Puyehue arrives to Zapala.

The ash from Volcano Puyehue blanketed Bariloche a few days ago. It has now reached Zapala... and even Neuquén. Clouds of ash hung in the air, stinging eyes and skyrocketing the facemask to fashion statement status. Here are a few pictures I took on June 6, 2011.

Puyehue llega a Zapala (castellano)

Hace un par de días la ceniza del volcan Pueyehue cubrió Bariloche. Ahora ya llegó a Zapala... encima hasta Neuquén. Nubes de cenizas se colgaban en el cielo, ardiendo ojos y haciendo que el barbijo fuese la última moda. Acá tienen unas fotos que saqué el 6 junio 2011.

Certainly not the best biking weather. Guess I'll be staying a little longer in Zapala.

No es el mejor clima para una pedalea. Supongo que me quedo un poco más tiempo en Zapala.

a small breath of magic

When was the last time you woke up before the sun? When was the last time you saw the gum drop fiery caramel colors leaking in molasses fashion from the horizon? When was the last time you saw a symphony of hues so attune to one’s inner beauty? When was the last time you witnessed the sun’s first eyelash rays blink over the east? Perhaps you do it everyday, perhaps it’s routine, perhaps you’re so over it… but for me it’s a special rarity, like winning a seven scoop ice cream cone at costume karaoke.

You may say that I’m unlucky this time of year living in the Southern Hemisphere. Today is shorter that yesterday and, with every rotation of our planet, the starry night sneaks patiently forward invading our daylight hours. Yes, you may say I’m unlucky, but I say that I have a favorable advantage to wake up relatively late and still be graced with the universe’s celestial painting canvas.

So what am I doing awake before 9am? Aren’t I on vacation? What am I doing wearing work appropriate clothes and dry erase marker stains on my fingers? And what am I still doing in Zapala?!!

Yes, I came out of early retirement. I went back to the white board. I swam in the textbook waters and took the idiom express to the land of impromptu grammar games. But don’t worry, it was so temporary that it’s already over! I was offered four days of playing substitute teacher at an English institute. Yes, the dreaded substitute teacher position.

But subbing is where I shine. I don’t have to deal with deadlines, homework grading, lesson planning, and test writing. I just go with my enthusiasm, my energy, my stories, and my smile. As a substitute teacher, I’ve decided that my job is to inspire, not to be an overbearing vocabulary drill sergeant. And that’s what I love.

So I spent this week, bouncing around the classroom. Sometimes simultaneously raising my voice and arms in excitement, frantically scribbling/doodling on the board, jumping up onto chairs, and giving the smack-down of common sense. I had a good time. A very good time.

But I’m happy to be unemployed again.

Especially this week. This week I presented myself with two challenges. One. Learn to play the guitar. Two. Learn juggling. What a week to also have a full class schedule! I don’t pretend to want to learn everything or even just the basics about guitar or juggling. But rather the purpose of those goals is to push me to take the first step. Pick up a guitar! Pluck a string. Throw some objects in the air. Raid youtube’s wealth of instructional videos. Find local experts. Tread new waters. Add to my experience bank account. Have some fun.

It’s invigorating to challenge yourself to try something new.

But speaking of having fun, I’ll be honest with you all, I’m starting to worry about myself. I've been noticing some bizarre changes. For the past few days I have found myself spontaneously grinning. Out of nowhere, I have an uncontrollable smile erupting from my lips. Usually I'm alone. And doing nothing out of the ordinary. And suddenly I realize that I'm smiling. Chuckling even.

I don’t understand it at all. It kind of confuses me. But it feels good. It feels right. And... maybe I don't have to understand it.

Whatever it is, this inexplicable happiness, I like it. I want to nurture it. I want to harvest some new and fragrant experiences from its strong elegant vines.

I want to follow… no, create!… my life’s path. Let's go!

check this out!

i found this blog and it makes me very very excited. jumping up on tabletops and waving my arms excited. smiling uncontrollably excited. write a blog post excited!

kate and john have combined travel + food + sustainability to create a mission and a journey that i find very admirable.

http://foodcyclist.com/

Trash Collecting = Arts and Crafts???

When was the last time you set aside a lazy Sunday morning for a good ol’ arts and crafts session? Or a rogue half an hour after dinner? Or even let it take priority over normally more important things?

How long has it been since you’ve plopped yourself down on a newspapered floor and sat cross-legged tapping into your creative energy? Since you've discovered glitter under your nails and green feathers rubber-cemented to your hair? Since you've created? Imagined? Designed? Since you've unleashed your improvisation skills? Since you've had an excuse to shamelessly play with googly eyes and pipe cleaners??

I have a lot of free time these days. It’s pretty amazing. And I take full advantage: running around, smiling a lot, and learning new things. And among other fabulous activities, I’ve been exploring the vast and immensely interesting world of arts and crafts. I’ve never prided myself on harboring any kind of artistic talent. Quite the contrary, it was never my strong suit… All the more reason to dive head-first into giving it a whirl!

I’ve purchased a pair of knitting needles. I acquired a set of colored pencils. Scissors. Glue. Colored electrical tape. And when Ailen, in Junin de los Andes, taught me a great skill… I snatched it up by the hand and ran with it. I stumbled at first, but I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. I would like to share this lovely activity with you all, dear readers. So roll up your sleeves, prepare a soothing hot beverage, clear off a tabletop, put on your favorite singable music, and get ready to release yourself into the magical world of creativity. Ready? Here it goes…

How to make a wallet out of discarded cheap wine boxes…

Step 1. Collection

Leave your house. And walk. It’s a beautiful blue sky day. Gloved hands in pockets on a crisp autumn day. Surveying eyes turned towards the curb ready to identify any particularly inviting specimens.

Perhaps you should head to the other side of the train tracks. Take advantage and explore unknown territory. If you feel socialable, greet a stranger. If you feel like being alone, walk with a mission; people will usually leave you alone. The dogs may not.

So, what is it exactly are you looking for? Boxed wine. Yes, the cheap of the cheap. They can be found thrown out on the street. If you live in a particularly trash-free area, ask at a restaurant or go explore another neighborhood. Look for boxes that aren’t too damaged by natures elements. A healthy box can come in various lengths, widths, colors, physical and mental conditions. With time, you will learn to identify the ones you best like to work with.

Pick up and shake out the last droplets of used wine boxes. I advise you to bring a bag that you don’t mind getting dirty. Collect as many as you want. Know that you’re helping to pick up trash. You’re converting landscape eyesores into art. Don’t overdo it though. You can always come back. Especially if you need an excuse every so often to escape into the world of fresh air.

Step 2. Wash wine boxes

Your recently collected wine boxes are probably filthy. A good washing with warm soapy water will get most of the yuck off. Two washings will rid your boxes of more of that pungent cheap wine smell.

Step 3. Scissors!

The wine box is a 3-D rectangle with six sides. You have the front and back usually decorated with the wine brand and some inviting propaganda. You have the two sides, left and right. And you have the top and bottom.

Cut off the top of the box that was used for drinking/pouring.

Turn box over to focus on the bottom. Cut approx 4-5 cm from the end, leaving one solitary side standing. This will be the flap you used to close the wallet/coin purse.

Step 4. Fold

If you flatten the box, you will create a crease that runs down the middle of the left and right sides. Now unflatten and fold inward along that crease, creating what reminds me of a very small accordion.

Now we fold the long rectangle (the front and back) in half. We can see the wallet taking form! So exciting!!

Step 5. Decorate (Mandatory)/Velcro and staples (Optional)

This is the fun part folks. Run a marathon with it. You will find that as you discover new materials, your wallets will evolve. I try to use other recycled materials as much as possible. Comic strips. Wrappers. Look around you. What do you find?

To complete the wallet, I use a needle and tread to sew Velcro to the flap. Did you know that you can buy COLORED Velcro?? You can also use snaps, buttons, hooks… In the interior, I use two staples, to keep the wallet from springing open and losing that wallet-like form.

Step 6. Experiment. Repeat.

Keep innovating! Keep practicing! Keep rocking out! What did you find out? An awesome idea? Send me feedback! We’re learning together!

Step 7. Distribute!

They are great gifts. You can try to sell them. Or you can fill a warehouse, just for the sheer joy of making them!

If these steps are confusing, let me know and I’ll consider making an instructional video…

Feliz aniversario, Tioca!!

(Don't freak out, English version below!)

Hoy cumplo un mes de pedaleada. Les dejo con un texto que siempre ha influenciado mis acciones, mis viajes, y mi filosofia de la vida. Que lo disfruten!

Desiderata

-Max Ehrmann

Camina plácidamente entre el ruido y la prisa,

y recuerda qué paz puede haber en el silencio.

En la medida de lo posible y sin traicionarte

procura vivir en buenos términos con todo aquel que te rodea.

Di tu verdad tranquila y claramente;

y escucha a los demás,

incluso al aburrido y al ignorante;

ellos también tienen una historia que contar.

Evita a los ruidosos y a los agresivos,

ellos afligen al espíritu.

Si te comparas con otras personas,

puedes tornarte vanidoso y amargo;

porque siempre habrá personas más grandes y más pequeñas que tú.

Disfruta de tus logros y también de tus planes.

Mantén el interés en tu propia carrera, por humilde que sea;

es una verdadera posesión en las cambiantes fortunas del tiempo.

Sé cuidadoso en los negocios;

pues el mundo está lleno de trampas.

Pero no dejes que ésto te ciegue a la virtud del mundo;

muchas personas luchan por grandes ideales;

y en todas partes la vida está llena de heroísmo.

Sé tú mismo.

En especial, no finjas afecto.

Tampoco seas cínico ante el amor;

porque frente a la aridez y al desencanto,

el amor es perenne como la hierba.

Toma con serenidad el consejo de los años,

y renuncia grácilmente a los dones de la juventud.

Nutre la fuerza del espíritu para protegerte de las desgracias inesperadas,

pero no te crees falsos fantasmas.

Muchos miedos nacen de la fatiga y la soledad.

Sin olvidar una justa disciplina,

sé amable contigo mismo.

Eres un hijo del Universo,

no menos que los árboles y las estrellas;

tienes derecho a estar aquí.

Y no importa si te resulta evidente o no,

no hay duda de que el Universo se está desarrollando como debe.

Por ello procura estar en paz con Dios,

de la manera en que lo concibas,

y cualesquiera sean tus trabajos y aspiraciones,

mantén la paz en tu espíritu en la ruidosa confusión de la vida.

A pesar del trabajo duro, las falsas esperanzas y los sueños rotos,

este sigue siendo un mundo hermoso.

Procura estar alegre.

Lucha por ser feliz.

Happy anniversary, Tioca!!

One month ago today I began this epic bike journey. I want to share with you a text that has been very influencial for me, my trips, and my life philosophy. Enjoy!

Desiderata

-Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,

and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,

be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly;

and listen to others,

even to the dull and the ignorant;

they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons;

they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,

you may become vain or bitter,

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;

it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,

for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;

many persons strive for high ideals,

and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love,

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,

it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,

gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,

be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe

no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,

whatever you conceive Him to be.

And whatever your labors and aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life,

keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Big city girl in the… big city.

Well, Neuquén isn’t really a big city by big city standards, but I’m peaking out from my small town world, and it leaves me wide-eyed and bewildered. Lots of people. Lots of hurrying people. Lots of cars. Lots of hurrying cars. Lots of movement. Lots of energy.

But it only takes a few hours for me to get back into the chaos of it all. Soon I’ve quickened my pace, activated my city eyes, and immersed myself in an accelerated version of dodge-the-vehicle and pedestrian game.

The city is also a great place to play hide and seek. If you want to escape it all, you just step outside and walk. Suddenly you’re invisible to just about everyone. Everyone except the political leafleters, the artesanos, and cat callers. But if you don’t mind them, you’re golden.

You can lose yourself in the streets of your thoughts. You can take the subway of your emotions and watch the stations whiz by. You can sit in park and people watch. You can figure things out. You can mess things up. You can stress yourself out. You can relax. You can accelerate. You can slow down. You can be alone as you want to be as life swirls around you.

I came to Neuquén to see my friend, Juanjo, a seriously Argentine personality. He does everything. He fixes anything. He knows everyone. He has unlimited energy. He’s always up for anything. Even a bike ride to the wineries.

Round trip it would have been close to 100km, which is a lot. So we loaded the bikes into the truck and gave ourselves a few kilometer headstart.

We escaped the dirty noisy busy city and went out to the countryside where the sky and horizon actually meet to shamelessly shake hands. Out here they don’t hide behind concrete buildings.

The day was a cloudy perfect. Not too hot. Not too cold. No wind. It felt good to be back on the bike. It had been **gasp** over a week since I had pedaled. Unacceptable.

The Fin del Mundo winery was my preferred destination. Having worked at a restaurant that served their wine, I had become a big fan of the Malbec Reserva. I was excited to go to the origin of this great wine.

After a tour by our super informative guide, we came to the best part. Yes, I bet you can guess what that was…!

We were given two wines to try, but since both Juanjo and I are big talkers and ask a lot of questions, we were treated to a few more. And a few more. “I don’t want to get you guys drunk,” said the employee. We just laughed.

On the ride back, Juanjo was having all sorts of bike issues and I was having an emotional crisis. On top of it all, we were both exhausted. And a little buzzed. At the end of the day as the sun was setting, we got a ride from a friendly pick up truck.

The next day was tranquilo. We threw some veggies on the grill, stuffed our faces and pleased our taste buds with smoky flavors.

Mix in a little bit of fernet.

A little bit of truco. And…being adults, there was no one who could tell us not to play with our food.

We were doubled over laughing until late into the night. Which wouldn’t have mattered much except the wakeup alarm was set for 4:15am.

Why? Juanjo has had many jobs. His newest one is truck driver. A meat truck driver. Which means abnormal hours, lots of driving, lifting really heavy boxes, and wearing blood-stained white clothes.

And on that next morning, I accompanied him because it promised a free ride back to Zapala. So after a hour or so of sleep, let’s go!

From before the sun came up to well past when the sun settled back into the horizon, we were in the truck. The guys worked very hard delivering huge hunks of meat to supermarkets in Senillosa, Plaza Huincul, Cutral Co, and lastbutnotleast Zapala!

It’s an experience like this one that gives a food fanatic like myself a chance to peak into the big food-corporation machine at work. It helps me start to piece together the origin of the food we eat and the path it takes to get from soil to spoon. It also helped me appreciate some of the hard work that it takes to get things that we often consider basic to the supermarket shelves. I’ve always taken for granted that I walk into the supermarket and find what I need. I’d never really sat down and thought of the human and engine-power involved. It’s a huge operation.

And it makes me want to keep things simple.

Go to the veggie store for veggies. Go to the meat store for meat. Go to the cheese store for cheese. And if you can, go directly to the source. Go to the farm for produce: animal, vegetable and textile. Go to the river for fish. Go to the soil for root veggies. Go to the tree or bush for fruit. Go to the animal for meat. If you dare to know where your food comes from. If you care about what you put into your body. I think it’s important that people realize what goes into their food production. It’s easy to avert eyes. It’s easy to plug ears. But if you’re not ready to take responsibility for what you consume, maybe you should reconsider your consumption habits.

Yesterday’s Humbling Moment of Beauty

Yesterday was an atypical partly cloudy day in Neuquén. We decided to do the winery tour on bike anyway. While we passing through a small town, I saw a man walking quickly towards us motioning for us to stop. He was waving us down and calling to us. I was skeptical at first; my tourist senses on highest alert. I thought, he probably wants to sell us something. Or rob us. Or sell us something and then rob us. We slow to a stop.

Where are you from? He started. Are you doing the tour of the wineries? He asked.

Lots of questions, I thought.

He continued. Well, I’m just heading home and, well…

Uh oh, I thought, here it comes. Some pre-planned story about needing money for the bus or something. I’ve heard this one before. Sigh.

Well, I’m just heading home and, well, I have these tortas fritas* and they’re going to get cold by the time I get there. So, well, you have a long bike ride ahead, and I thought you could have them.

*tortas fritas are amazing. They are fried dough. They are a great mate accompaniment. They are typical of countryside and small town living. Everyone’s grandmother makes the best torta frita.

Huh?

From my heart. He says as he puts his hand on his chest. Take them. They’ll get cold before I walk home.

I didn’t understand. I stood there, bike between my legs, with a guilty disbelieving face. Really?

Really. He gave us the bag and walked off. I turned to Juanjo. What just happened? I asked. Juanjo shrugged. Small town folks are like that, he replied, grabbing a torta frita, still warm.

I stood there clutching the plastic bag, still in awe, not believing that I had had so little faith in human kind. I felt worse than terrible. I had thought this man was going to rob us and instead he ran out to the road to catch us before we pedaled off only to give us a bag of torta frita out of the pure kindness of his heart.

I love people. And life is constantly reminding me how lucky I am to be alive. This is one such reminder. There are good, really good people out there. Simple, humble, wonderful people. Today my heart was won by this stranger, whose path I was fortunate enough to cross.

Tomorrow I will go out and do something beautiful for someone else. That’s a promise.

Today.**

**Well, not actually today. It was today when I wrote it… two days ago.

I’m tired. Today was a big day. Today I was invited and enthusiastically interviewed on a Zapala radio station. Today, for the first time, I really enjoyed riding horses. Today I herded sheep. Today I learned that, yes, counting sheep does make you sleepy. And that they actually do a funny little jump as you count them! Today I butchered a carcass. Today I was unbelievably cold. Today left me with squinty sleepy eyes and physical strength only to type these words.

Let me explain.

Susana arranged for me to be interviewed on a local Zapala radio station, FM 96.3. We arrived to the studio to meet Hugo and sit in the small padded room with microphones. I wasn’t nervous, but my heart must have missed the memo because it was beating as though I was. I took a deep breath and reminded my confused beating heart that if I get nervous, my voice will shake. If I’m my electric, smiley, confident, comfortable self that radiates positivity, everything will be ok.

I had a great time. Hugo fell in love with my story. So did the producers. So did the Mormon woman who had her interview directly after mine. I was overwhelmed with positive feedback.

If I can get my little hands on a recording of the program, I’ll see if I can post it!

I arrived at Vero’s estancia all aglow for an asado lunch that left my digestive tract bursting at the seams. So much food. So much of it meat!

Then it was time to round up the sheep.

My horse’s name is Pluma, which means feather. She’s old, lazily sluggish, flatulent, and perfect! You see, when I was very very little, I fell off a horse. Since then I have been utterly terrified of horses, riding them, or having anything to do with them. Let’s just say that I wasn’t a typical ribbon-in-hair little girl who dreamed of having a pony. When I was 13, I tried again, this time in the open plains of Montana. And fell off again. Twice. My conclusion: this riding horses gig is not for me.

But I’m realizing that, since Day 1 of this trip, I’ve been overcoming all sorts of fears, learning learning learning new things, and reflecting back on it all. I’m also learning patience, overall hardcoreness and the fine line where they meet. I took a deep breath and, with it, breathed in a new determination. I will ride a horse… and I will like it, dammit!

Today was my second time on Pluma. The first time was a complete disaster. Every time we tried galloping, I entered in terrified panic. We ended up walking for most of the afternoon, much to the dismay and boredom of the kids who have been riding their entire lives. Today was different. Today I relaxed. Today I feigned confidence, and it yielded real confidence. And besides from finicky stirrups, I had a great time. I actually got the hang of galloping. And I really really enjoyed it. Wind in my hair, arid countryside with millions of prickly bushes, big open blue sky, and yours truly Ms. CityGirl galloping through it all with a gigantic smile. I felt like a real Cowgirl in the making!

So, confront your fears. Look it in the eye and challenge it to faceoff. Being scared is normal… and it’s also the first step in overcoming those pesky and often debilitating fears. Take a risk, slowly at first, let it gather momentum. And then you will realize that it’s not so bad. Whether it’s a fear of eating bananas, of hairy 8-legged creatures, of jumping out of airplanes, of trying a new cuisine, or launching a trip on bike with no set path for an unspecified amount of time. Do it! Go for it! If you keep an open mind and a strong character, you will be glad you did.

Have you ever been driving along and have to stop because there are cows, horses, sheep in the road? It happens quite often in these parts. It’s not so often, however, that I get to be one of those on horseback, yehaw-ing at sheep so they cross the highway. I sat up tall and felt very very special.

And then we came to the counting of sheep. I never quite understood why children are told to count sheep if they are having trouble accessing nighttime dreamland. I mean, I’ve tried it. It’s never worked for me.

That is, until I did it for real. Here’s how this works. You have all the sheep in one giant pen and you scare them into running through a gate to another giant pen. This is a very delicate maneuver. If you have too many sheep running at one time, it is very easy to lose count. And there’s no real way to start over. That being said, are you ready? Let’s begin. 1. 2. 345. 6...7. 8910.….

By number 532, my eyelids were getting heavy. By number 794, I was yawning uncontrollably. I was kept entertained though because, as the sheep passed through the gate, they did a funny little jump. More like a leap. I’m not sure why. There was no obstacle that needed to be avoided. There was no reason for them to prance. But for some inexplicable reason about 85% did this funny little frantic leap. I was very amused.

1051. That’s the final count. Then they were herded and separated. Girls and boys. I’m glad that I’m not an animal-rights activism extremist. And that there were none present. I mean, none of the sheep were hurt, but farm life is rough. It’s rough on farmers and on farm animals. It’s not a sugar coated super shiny cotton candy padded life. It’s tough. And it’s about survival.

In modern urban societies, we are losing touch with basic human knowledge. Children grow up believing that vegetables come from supermarkets not from nature, that money is not only the key to survival but also to being happy, that soil is dirty and should be avoided, that cellphones and internet are life essentials, and that chicken nuggets are real meat. Some children have never seen stars. Some children don’t know that potatoes grow underground, are covered in dirt, and have a green leafy plant. Some children have grown up glued to the screen (tv or computer or cellphone) and eating from the microwave. Some children aren’t allowed to scrape their knees, get dirt under their fingernails, or eat worms.

Some adults have never considered harvest season. Some adults have never thought of killing an animal for food, yet eat meat daily. Some adults don’t know how to sew (with thread or with a hoe). Some adults have children and yet don’t spend any time with them. Some adults live trying to escape life.

And why not?

We live in a time where we don’t have to think about our survival, only about our levels of comfort. Why should we have to know basic human survival practices? They’re so primitive. Why grow food when I can order it to be delivered? Why make instead of buy? Time is money and money buys things. Why think about where things come from? Why leave the comfort of my bubble? Why trouble myself to think about simple things when I can complicated my life with new gadgets, latest crazes, relationship drama, magic pills and diets, and reality shows?

It’s really not my place to say that all that is bad. It’s not. Everyone has their path. I lived in the big city and loved it. I used to turn my nose up to farmers and simple country folks. I used to be stressed, accelerated, overly dramatic, and obnoxiously know-it-all. I used to drink organic soy double pumpkin lattes. I used to spend my time worrying about if I filled my schedule and then complain about not having enough time. I used to play a lot of mental games, with myself and others. And I loved it.

But it’s not for me anymore. I’m cultivating a new Alisa.

Whew. I went way off track on that rant. Back to the story.

After the obligatory 6pm tea time, we went to the carnicería… the butchery. Chan.

When you simultaneously live on a farm and eat meat, sometimes you have to do the dirty work. That may mean sacrificing and carving up a very large animal. At first I shivered in a mixture of repulsion and disgust. Maybe it’s the former vegetarian in me. Or maybe it’s the fear and uneasiness that society has instilled in me to keep me dependent on the system for providing something as basic as food. But with my travels and experiences, I’m realizing that it’s completely natural to provide your own food. Animal, vegetable and mineral.

So when I entered the meat room, I came face to face with very large hunks of meat hanging from large hooks. Let’s get to work!

Manuel sharpened the knife and started carving out cuts with familiar names. Cuadrada. Bola de Lomo. Tortuguita. And then when we got to the bones, we brought out the big guns. The saw. We sawed out portions of puchero, bagged them, and dumped them in the freezer.

I secretly wished I had been there for the actual slaughter.

By this time, the sun had gone down and it had gotten very very cold. All this hard work had obliterated my body and I had a hard time not shivering uncontrollably. I was cold down to my bones. My exhaustion was written all over my face as I huddled near the fire.

I always knew that farm work was tough. From sun up to sun down… and often much longer… farmers are working. And it’s not sit in an office, wait tables, fly through the trees kind of work. It’s real physical work. I got a small teeny weenie little taste of it today and it completely destroyed me. The pay for this work is not in dollars, pesos or euros… it’s in basic life necessities: food, clothes, warmth, security. It’s a kind of work-lifestyle mixture that involves the whole family. It’s cyclical. It makes sense. It yields a sweaty satisfaction, appreciation, and gratitude for things that I’ve never given a second-thought to. It also makes me realize how soft and wimpy I am.

But everything comes with practice.