Yesterday, I stood in our yard with my finger poised across the tip of the mangera, attempting to hush the water while it eagerly made its way through the sides of my thumb creating an upright waterfall. I remember my grandma would stand like a pillar of elegance watering her matas. Her left hand held on to the mangera a foot or two down from the tip. Her right hand held the tip and she'd crack her knees by lifting them up from the ground every so often. My cousins and I would run by and dip our mouths into the stream to gulp down a huge mouthful of water.
I stood that way yesterday, a bit less elegantly, discovering new plants in our yard. I discovered that a heaping mountain of green leaves I had ordered to be butchered and tossed into the trash was actually a huge purple crinum lily that had blossomed with the rain. I discovered that by hacking the rose bushes, they became more obedient by growing upwards rather than out and downwards. I discovered that a cardinal loves to jump from our rooftop to the pepper smelling vine that has taken over some our fence. While looking it up today, I find that it's a grape vine. The yard is alive and I can't wait to see what more I can learn from it. Mangera in hand.
I stood that way yesterday, a bit less elegantly, discovering new plants in our yard. I discovered that a heaping mountain of green leaves I had ordered to be butchered and tossed into the trash was actually a huge purple crinum lily that had blossomed with the rain. I discovered that by hacking the rose bushes, they became more obedient by growing upwards rather than out and downwards. I discovered that a cardinal loves to jump from our rooftop to the pepper smelling vine that has taken over some our fence. While looking it up today, I find that it's a grape vine. The yard is alive and I can't wait to see what more I can learn from it. Mangera in hand.
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| Carolina Hinojosa-Cisneros, 2015 |
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