Life Amongst the Elves In Etzatlan
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I’ve always liked the story of the
shoemaker and the elves. In the evening, before he retired, the old shoemaker
cut the leather and prepared his work bench to stitch the shoes in the morning.
In the night the elves came to the shop of the good shoemaker and stitched the
shoes, the most beautiful shoes.
When I had my shop in Poulsbo,
Washington, often I cut fabric for the following day. Each morning I entered
with eyes of hope. The elves never came.
Here in Etzatlan, Leo is my chief elf. I inherited Leo from
Joe and Yvonne, former owners of my casita. Leo is caretaker for several
casitas on the rancho. Leo is twenty-six or twenty-seven. He began working at
the rancho with his uncle when he was twelve. Leo has an university education
and could teach school or have a “real job” but he prefers work among the
plants and trees.
Yesterday I went with Lani, a neighbor elfess, to the vivero
in Ahualuco, the next town south of us. I bought herbs and flowers, not that my
yard needs more. But there is a sad little neglected plot in back, shaded in
the morning, sunny in the afternoon.
When Lani drove to my gate, Josue, my neighbor across the
way, who is building my kitchen cabinetry in his evening hours, in true elf
fashion bounded out to carry my plants to my patio, where they could await my
desires.
Nights are cold here, which is great
for sleeping, with windows open and me snuggled beneath my down comforter.
Until the sun warms the day, mornings are chilly. I shower, dress, grab a
sweater, brew my coffee, and sit on my patio in the emerging light and warmth.
By the time I finish coffee, I fling my sweater over a chair and I have my plan
for the day, knowing full well plans are made for permutations. Take this
morning, for example.
I asked Leo if we had a shovel. “Yes, we have a shovel.”
“Oh, good,” I said, knowing I might never have to use the
shovel. Leo continued pruning the hibiscus and night jasmine, shrubs heading
for tree-dom.
I split a variegated ivy into a couple pots destined for shady
places. Then I carted my herbs and flowers as well as a batch of
mother-in-law’s-tongue given me by Ariel, another elf who looks after me, to
that scruffy plot in back. I set the pots on the ground where I figured they
would look good, then went in the house.
Sure enough, an hour later I heard sounds of “scritch,
scritch”. Leo hacked away at the dry soil, preparing it for my flowers.
One of the hardest things for me to do, blame my upbringing,
is to ask for help. I cannot explain how I landed in a place where the people
around me simply look out for me. I hardly express a wish before Lani hauls me
to town or Ariel sends over a bucket of paint or, well, here’s another example.
My brick-walled back yard consists of a grassy area bordered
by prima vera, palms, bougainvillea, a thousand amaryllis, night jasmine and
things, tall and small, I cannot identify. One of the mystery trees wears ferny
branches which just days ago burst into bloom with hanging red bottle-brushes.
I asked Leo, who can identify most of the greenery, “What is that?” He looked
at it thoughtfully for a long moment, “A tree.”
My long-range back-yard plan is to forget the grass, create
rockeries, install three or four citrus trees, a mango and a coffee bush.
Pathways with benches for sitting in contemplation will separate the areas. A
plan, emphasis on “long-range”.
This morning I mentioned to Leo that I wanted to create a
rockery in that dry patch near the wall. There I’ll plant the cactus which now live
in pots by the front door, along with other rock-garden beauties. I know that
in three or four days Leo will back his pick-up through the gate and unload a
pile of rock and a few bags of dirt. Poco y poco. Little by little.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
April 7,
2016
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