The weekend niece. from the book, Searching for treasures

     “I’ve never told you how your grandfather died. Perhaps the time has come to talk about this. We had barely been married for three years, By then, I was twenty-three years old. Our farm… it was small. Don’t get the impression that we had a large farm! Nor were we important landowners, no dear, not at all.”

     “We had three young boys to help with the chores. Unfortunately, their parents had died, and they were orphans. The elder one’s name was Miguel. He was followed by Adrian and the youngest of the three was Danielito.”
“Between your grandfather and them, they worked the farm. And let me tell you that on a farm the work is never done! Your Grandfather used to say:”
“The farm’s chores are the pillow where I lay my head at nights, for not even when I’m asleep can I get them out of my head!”

     “Where we lived was remote and very solitary. The community of Pueblo Rico was a three-hour walk from our house. There were around twenty families living there, and our closest neighbors were so far away that we couldn’t see their house, much less hear them from our property.”

     “The house was quite small, but it was so cozy and quaint. It had thick adobe walls and lots of guada-bamboos everywhere. We had many flower pots with all types of flowers to decorate the balconies. It’s such a pity that the times of our lives can’t be adorned as easily as the balconies can.”

      “Those were times when thing got out of hand and had heated up dangerously, mostly because of the constant fighting between the conservatives and the liberals. These encounters sometimes grew out of proportion and were tremendously violent. Since we were living in such lonely lands, we lived at risk of unexpected visits, particularly during the solitary nights of the country-side, my child.”

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