Cypress Trees, The Campo at Night and The Loss of a Baby

I am now invited with increasing regularity to join in the hunt for parrots in the campo. We tramp through the avocado farm and rest on the hillside among a patch of intoxicating smelling cypress trees, the kids snacking on hard, green peaches that make my stomach ache to look at. These little boys don't go to school and work all day on the farms, cloaked in the smell of cilantro and dirt. They are sweet and crazy have taught me how to use a slingshot, though not with much accuracy.

We never kill any parrots, because the boys have no tact and our loud and rambunctious. I'm not complaining, I hope we continue to have the same luck. They are happy enough with the thrill of the hunt.

Four nights ago one of our moms had a still-birth. Her baby was born quickly, before we could get there and never took a breath. A baby boy. He had a genetic disorder and was not meant for this world, babies with this particular disorder never are. This was the closest I have ever been to death. I'm struggling to understand it.

The husband left the house in the middle of the night and came home with the smallest casket I've ever seen. Wrapped naked in some blankets and gently nestled inside, the family asked me to clamp the metal latch tightly with a pair of pliers so that the curious, gossiping family members who would visit the next day could not try to look in on the baby's body.

Our mom was expressionless and didn't say a word, though the first glimpse of her mother's face brought her to tears. Something I understood.

I am not finished writing this post. But, I have 4% battery remaining and have to end here. I will write more soon.