Tanhuato, Family Memories

How far was the trip? Tanhuato is a small town in the state of Michohacan, next to Guadalajara. It was about 4 hours by plane and then 2 hours by car.

I had visited once when I was 9, again at 13 and not again for 17 years. Would I remember?

I do remember the trip when I was younger, the roads were more worn then, they are paved now.

I almost cried when I saw uncle Alfredo. Dad used to worry about him all the time. When Alfredo put his life in order and his family first he became just like my dad, he even grew the mustache out. He looks just like my dad now... I almost cried.

They say that the sense of smell has the strongest memory. I remember the smell of fire, the fires of the campos, where they were making the fields ready for new planting. The smell of smoke that you wake up to every day. For a while we breathed air worse than in LA, if you can believe that.

On the right is the entrance to the old house. The Valladolid family home has been around for over 100 years and has survived floods, fires and even riots and pillaging caused by Pancho Villa's men. Not every family has the fortune of being able to visit a physical place that the extended family knows is "home." We are lucky in that regard.

I remember the old house, but it was not the same this time. Great Granfather Octaviano's house has changed much in the past 100 years.

I remember the brick house, the cold titles. Everything seemed a little smaller now. Grandma and my aunt moved from the "Old House" to the "Guest House" built into the same ground next door.

The new house is the same layout, except in a little better state. There are plants and plenty of open space. There is electricity, a television signal and even some running water.
Grandma and tia Selena live in the house. The Valladolid men are almost gone. Manuel and my father have passed on. Gonzalo is the youngest son and a bachelor, he works at a phramacy so he doesn't have time to take care of animals. The houses are big, massive really, but they are meant for large families and not just two people. The family home is in it's twilight years.

The entire time we visited the days never dipped below 85 and the nights never below 65. I hear Southern California has seen better winters.
I remember seeing grandpa Alfredo and uncle Manuel feeding the pigs when I was a little boy. Manuel died first, I was still a boy but I remember his face. Cousin Marcos looks just like him. Amazing.
I remember when the corral had a roof, many pigs and cows. They are long gone. There are some chickens but much of my childhood memories have dried up along with the house.
The new house used to be for storage, feed and farm equipment. My brothers and I slept in a room that used to be for storage. It faced the street and sleep was a rare commodity.
There are a lot of memories here. My father promised to bring the whole family soon. We kept his promise, but the memories were bittersweet.

An old tin car that my dad used to push around in 50 years ago. It's still there.
I never understood the saying bittersweet until I went back to the old home. Memories of family that are no longer with us kept coming up. The way things were, the way things are. We never complained, we had no reason to.
Grandma's old Singer sewing machine. You know, the kind that women used to run by rocking their feet on the lever below? One of these days we're going to dust it off and bring it to the antiques road show.
I remember when the storehouse was filled to the top with feed. Pigeons now hang out in the open space.
The food was always good. Jr treated us out for tacos one night. The tacos were awesome. Nothing beats a tacos and some Coca Cola from glass bottles.
Dad was the first son, he was "el precioso." His sisters used to dote over him, we used to tease him about that. From left to right, Soledad, Marta, Hortencia and Selena. The fifth sister, Lidia, died a couple of years ago.
Grandma, my mom and aunts. Christmas meant many things to us, the definition of family was challenged but never changed.

Happy New Year!

by Noe Valladolid