Looking out my Backdoor: When retreat means moving forward

Two weeks. What a gift. I have had two weeks with my son at my home.

My guestroom with bath was finished before Ben’s plane landed.

He said, “Mom, I don’t want to do a lot of visiting neighbors (of whom there are so few) or any tourist stuff. I just want to be with you and to have solitude to consider my life, to figure out what I want to do next. I want a retreat, away from everyday activities and responsibilities.”

And so it went.

We filled each day with stories, memories, with unhurried hours of solitude for both of us, favorite meals, jig-saw puzzles, no stress and plain fun.

What will my son do when he gets back home? I don’t know. It’s none of my business, is it?

What I do know is that because of this simple break in routine and ordinary pressures, Ben’s intuition toward his next steps is sharpened; his vision is enhanced.

I’d like to think that I have a helping hand in his life.

After all, I’m sure I also have had a hand in assuring him hours of personal therapy. All your woes are Mom’s fault. You know the routine.

For excitement, and occasional entertainment, our area is experiencing nightly torrential rainfall. There is a new laguna along the highway between Etzatlan and Ahualulco, homes are flooded throughout the country and towns, the arroyos are running full. Driving in and out of Oconahua is an adventure. The arroyo alongside our rancho looks like a river and I’ve never before seen water in it — at all. My backyard looks like a duck pond.

Gardening is at a standstill. This is the time I generally start a new planting in my buckets but the rain would rot any seeds I plant now. So I plan rather than plant. Maybe dream would be a better word. The only things I have going at present, other than herbs which thrive year-round, are beans and chilies of three varieties. They are beautiful.

Jalapenos can be included in almost every dish. In moderation.

Cinnamon goes with everything, no exceptions.

Do not buy food in small town Mexico to last for more than five days. The foods contain no preservatives. Which is a plus. Most times. Occasionally, rather than a plus, a putrid.

My big avocado tree, of a local variety, is full of fruit, dropping large globes half the size of a football during the nightly storms. In the morning, I sneak the beauties to the neighbors and run.

One of my rhubarb plants died. The other seems to be thriving.

We discovered that rhubarb and mango in a crisp or a fruit pie make the absolute best fruit combination.

Working jigsaw puzzles is more fun with two people.

Life is more fun with two people. Dependent on the two people.

I bought strawberries at Etza Frut and when I was prepping them for strawberry shortcake, I found a berry that looks like a coronavirus. All around the plump little berry tiny green leaves sprouted. Is this how all the little strawberry plants are born? Or is this a mutant berry and a threat to world peas?

Ben is in flight north. When he lands, he will be ready to change gears and change lanes.

Me? I’m sitting in the backyard duck pond in tears.

Looking at my bell pepper plants. If bell pepper makes a good custard pie, it should make a supercalifragilistiticexpialidocious cheese cake. Hmmm. Help! I need to get up. The mud is sucking me down. Help!

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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].