Tragedy in
Etzatlan
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Lest we
forget. I tell this story lest we forget.
We have
suffered a tragedy in our little community.
You are
probably tired of hearing me celebrate every raindrop. The rain that makes this
mountainous country look like the green, green, green of Ireland, wears the
familiar comedy/tragedy mask, same as any country with arroyos and gullies.
Water will wear and tear channels through mountains, valleys and hillsides.
Last week
the rain turned its tragedy cheek toward our town.
Etzatlan was
established by the Spanish in the 1530s as a major shipping point from the gold
and silver mines in the mountains above the town; from the mines to Etzatlan,
to Guadalajara, to the Gulf Coast and across the Atlantic to Spain.
One of the
bigger mines, El Amparo, the ruins of which still stand, is located just a few
short kilometers above our town and was still being mined as late as the 1930s.
A handful of people live at El Amparo, in homes near but outside of the old
mining buildings. The actual mines, the area around them, is huge, as you might
imagine an area mined for 500 years.
For the rest
of us, it is a fun place to explore, to walk the trails. For one family in
town, a place the area had become their camping mecca. My gardener, Leo, knew
the family. The young man, 35, and his wife 32, two children, girls 12 and 8,
were neighbors. Leo told me the young man was a hard worker, a good man. The
family didn’t have much money but they spent many weekends together, tent
camping and exploring in the hills, the ruins, the old mining areas at El
Amparo.
This is not
a cliché. It truly was a dark and stormy night. Lightning flashed and crackled.
Thunder crashed and boomed. Rain poured from the sky as from a bottomless,
never-ending, tilted bucket.
We will
never know the details. Did our family go to their pickup truck for shelter
from the storm? Was it the next morning, searching for a better campsite? Did
they get caught in a flash flood, as a wall of water roared through the arroyo
while they were crossing? Did they misjudge the depth and strength of the
waters?
I tell you
this story because every community in Montana has a similar story. Any country
riddled with canyons, arroyos, gullies, with creeks dry most of the year, or
gentle rivers, until the rivers are not gentle. It is easy to forget, to not
pay attention, to misjudge the dangerous strength of water.
A couple
days after the stormy night, the family pickup truck was found in the river
with the bodies of Dad, Mom and the younger daughter. The older daughter, the
12 year old, was nowhere nearby.
Immediately,
the grieving community came together to search the area, which encompassed
numerous side streams and a huge burn from last year. The National Guard, the
Army and Navy were all engaged in the search along with Police from all the
communities around us.
Four days
after the storm, the body of the other daughter was found and brought to town
to join her family for burial. This sadness, this grief, touches all of us,
even those of us not native to this place. We all feel the loss of this young
family.
Take care.
Be vigilant. We may not live at the bottom of a coulee but we either live in or
drive through lands prone to flash floods and surging waters.
Sondra
Ashton
HWC: Looking
out my back door
August 1,
2024
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