dispatches from a great big green field

12 Sep, 2025

A few days ago I cracked a cold beer with my great-uncle in the back of a pickup truck as it sped down a dirt road in rural Mexico. Una cerveza fría es la mejor cosa que la vida te puede ofrecer, he said. As we clinked our cans with a salud, a monarch butterfly flew right along side us for about half a kilometre, before veering off into a pink flower bush. Even a little creature of the world felt the need to participate in our happiness.

When I was a bit younger, I used to always think that I wanted to end up in a big city. Maybe this was inspired in part by my many visits to Mexico City, or my short love affairs with Barcelona and NYC. I felt a really strong shift this summer, towards not quite a revulsion, but certainly a disatisfaction with cities. I finally nailed down what I like the most about North America, and it's the ability to get very very far away from mass population centres relatively quickly and easily. I know I over-romanticize rural living to an extent, and to some level it's not really a feasible existence for me, a young woman who has trouble even imagining having to milk a cow or behead a chicken. But I do think that I'm already looking forward to being older, having established my life and career and absolutely disappearing off into the sunset of the rural Americas. I just think when you have a cold beer under the bright blue sky, with the wind in your hair, with nothing to see around you but cows, it should tend to make a person deliriously happy.

This visit to the ranch was my first time ever meeting my abuelo’s side of the family. He died very suddenly nearly a quarter of a century ago now, inadvertently closing us off to his side of the family. I grew up hearing all the stories about him, from his upbringing at a remote cattle ranch, to his time working in an ice factory, or as a night-time taxi driver, always grabbing Chinese food after a shift. I think about him and marvel a bit at how there is only one generation in between us. I wonder what he would have thought of my life now - far north compared to him, and doused in modern comfort.

Back in the day, my mom tells me, it used to be a three hour drive to get to the ranch, with the last segment completed on horseback on account of the lack of roads and infrastructure. I’m happy to report the area now has a paved road (just dodge the human-sized potholes), and a dirt road right up to the house. We didn't need horses for our drive up this year, but we still somehow managed to get stuck in a field, locked in by flooded dirt roads and curious cows. Luckily, we were rescued by the pickup truck drivers of the family.

field cow on 35mm

There is something otherworldly about catching glimpses of a person you’ve never met. About seeing parts of his face in others. Questions and observations went on for a while. Roaring jokes, permanent laughter. Nicknames already being dispensed, in a truly familial way (I was christened la china¹ basically immediately). Eventually a silence, everyone just ecstatic to be together again, even without speaking.

An empty space was left where we sat, I'm not sure if purposefully or accidentally for my abuelo. How do we talk about the people we miss? Especially when we can still feel them in the room? There was so much pent up out there. Years of grief never spoken aloud, but under that infinite sky the grief felt smaller. Not gone, just manageable. And the more we chatted, about life and children and grandchildren, and the others who have died since, and the others who have been born since, the more it felt like something was healing in everyone.

As I sat in the kitchen and ate my great-aunt's special mole verde with chicken, fresh from scratch tortillas and homemade cheese, I teared up with emotion. Being accepted into a warm home surrounded with care and kindness is in the top tier of all human experience. I invite you to close your eyes and imagine the warmth.

on 35mm

My great-uncle is turning seventy next year. He said people from all over the state and the country are coming to celebrate, and bringing with them over 500 horses. I’m determined to make it back, camping out somewhere in a field with the cows and the coyotes.

Little end of summer blogging...hoping all you internet people are doing well and good as we move into fall. :)

love n hugs,
sam