Looking out my Backdoor: This too shall pass and coffee

Last week I forbade, with wagging finger, I forbade Leo, our Rancho gardener who mothers all of us oldsters, to get sick. The next day Leo landed in the hospital. No, he does not have the virus. But we all had a frightening couple days while Leo was sent to a specialist in Guadalajara for advanced imaging. That’s doctor-speak for a second guess.

Leo’s got the rocks, as they say it here in Mexico. The doc said it will pass. The gall stone giving him such pain is tiny and should pass soon.

Leo is in pain and he is justifiably terrified. For several days he’s suffered. He feels OK, comes to work one day and does not show up the next.

Many of his family have died of cancer, so every twinge scares the young man. Every pain makes him think immediately, “It’s the Big C — I’m done for.”

That alone is a heavy burden to haul around.

People here are matter-of-fact about illness. When Leo does show up, he both whines and laughs and makes jokes about the stone being a slow traveler. He dreads the pain of passage, but dreads the thought of surgery even more.

Yesterday was one of Leo’s good days as opposed to the day before when he stayed in bed all day and described to me in vivid detail that I shall spare you. Perhaps the rock moved on down the line.

In an economy measure, I’ve begun making cowboy coffee in a clay olla rather than my usual French Press method. I add a piece of stick cinnamon to the coffee grounds for sparkle, boil it, and let it settle. I’d stack my coffee next to the best.

You have to know I’m a coffee snob. I like a good coffee. I’ve been buying coffee beans at Costco in Guadalajara ever since moving to Etzatlan. In these dire times, trips to Guad are a dream of the past and a vague hope for the future. My good beans are gone.

Before he collapsed last week, Leo brought me coffee. Coffee is coffee, right? Wrong! This was nasty bitter stuff, sweepings from the factory floor. So I asked Leo to find Marino, which is tolerable. The beans are roasted and packed in Mazatlan so I’m familiar with Marino.

So when Leo came around noon, laden with fruits and veggies, he also had a bag of Marino coffee, found after vigorous searching at Michoacana, a corner tienda. Like any addict, I am happy with my fix.

Leo worked yesterday, mowing and yard clean up at Pat and Nancie’s, John and Carol’s. I said, “You must be feeling better.” He said, “Much medicine.”

Before he put away the mower and weed whacker for the evening, Leo told me the farmers around were complaining about not enough rain, the fields should be soaked by now. I thought, when do farmers not complain there is not enough rain?

It’s true and strange that the Sahara dust blanketing us makes for spectacular sunsets. I thought nothing can equal Montana sunsets, several of which I recall vividly. I’m wrong. Last night the entire 360 degree sky lit up with pink-bronze-golden fires.

Out over the Pacific Ocean, in the night, an unnamed depression formed into Cristina, pushed clouds inland which dropped rain the entire night. This morning is dark as any night. In my house of windows I seldom switch on a light during daytime. I turned on lights in the kitchen and the light over my desk.

My garden plans flew out the door where they lie soggy on the ground. Farmers complain they cannot work in the wet fields. It’s a good day to bake bread. My coffee is brewed. It’s a good day.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email sondrajean.ashton@yahoo.com.