“Why are there flowers by the water,” I ask even though I know the answer. I asked her the same thing two years ago. Sometimes it’s just nice to hear the words twice. People put the bouquets next to the river to thank god for the water, to ask for rain, and in remembrance of loved ones passed. “All of the agriculture depends on this,” she says after explaining one more time and gesturing to the turquoise blue water pooling in between and running over moss covered rock. I can see steps reminiscent of the ones I’ve seen at the ruinas peaking out of the shinny slime, and I imagine Mayan people washing their clothes, gathering, and playing here centuries before just as they are now. Bright colors of huipils and soda bottles reflect off the clear water as I watch a man jump off a rock into the cold water. I consider doing the same.
While I drove up the dirt road to Rio Blanca with my two friends, I allowed my eyes to momentarily wander to admire the beautiful fields separated by aqueducts carrying water from the rivers inward, irrigating fields of white cloth covered tomatoes, garlic, onion, radish, and more. I haven’t seen rain since I left the United States. The curling leaves on the lemon trees in my backyard beg for it, and I could use a cleansing rinse myself. I studied sustainable agriculture in college, but this type of irrigation is by necessity not trying to spare resources for later. The beauty of theories in practice successfully as they’ve been working for years and years carries my mind to Berea and back quickly to avoid a motorcycle in my path.
Aguacatan’s rivers allowed me to pretend I was at Norris Dam, and it’s mountains brought back visions of Colorado in the summer time. I’m not missing the US, though. Just the people I love there. Maybe it’s the weekend jaunts, coffee dates, or community, but I’m feeling accustomed to my new life right about now.
(1 month & 1 week)