June of last year, I told myself to use this blog as much as possible, but guess what, you are right, I did not write anything after June 9, 2010. So, here I am again trying to make it happen.
I and many out there have set many resolutions to work on for this new year. I’m the first one to admit, it is not easy ! Well, I will give it a try again. My investment into 401k was one, and I have started it, yeahhhhhhhhhh, one down too many to go.
Growing up in El Salvador in a coffee finca was lots of fun, I remember a trip to a pineaple farm my father was in charged of. One time, my papa had the finca peones prepared four horses, one for dad, one for mom, one for our nany and my baby brother and one for my twin sister and i. Our horse was being pulled and guided by our favor peon and friend, Don German. We had two nice dogs, Guapango and Caruso. Guapango was a lab and german shepper mixed. He was big and hairy, i did not want to be on a horse, i wanted to ride Guapango, i wanted to ride alone, and be in control, but my father rejected the idea, Caruso was my father hunting dog, he was white, slim, fast, and active.
It was a long trip, at least that is how it feels when you are four years old. Rode down and through lot of rough terrain, rivers, hills, tropical canopies, and lots of coffee plantations. On the way to the pineapple farm, I remember, capesinos greeting my papa and the family as we passed their little adobe houses with gardens of chayote, roses, tomatoes, ruda, mint, and onions. Children were playing on patios with home made toys, tops made of coffee tree wood, sling shots, or behind a wheel made of the inside ring of a car tire or simply helping mother or father with house work. My father would not get off his horse and he will not let us get off either. My sister, my brother and I wanted to go play with the children which most of the time would not have shirts on, shoes or eve pants at times. I always asked why wouldn’t they have clothes on, and my father will respond, ” hijo hay mucho calor, y ellos prefieren asi”. I will tell my father, “papa, i too am very hot and “tengo mucho calor”, can i take my clothes off? Again, his repond would be “no te vas a resfriar”.
Finally, we got to the pineaple farm, Don Guayo had a bigger adobe house than the people along the road and he had hanged hamacks on his porch for us to sleep over. It was 1:00 p.m. in the afternoon, the Central American sun in January is a killer, plus humidity, and dust. it was normal for us thought, I did not have notion of what it meant.
Guayo took the horses, took them away, we got our bags, and took them inside their kitchen,the kictchen was dark and its walls and ceiling were black, at one end the stove was made of adobe with a flat surface at waist level. On it, they had set up three rocks to hold pots, and to the side a pizza making oven with its top off was my favor part, a Comal, a flat circle made of red clay laid on the top, hand made hot tortillas were cooking, they looked crispy and hot. I wanted one right away, Don Guayo’s wife Valentina saw my sorry and hungry face, and inmidiately took a tortilla, spread avocado, and bit of salt and gave it to me. I was a happy child on those sunny, hot hills.
Don Guayo came back, he had a straw hot, a tecomate, sandals made of car tires, a long sleeve shirt unbottom to his belt line, and a long, long, sharp machete. He asked, “ya estan listos” and we went in search of pineaples. We got to this flat area within the rolls of hills with pineapples plantations as far as i could see. My father, Don Guayo, and Don German went down and my brother, sister, nany, my mother and Caruso and I stayed waiting, Guapango had gone down the hill with them as well.
When they came back, Thet were back with all sorts of pineapples, there were yellow ones, green yellow one, round ones, long ones and small ones. Don Guayo, Don German, and my father set up a tree trunk as their peeling table, and they started their peeling pineapples. In minutes, we had plenty of pineapple to eat. Slices everywhere. We all sat and started to devour sweet pineapples, the children had slices, and the adults where eating whole one with the stem use as a handle to hold the pineapple. I wanted the same, I wanted a whole pineapple, and i started to complaint why the children were not eating the same way, my father wasn’t paying attention, i started to cry, and refused to continue to eat.
My father ignored me completely, my mother got sick of it and convinced my father to give me a full pineapple. Don Guayo got his machete, reached for a pineapple and got it ready for me. I took it and ate it all. About and hour later, I was sleeping like a baby, the next day when we woke up, no one could find me, and started to asked where is Alejandro, they found me in outhouse with a major diearrea, came into the farm house to eat bananas and my pineapple story was over at that moment.
J. Alejandro Anaya's Blog 