Honduran nostalgia

I'm nostalgic tonight, maybe because it has been so cold here in Philadelphia. You know what I miss most about Honduras? It was the wide open spaces without houses or housing developments or anything. The bus ride from my town to the city took around an hour, although that time varied alot depending on, well, I don't exactly what. There certainly wasn't any traffic, I suppose it depended on how many people we picked up. The bus didn't have specific stops, it just stopped for anyone on the side of the road who flagged it down. Sometimes, people would be standing 10 yards apart and the bus would stop, pick up one group, drive 10 feet, stop again, and pick up the other group. I always thought this was annoying and since I was so busy, it used to piss me off the two groups of people would not wait together. That was very American of me because whenever I asked a Honduran friend they could not understand why it mattered. It's more efficient I said. Again, very American of me. I tried to deny all my americanisms, but I never really got over that one.

Anyway, the trip was a dusty ride through small mountains and valleys as we drove into the city. It was generally very soothing a ride through little towns and past bean and corn fields without much soil. During harvest season, there would be entire families out harvesting corn and beans. The land was a series of big hills and sometimes you would get a great view of a farmer standing on the edge of his land overlooking the valley below. After picking the beans, most farmers attempted to clean them to lighten the load they had to carry back home. They would take a coffee can full of beans from one pile, hold the can at arms length, and dump the beans into another pile. On a windy day, you could see the dust and dirt blowing away from the beans. If the farmer was standing at the edge by the valley, it looked majestic. The farmers then carried the beans home, set them to dry along the street on giant sheets or some other fabric, then stored them or sold them. When the corn was ready, they would bring the corn home in big nets and put the nets on the giant tarps. Then we would all take turns beating the corn with a stick to break off the kernels that would be ground every day and used to make tortillas. Other times, we would sit around and chat and push off the kernels with our fingers. Both beans and corn were stored in giant rusty barrels. I miss the community of it. I also realize most families lived on 1 large harvest and 1 small harvest a year. It wasn't majestic to them, it was the cycle of their lives and they generally could not get out of it. It wasn't glamorous and it wasn't a life most of the younger people wanted. Yet the cycle continues, generally speaking, unbroken.

I lived at the end of town in the 2nd to last house on a dead end street. At night, I would watch soap operas and hang out, read, or talk to the neighbors. The night sky was amazing. Since there weren't many houses, you could look out and see stars, more stars than I have ever seen anywhere else. Sometimes we would lay on the street in front of my house and talk and stare up at the stars. I miss that. I miss staring at the stars and that community more than I can really explain. However, I was never a real part of the life because I always had the option to leave. In fact, I did leave and I was ready for it. Some people in the states talk about maintaining that life and the simplicity of it all. It was a beautiful life, but not one I wanted forever. As I said above, it wasn't one most of them wanted forever especially the youth. Here in the states, we talk about small farmers as an excuse to maintain farming subsidies. Nobody in the states is a small farmer, not like that. I grew up in a farming town and most people lost their farms or sold their farms. Even then, they had tractors and other machines to help them.

This isn't an email about farming or farming subsidies. It's about the life we choose to lead. I think most small farmers in the states, the people who bring vegetables and meat to local markets, do so as much by choice as by necessity. In the states, we have options. When I was in Honduras, it was a nice feeling that every night Gustavo and his entire family would be watching soap operas in his little store because they couldn't afford to do anything else. It was nice for me, but it wasn't really nice for them. It was what they did because it was what they could do. Once in a while we played pool and had some beers, but most of my friends didn't really have money for that.

I miss my hammock on my porch and the kids coming over. I miss making them balloon animals and the stories they used to tell me about monsters in the mountains and keeping my bible open at night to protect me from the boogey man. I miss Chimito and Miguelito, my dueling 1-3 year old neighbors. I miss the mean white dog that almost bit me every day for my first month (i had to walk past with rocks to get home) until I gave it my chicken bones and it loved me. I miss my annual Christmas card from the president that always arrived promptly in February, sometimes just in time for Valentines (I never missed not being here for that "holiday"). I miss people randomly giving me food, and people walking around and selling me vegetables. I miss someone killing their pig and selling me 2 pounds of, literally, random pig parts. Sometimes it was the freshest meatiest pork in the world. Sometimes, it was all bone and fat. They weren't butchers, they were farmers and small time pig raisers. They just took the machete, the same one they used to cut firewood and other things, and hacked off parts of a dead pig. Sometimes you won, sometimes you lost. For $1 a pound, you can't complain.

I remember one day I was finishing up a run and the end of the run was probably a 1/4 mile hill that I just walked up. Don't call me weak, it was 90 most days I was running. One day, I came upon the 50-ish year old lady who lived up the street carrying home firewood. Carrying firewood is miserable. The wood is heavy and awkward. Men carry firewood on their shoulders. Women balance it on their heads. I read an article in National Geographic a while back that studied people in Africa who walked great distances carrying water or other materials on their head. They said most of them walked in a slightly more efficient way than "normal" that allowed them to save energy. It had something to do with a more efficient pendulum motion as they walked. National Geographic sells CDs of all their past magazines and I've been thinking of buying it because that type of thing fascinates me.

Anyway, I just finish my 3 mile run and I catch this lady at the bottom of the hill. I'm sweaty, I'm tired, and I just want to get home. There wasn't another way back to town, and I couldn't run up the hill past her so I stop at her and we start talking. Sure enough, someone else comes along as we are standing and tells me to carry the wood back for her. I was stuck. This women was poor, fairly old (I said 50-ish but sometimes it's hard to tell), ate nothing but beans and tortillas and birds when her husband shot one, and was significantly smaller than me. And she was carrying the wood on her head and talking to me as we walked so I figured I could do it. I almost died walking up that hill, sweat started pouring off and she was laughing at me. I almost quit, it took all my inner motivation (lazy gringo!, tough american!, can't show weakness!, WWGD (what would George do) etc) to make it. We got to my house, she thanked me, laughed again through her 3 teeth, put the wood back on her head and went home. She told everyone I helped carry firewood and, basically, how big a wimp I was. We all laughed. It was miserable. Yet, I miss that too.