Living in Mexico                

     When we arrived at “our farm.” three Adventist children that we know well came over, as they always do, to watch us. We are strange people from the outside world. So…

Leaving Home Long ago a very young Blanca got up at 4 am in a deep Mexican countryside, boarded an ancient grandfather bus, waved goodbye to sad parents through grimy, cracked windows. This bus with a front nose whose hood must be raised occasionally for man/machine dialogues, followed winding rutted roads up, up, up bump, sway. Sudden fog, then clear, then fog, tilting, jarring, dirt horse roads, rocks, cliffs, strange leaves larger than herself, sudden vistas hundreds of blue mountains,…