{"id":1818,"date":"2020-09-15T09:35:06","date_gmt":"2020-09-15T16:35:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.timporter.com\/seconddraft\/?p=1818"},"modified":"2020-09-15T09:38:35","modified_gmt":"2020-09-15T16:38:35","slug":"my-oaxaca-shade","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.timporter.com\/seconddraft\/?p=1818","title":{"rendered":"My Oaxaca — Shade"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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A hot day. A long walk on a dusty road. A sliver of shade cast by a concrete pole. A man carries a camera and a folding chair. At this moment only one of these objects is of use. He sits.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

San Juan Bautista Cuicatl\u00e1n. <\/strong>From Oaxaca to the north. Over a high ridge. Through a forest of pine, then another of tall cactus. Down from the mountain air into the oven of the valley. Across a glimmering river, around the clusters of mango groves, to the house of the couple who care for lost children.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The husband is good man. <\/strong>A working man. A man of faith. He is building a round church at the stub end of the valley to honor what he believes. An invitation to see the church. A walk in the heat. A footbridge suspended over a creek burbling with freshness. Into the water. Clothes and all. Salvation. Not biblical, not eternal, but soul-saving nonetheless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The family bakes bread <\/strong>and sells it in town. The pesos pay for the children and the church. On the way home, we stop to collect a makeshift street stand and take home what didn\u2019t sell that day. Two boxes of bread, a small table, a folding chair. I pick up the chair. A good choice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n