No Mi Gusta Raton

"Usually we don't take Saturdays off" is what Dave said so I thought our corn picking foray with the "disco" might be a leisurely afternoon. After doing some house to house hunting for a disco, not exactly sure what it was in the first place, we finally gave up (Dave found one later). The sights and smells that filled my head and burned my eyes were amazing in the van filled with Dave's family as we bumped down the rutted gravel road toward the ranch where his in-laws farm their crop of corn. This crop will provide their corn supply for the year giving them tortillas, corn on the cob, and any other possible concoction imaginable.

It is a good harvest this year, they will have corn through the winter. The peaches and apples have come in strong as well and canning will allow for more good food this winter. It is a privilege to be a part of this process. No machinery is available so the work is all done by hand. We hand shuck the corn on the plant, with sore thumbs to prove it, then toss the cob into a burlap bag to haul up to the cabin. We kick the stalk over when done and when the bag is full heave it to the shoulder and walk up the hill, climb the ladder, and add it to the drying pile!

The "disco" did come in handy in the middle of the days work. The "disco" did not provide just the right atmosphere for a party though in one sence I guess it did. It is a cast iron concave cooking pan with legs to straddle a fire. Dave's wife Delia made us an amazing lunch on the device and we ate like royalty under a juniper tree in a picturesque valley of the high sierra.

Back to the beginning. Our last few days in Portland with Laura were chuck full of activities. One of the highlights was running to Goodwill to grab a couple wallets to fake out the pickpocket's when a spontaneous cloths swap happened. We really felt bad about rousing Laura the morning we left at four AM to catch our six AM flight but we were off and made it to Chihuahua with out a problem and our bags followed like faithful puppies. Dave from Mexico Medical Mission, a college friend, met us at the airport after driving all the way from San Antonio, TX. After a spectacular drive through the high sierra and down through some rugged canyons we arrived at the mission hanger that we would call home for the next month.

"He was like a butterfly that flew over several flowers and landed on a cow pattie."

John the Menonite