Home of the Pine Trees - LJ Idol Week 2

[static_abyss]

Our culture is one of remembrance.

Ocotlán, where my mother was born, remembers its past in its bones. Midway up the northern side of the pueblo sit hundreds of shallow, bone-white, square wells, called cajetes. These are made of cement, and worn to smoothness by the salt water that evaporates every January and February. This process of evaporation leaves behind the salt that is Ocotlán's main product. The people of el pueblo have a list that says who gets to fill their cajetes when, and in what order. Everyone on that list is ordered and reordered to ensure fairness. No one goes a second time before everyone has gone a first, because Ocotlán doesn't have hacendados.

To the south of the cajetes sits the Church, painted in bright yellows, oranges, and blues. It's archways are painted gold, and inside, Jesus sits in all his forms, from infant to adult, crucified and not. At the center of the altar, Jesus is flanked by the Virgin Mary and St. Sebastian, the designated protector of Ocotlán. Beneath Jesus's feet is a large stone carved in the shape of a bowl, large enough for a person to lay their upper body across it. The symbols on its sides could be snakes, or the heads of jaguars, and the red stains down the sides might have, at one time, been blood.

Fr. Jose, the Spanish friar who gave Ocotlán St. Sebastian, turned the stone into a baptism fountain in the early 1900s. It was, until the Earthquake of September 19, 2017, still used to baptize children. Its sides still shine a faded deep red, today.

Behind the church, to the left, it's possible to see the path that runs past el Gachupin. Its branches have migrated high up along its trunk, and it no longer produces fruit, though the thickness of its trunk indicates it is still a young growth. The Gachupin was named after the Spanish hacendado who died on its branches. A just punishment, the pueblo thought, because el Gachupin had murdered one of theirs. So the pueblo responded by taking everything from him, and making him walk on bare feet to the site of his hanging.

Opposite el Gachupin, at the top of the pueblo are the primary and secondary schools. They are the farthest from all the surrounding farmland, but they also provide the best view of the growing crops. As though the Spanish wanted to encourage assimilation, at the same time that they reminded the children of their duty. Go to school, but only after the farm work is done, seems to be the overall message.

The pueblo, unfortunately, has not completely forgotten this lesson.

*

Ocotlán means home of the pine trees.

This is the first thing el pueblo forgot, because language is always one of the first things to go.

*

Our culture is one of preserverance.

For every paved path up to the schools, there are two dirt roads to the sides marked with the footprints of farmers and housewives. For every forgotten language, there are its cousins littered throughout the Spanish of el pueblo. For every person that leaves el pueblo to work, there are two siblings who go to school. For every brick room, there is one made of adobe.

Ocotlán has its history in its bones, the rituals of our ancestors preserved in the homes of my grandmother's neighbors, safe behind the guise of Christianity. For every Christmas, there is a celebration of dances in costumes made of bright cloths to honor one God now, instead of many. There are altars to the past, decorated with flowers and candles, prayers intermixed with the imagery of death, to remember the people we've lost.

There are wedding rituals, where the bride walks back and forth between houses before she goes home with her husband. Her life is acted out in a flurry of colors by men in flowing dresses. There are dances to drive away evil, people in horrible masks dancing to the beat of the shells that hang from their clothes. There is the dance of flowers, the dance for food, for drink, for gifts, and somewhere between all that is the priest and a church.

Somewhere, out there, is Ocotlán.

*

Our culture is one of endurance.

It is a mountain made up of traditions and people, weathered and chipped to perfection. They're not what they were, but they'll do.

Comments

[aggienaut]

Ahh well written. Where is it? (:

[static_abyss]

Thank you :D

Ocotlán is this tiny, 400 person pueblo in Puebla Mexico.

[adoptedwriter]

So interesting! I'm a Spanish teacher!

[static_abyss]

That's amazing. I have always loved the way that language works, especially in places like Ocotlán, where it's small enough to still be kind of pre-industrialization, but at the same time modern. Like farming there doesn't involve chemical pesticides and it's all based on the rainy season, but people still have satellite TV. It has no cell service, except in one spot, but there's wifi.

And that kind of thing kind of kept the languages intact until recently. When my mom was born, her grandfather still spoke 2 dialects with some of the older people. And their Spanish had the accent of their dialect, so my grandparents and my mom learned Spanish words with lots of "tl" and "zi" sounds at the end of their words. Kind of how I usdd to say Chicago with the Spanish "ch" instead of the "sh" sound that's common here.

But my great-grandfather didn't ever get around to teaching his kids or his grandkids any of the old dialects, so the language died with him. And my mom moved to the city, then to the US and she modified her pronounciation because people are mean. So by the time it got to me, I didn't even know they had spoken another language in my mom's pueblo until I started asking about some of the names of places. Like mexicatl, which is not Spanish.

And that spiraled into a family history obsession, and that is where I am now.

[fausts_dream]

I love everything about your entries, but especially the atmosphere.

[static_abyss]

Thank you very much!

[tonithegreat]

I like this personal perspective on an enduring culture! A beautiful take on the prompt.

[static_abyss]

Thank you very much :D

I was glad for a chance to be able to share.

[mac_arthur_park]

Beautiful and powerful.

[static_abyss]

Thank you very much ♡

[tjoel2]

Wow. Love how the theme weaves through this piece.

[static_abyss]

Thank you. I felt like this was the piece to write also because Ocotlan is basically a mountain. So, it kind of fit the theme perfectly.

[song_of_thea]

This is lovely. Someday, I hope to visit.

[static_abyss]

Thank you :D

[bleodswean]

Such a lovely and heartfelt way to use this prompt. You poured so much humanity and life into something that for far too many is simply a page in a history book that seems to know no shame.

[static_abyss]

Thank you for saying so. I have recently realized that there are many things we miss in the very limited world history education we are given. And since my family is still so attached to their culture, it has given me the opportunity to relearn who we are as a people.

[encrefloue]

"language is always one of the first things to go"

Oof. Hit to the stomach. So true. Globally, so many regional languages are dying, choked out by the "national" languages, so often those of the colonizers and conquerors. I know how fortunate I am to be a native English-speaker, and that I profit from the staggering commercialization of English...but man. The blood cost.

I really appreciate this piece: its mix of insider/outsider perspective, its painterly dedication, its pride and humility, its resonant interpretation of the prompt. Many kudos!

[static_abyss]

Thank you very much. I have recently been feeling the insider/outsider perspectives really strongly, which is strange since I've always felt like an insider. But the more I learn about my mom's home and the older I get, the more like an outsider I feel. Which I know is what most kids from dual cultures experience, but it's still very jarring at times.

[encrefloue]

In my life, it certainly has been the outsider experience. Finally going to my father's native country (the Philippines) this November, so I'm hoping to feel a little less removed. I definitely empathize with the word "jarring". Hope that the times where you find yourself on the outside are not forcibly negative.

[kehlen.livejournal.com]

I love how you wrote this, I felt like I could almost touch, smell and see the place.

[static_abyss]

I'm glad to hear that!

[alycewilson]

Fascinating portrait of a place. I like how you used this prompt to talk about a place important to your culture.

[static_abyss]

Thank you, and thank you for reading :D

[thephantomq]

I really like those last two paragraphs, honestly. So much culture is shared in such few words. :)

[static_abyss]

Thank you! There is so much that I wish could be put into words conherently. There's this whole story regarding the tree in Ocotlan called El Gachupin, that goes some interesting places. But there's very limited time and also things that don't fit into this particular narrative.

[rayaso]

Very well written! You captured so much life. You made me want to visit.

[static_abyss]

Glad to hear it :) it is a nice place to be in if you like nature and the quiet.

[sonreir]

This is lovely. I love the imagery you have here, the sense of place and how you weave everything together. Well done.

[static_abyss]

Thank you ♡

[establishingaplace]

Beautifully written! Thank you for sharing.

(p.s.you misspelled Church in the 2nd paragraph)

[static_abyss]

I read this a million times and didn't even notice. Thank you for reading and for letting me know :D

[murielle]

This is wonderfully written, so intimate and immediate. You draw us in to your home as you take us through it, pointing out its history and heart, as is often the case, two very different things.

Great use of the prompt. Thank you for sharing your home with us.

[static_abyss]

Thank you very much. While Ocotlan does very much feel like a home, since I lived there for the first three years after my birth, it isn't where I grew up. But it does happen to hold a very special and permanent space in my heart and upbringing.

[the_eternal_overthinker]

I loved the detailed and rich description and you did make me want to visit this place.Lovely take on the prompt and reminded me so much about the villages in India which now are loosing their roots and culture as new generation doesn't want to be bound by traditions.


"language is always one of the first things to go." so true! Well written! Good work.

[static_abyss]

Yeah, which is the saddest thing because often once trasitions or languages are lost, that's when people miss them and that's when it's impossible to get them back. That's not to say that there aren't some things that do need to change with the times.

[halfshellvenus]

The description and flow in this are beautiful-- you have such a way with language and atmosphere!

This small city still endures, not all that it originally was but not having lost all of its history or its people. And though time is trying to erode it and its traditions, it has not been vanquished.

This story helps keep it alive in words, should it eventually fade.

[static_abyss]

Thank you for these words. Especially the last bit ♡

[tatdatcm]

Beautifully written. I almost felt like I was walking through each place as you described it. Love your use of the promo to pay homage to a culture you obviously love.

[static_abyss]

Thank you very much. I do very much love where my parents come from and the culture I grew up in.

[bewize]

This was a very rich entry. Well done.

[static_abyss]

Thank you very much!