old federal buildings and church, was blocked off, and filled with happy families, vendors, music and laughter. I noted too that the dress was a bit different; more what you might expect in mountainous South America. The women wore those little derby hats, and all were dressed in colorful coverings of wool.

I slowly worked my way back home, but still faced a long winter. Thanks Beau Kuhbacher for shoveling me out, and whoever cleaned the snow off my parking area.