Just before Christmas my wife Jane Califf and I visited Mexico for two weeks. We went there primarily to be part of a one-year wedding anniversary celebration for our daughter-in-law Lucia and our son Daniel in her home town, Ixhuatan, in southern Oaxaca province about 20 miles north of the Pacific Ocean. Below is a poem I wrote on the evening that we arrived from Oaxaca city by bus in a town close to Ixhuatan as we were waiting to be picked up.

December 17, 2015

In a small comedor—
a place to eat—
In the small Mexican town
of Zanotepec,
in Oaxaca,
deep south, near the Pacific Ocean,
Indigenous country—

Jane and I are waiting
for my Indigenous nuera—
daughter-in-law—
Lucia, and her husband,
Daniel,
our son.

Here after long hours
on a bus
over the south Sierra mountains—

Cactus-rich,
as well as many
fields of agave plants
to produce Mezcal,
a local drink,
huge rock outcroppings,
and high, steep slopes–
all very, very dry.

And after the mountains,
crossing the
near-Pacific plains.

After plains-town Juchitan,
a wind farm!
Who would expect it?!
Hundreds and hundreds
of large, slowly-turning windmills,
and transmission lines
passing them by in
the late-dusk, near-dark evening.

Arriving in Zanatepec,
we find the small comedor
next to the humble,
small-town, bus terminal.

Gratefully,
in the hot and humid
mid-December,
temperate climate weather,
an overhead fan,
thankfully turned on
by the woman-in–charge
who greeted us,
yanquis from
the cold far north,
looking for a place to wait
for the car bringing
Lucia and Daniel
from an airport in Chiapas,
three hours away,
the car of one of
Lucia’s family members
who live—she used to live—
½ hour away from Zanatepec.

There’s a red coca-cola
cold drink machine
over to our left,
and across the way
two dark-complexioned,
Indigenous-appearing men
and one light-complexioned woman—
she could pass for
North American white—
also sit waiting.

In the kitchen,
through an opening,
I see women working
on all of our food orders
and hear the voice
of someone’s young son.

Our first week in Mexico City
was very memorable—
helped immeasurably
by Lucia’s relatives,
Karla, Jorge and Luzma.

We saw and heard
and learned and experienced much—
much good, some not so,
like the city air and traffic,
and the many street vendors,
struggling street vendors.

Knowledgeable people we met with
said the “informal economy”
is 50-60% of the total economy,
and half the people of Mexico
live in poverty.

And yet,
over those seven days,
so many good people,
met on the subway,
at a restaurant,
walking on the street.

So many good things we saw,
good things to remember.

Then, after Mexico City,
two days in Oaxaca city,
again wonderful days—
so much life and energy
and music and dancing
especially in the city plaza park,
the zocolo,
short blocks away from
the youth hostel
where we stayed
(young at heart).

So much beauty,
amidst the poverty,
and history and
deeply-rooted culture
to be proud of.

Teotihaucan and Monte Alban,
pyramid cities
thousands of years ago,
were two of our favorite trips.

In Teotihaucan
I felt
a spiritual connection
to the Mexican ancestors,
adopted,
at least for one day,
by me.

And now we wait
for our food and drink
(our unknown friends
here before us
just got served)
and for our beloved Daniel
and our beloved Lucia
who will celebrate,
in a few days,
their recent wedding
with her family and friends
here in the winter-hot
Mexican south,
one week before Christmas
on a day of
many days in Mexico
to remember
and treasure.