Looking out my backdoor: Greetings from Gringolandia

Michelle and Ana, up the road in Oconahua, tagged the name “Gringolandia” onto our enclave and it stuck. Though there has never been a dozen of us in residence at any one time, we are the closest thing to a North American colony in the greater Etzatlan municipality.

As of Friday, there are now three of us pale-faces in residence in Gringolandia. Lani has returned from four-and-a-half months up north. I won’t see her until she has hidden away for the requisite two weeks.

Janet’s husband, Tom, is out to sea. He’s a ship captain on an NOAA ship which I think is exciting, chasing weather all over the Pacific. I made that up, the part about chasing weather. All I really know is that Tom is the captain and took over the NOAA weather boat in Guam.

Everyone else is hunkered down in their northern homes, wanting travel, staying safe, yearning to be in Mexico.

I’m hungry for touch. Just to shake somebody’s hand. I didn’t realize how often we casually reach out to a friend, touch his arm, give her a hug, bump shoulders.

That hunger for touch is probably what kept me from freaking out the other night when I heard the mysterious scrabbling at my bathroom window. I admit my initial reaction was to freeze in place. I was sitting against a pile of pillows, reading in bed, when I heard what sounded like somebody trying to get in through the window. My heart pounded. I listened carefully for several minutes of scratching, scritching, scrabbling noises.

Nobody can get through the windows. Wrought iron with decorative curliques would prevent the skinniest child from squeezing through. My door, on the other hand, has a 50 percent chance of being unlocked.

I knew the invader couldn’t be human, somebody come to rape and pillage. My heart still beat wildly. I wasn’t about to open the door, go outside in nightshirt and confront an intruder.

Next morning, no flower pots were out of place, no evidence of animal, nuclear-activated plant, extraterrestrial from outer space or inter-planetary conspiracy.

Meanwhile, life goes forward. I can pickles, one jar at a time. Gather green beans, hull lima beans. Share zucchini. Manage to become sated eating mangos.

In my on-going frustration with sharing my garden with iguanas, I finally named my adversary Bruce. Though one might think iguanas look alike, this burly iguana who glares at me from atop the brick wall, possesses a definite personality, is easily recognizable. Evidently Bruce is going to be in my life forever.

Recently, I gained another thief, smaller, of slightly different color who’s been hanging around my green beans, forcing me to drive him away. I call him Son of a Bruce.

One afternoon, I washed down chairs and spaced them 3 to 4 meters apart under the shade of the jacaranda in my backyard. Janet, Michelle and myself, joined by Leo, met, first time, for a couple hours of non-stop conversation, grumbling, laughter, each eating our own brown-bag lunch. It was almost like old times. Without touch.

After three weeks of nightly visits, the sounds of my unknown intruder scrabbling against the screens in my bathroom window, while still causing me to catch my breath and listen hard, no longer made my heart pound out of control. Each time I heard the noises, it was in the dark of night while I sat in bed reading, the bathroom light shining, the windows closed to keep bugs outdoors.

Each morning I went outside to check for any evidence of invasion. Not a foot print, finger print, or bloody smear to give a clue.

Yes, life in Gringolandia goes on. Josue came over this morning to borrow my pitchfork. Leo brought me pozole, along with the trimmings, his sister made for their father’s birthday dinner. It smells so good. I’ve been yearning for a meal somebody else cooked. Michelle wrote that she and Ana are going to Costco Friday; anything I need? I’ll check my pantry. Janet brought me some blue poppy seedlings. They look pretty fragile but maybe they will “take.”

Last night, while leaning over the sink brushing my teeth, I saw a flicker at the lower corner of the bathroom window, through the embossed glass. Just that quickly, the mystery was solved. The shape revealed itself—a medium sized lizard, looking for a meal, eating bugs and insects attracted to the bathroom light. I’m almost disappointed.

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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 [email protected].