Chula is Tired

It is Thursday, March 8, 2018.  Time marches on unmarked.  I have to struggle to remember my physical therapy appointments, Monday Wednesday and Friday at 3:30.  It is a good thing I did not have one today.  Chula and I overdid it.  When we got back to the house, we were both bone tired.

I got up and out early today, foregoing the gym once again.  I walked to the edge of Canatlan, where the dirt ‘railroad’ begins.  Workers headed to Pozole usually use this road.

Three buses passed.  I tried to flag down two, but I had Chula in tow; they did not stop.  I called Romualdo, but he said they had a stop to make before heading out to their job in Pozole.

I stood there for half an hour, trying to wave down cars that were headed for the Durango highway 23, the paved road to Nuevo Ideal that passes Pozole.  No one stopped.  I looked around me and picked out two big hand-sized stones, and started to do an upper body workout.  I was feeling virtuous, doing reps of familiar arm lifts; my right shoulder wasn’t interfering much.  Juan saw me and stopped his motorbike.  His passenger seat was loaded down with an electric motor and other stuff he was carrying out, so he could not give us a ride.  I was carrying two large plastic pots, which I plan to use for dahlia bulbs.  He took the time and effort to rearrange his tie-downs and carry these pots for me.

After an hour, Romualdo and his crew arrived.  There were four guys sitting in the bed of the truck, which was also loaded with boards used for frames in cement work.  They had left a spot on the bench seat for me and Chula. 

When I arrived in Pozole, instead of heading out on the Railroad street, the higher dirt road above the orchards, I headed into the center of Pozole, crossing the main bridge over the river which was just a trickle now.  I took a photo, to compare it to its condition in October during the rainy season. 

In Pozole I went to the little grocery shop.  The ‘community’ one was not yet open, as it was not yet 10 a.m.  I hope that is the only reason, and that the lady who works there, the one whose jaw looks like it got kicked by a horse and never repaired, is not ill.

I want to get my house hooked up to the water line that was installed last year, bringing water from the big dam.  At the store I asked for information about the Pozole water committee, as I was instructed to do by the Water Utility office in Canatlan.  They sent me to Sylvia’s house.  She is the helpful lady who lives next door to Juan’s unoccupied Pozole house, the one I almost rented (until I discovered it had no kitchen).   

As it turns out, her committee deals with potable water, and it does not extend outside the small town center.  So then I asked her about the dam water, and she gave me another name to contact, Javier Campos.  Okay, so here is the Campos family. In Canatlan, the lady who cleans the apartment building stairs, an older woman, is from Pozole.  She is of the Campos family, although she also now (thank you Lord, she says) has a house in Canatlan.  This is the first time I hear this name.  So far I know the Pozole list of family names is:  Delgado, Rodriguez, Reyes, Campos, Mijares (who own a hardware store in town, and who graciously allow me to use their mailing address for my internet mail orders), Terrazas and Martinez.

Pozole is a very small community composed of a limited number of intermarried families.  I have heard it described this way, by a woman in Canatlan, that Pozole is a homogeneous peaceful town, whereas Canatlan has a spectrum of conflicting values and social stratification.  The drunks, the druggies, the police, the gays and who knows what else.

                From the center of El Pozole I took the winding dirt road that is lined with orchards, and which has a creek running across it.  As I walked out to the house, I called this guy Javier Campos. He manages a private backhoe (as opposed to the city backhoe, which also can be rented).  It took a while for me to communicate what I wanted. Finally he said he would come out to Luz de Compasion and meet me, right away.  It took me another 20 minutes to reach the house myself.  He never showed up, as far as I know.

                Today is the day to finish sowing my seedling bed.  I put in seeds for arugula, another lettuce, ‘Sweet’, with tender leaves and a head (I had already sowed a head lettuce that was a variety, the package shows red leaves); tomatoes, green peppers, and just four artichoke seeds.  Juanito had been planting this same land for a few years, always putting in the same crops.  I would come to learn that the soil was exhausted; my sowing would come to naught.

                I added four more seeds to the beet row.  The other day I had already put some more snow pea seeds in a plastic container of mud, a compromise between soaking them first in water.  I planted more of the variety lettuce, some of the previous planting were already showing first leaves.  I hoed a row to loosen the dirt, and there planted carrots.

                In town, each day, I passed a knitting shop that had a bushel of bulbs by the door.  I finally stopped to buy some dahlias, I don’t know what colors they are.  They cost 5 pesos each ($1 = 18 pesos). They already had tiny sprouts.  The next day I bought two large plastic pots.  With Juan’s help, I got them to the house today and planted the dahlias.  I put them in the front of the house, which is still in confusion with mounds of dirt and separated rocks; to be combined for mortar.  Boards lie about, filled garbage bags of plastic soda bottles, and other scraps.  Obviously I could not put the bulbs in the ground; I trust they will be safe in the pots tucked up against the wall at the corner of the house.  Mexicans are big on planting in pots.  In time, the spears that rose quickly in those pots would prove that these were not dahlias, but gladiolas.

I had brought food with me this time.  I had been carrying around a packet of Chipotle tuna, and had that for a mid-morning snack.  Before I left for home, I also had a chocolate soy shake.  Even so, by the time we got back to the apartment we were too pooped to pop.

                We headed back to town on the calle de las carretas, the name of the street fronting our property that is bounded by orchards.  I usually take an access road between fields and get directly on the Railroad street above, but for some reason I turned left at the gate, instead of right.

                My head was filled with thoughts of hiring a backhoe, and getting fast tracked the wall project, the garage project, and also the septic situation.  I plan to have the septic tank removed, and instead employ the system used by locals.  Deep pits lined with rocks and covered with a concrete lid.

                The creek that needs fording is perhaps a half kilometer from the property.  As I walk along the road my meandering thoughts on these topics begin to take form.  I do not know where I would go to buy these rocks; I should not have to buy them.  As I walk along I see just the rocks that I need strewn along the side of the road.  There will be more by the river.  What I need is the use of a pickup truck for the day, and I should be able to gather enough rocks to do the job. 

Just then, Javier Terrazas rumbles up in the great big yellow Ford that he had salvaged from Luz de Compasion’s junk heap.  He stops to chat.  I am glad he is not holding a grudge over last week’s misunderstanding.  He had started to dig the hole for the wall, jumping the gun.  I had not yet a fully formed plan, and he and I had not talked about payment.  He grabbed Eduardo and promised him a big payoff, and expected me to pay for the job by meter instead of by day.  This was all from his fanciful imagination; I had finally worked out the plan on the weekend, but did not arrive until midday Tuesday.  By then he had plowed ahead.  I put a stop to the work.  It would be another week before I actually paid him, and only day-laborer wage.  Juan, his brother, had pulled that pay-by-meter thing on me when I got back from the Fitness program in the States, fed no doubt by talks with Romualdo with whom I had left the task of laying the kitchen floor.  I pay much more using this method.  Juan agreed yesterday that after he finishes my bedroom, he will go back to the day wage. 

Since my mind was bubbling over with the idea of rocks to line the septic hole, I chatted with Javier about it.  Maybe I would borrow his truck for a day.  Anyway, he said he was headed to Canatlan and so I hopped in (this car rides very high; there is no handle on the roof to use for leverage; he had to grab my arm and pull me in) and we headed to Canatlan.  Along the way we remarked about all the rocks that lie scattered by the roadside. 

I commented that Jhampa would be pleased to see the yellow truck back on the road.  Just then, the car stopped.  He hopped out, saying it needed gas, which he had in the truck bed.  He was not able to get the truck running again, so after some minutes Chula and I hit the road again, but at least we had far fewer than eight kilometers ahead of us.

The sun bore down on us.  It is 80 degrees today; not a cloud in the sky.  Chula would pass into the shade of a low tree, stop, and look at me with her tongue hanging out.  I felt for her, but she would not drink out of my water bottle.

We trudged on, putting one foot in front of the other.  When we got to the church plaza I did not head to our street immediately.  I thought it would be nice to find a butcher and get some chicken.  The butcher, however, was still a block or two away when I passed the ‘antojitos’ restaurant that I see from my kitchen window.  I stopped and ordered something.  I was too tired to cook, anyway.  It was a burrito with beans and cheese, on a flour tortilla.  I asked for it ‘to go’; I could not eat in front of Chula, who was still so thirsty.

Finally, dragging ourselves up the two flights of stairs, we arrived home.  With her tail wagging she ran to the water bowl and slaked her thirst noisily.  I sat down on my one chair, having poured myself a glass of white wine, and ate my lone burrito.  After that, we both curled up for a well-earned nap.

I woke up later and figured it was time to go buy some real food.  Usually when I rattle the keys Chula jumps up and runs to the door.  Not today.  She opened one eye from under her paw; not another muscle twitched.

I went to the corner market and bought nopales and ‘carne al pastor’.  I also bought for Chula a packet of moist Pedigree dog food, beef flavored, her favorite.  We both had nourishing meals after a very long day.

I resolved to search for a second hand motorbike, so we won’t have days like this again.