signing up

Once upon a time there was a hill in a Mexican village named Villa Obregón -- named in honor of a president who did not understand that seeking an additional term in post-Revolution Mexico was a quick way to get enrolled on the assassinated politician list.

But this story does not involve dead politicians. As far as I know. It is about my track record as a prognosticator.

I just finished reading Jan Swafford's Language of the Spirit: An Introduction to Classical Music.  He said he is often asked what the future of serious music will be. His answer was perfect.

A recent study found that when it comes to prognostication, there's no difference between prophecies of the future and random outcomes. Whatever happens, it will not be what anyone predicted, unless by accident.

That was exactly my feeling last week while listening to the various political experts "predicting" the world's future. No one knows. Period.

But, sometimes, we do get it right. Maybe by accident, as Swafford says.

When I moved here eleven years ago, the hill that stars in the first paragraph of this essay sat between the main highway and what I am told is the largest body of fresh water on the Mexican coast.

At one point, it was part of a larger hill. But it was orphaned when the highway was built across the laguna.

The hill was devoid of improvements -- other than a small concrete structure that could have served as a World War Two gun emplacement to hold off the inevitable yanqui invasion. Recently, the grade school had chosen it as a tsunami evacuation site. The view was stunning.

About two years ago, bulldozers appeared on the crest. A Mexican friend (Luis), who is usually a good source of local information, told me the top was being leveled as a site for a home or homes.

When I wrote about that, my American friend John, who is now dead, said Luis was wrong. A rock and gravel company had bought the hill to mine its rocks. It appeared he was correct. Dump truck after dump truck took away the rock until what was once a hill was a mere stub of itself.

Now, we may know the rest of the story. I noticed this week that a sign has been posted on the site selling lots as "Las Palmas Fraccionamiento." Luis may have been correct.

Here is what I do not know. The sign indicates the development is in "San Patricio Melaque, Jalisco." But the hill is not in San Patricio. It sits on land administered by Jaluco. Some may even say it it is in Villa Obregón.

Maybe that is just a technicality. The developers may be relying on the generic use of "Melaque" to describe all of the villages along that part of the bay. Or maybe the sign is advertising a housing development elsewhere in town. If so, I do not know where it would be. I need to check my sources.

My gut tells me "Las Palmas" is where the hill once stood. If so, it is an odd place to build houses. The hill once acted as a wind break for the summer storms that frequently blow through here. I would not want to build a house there (even if it is built on rock) with the prospects of a tidal surge rolling across the laguna.

Then there is the Scylla and Charybdis feel of the place. On one side, the laguna with its mosquitoes and crocodiles. On the other, the only major north-south highway on the Mexican coast -- complete with a parade of trucks that are wont to test their jake brakes just at that point.

Perhaps I am mixing a regret cocktail of 4 parts sour grapes and 1 part nostalgia. I was quite fond of that hill. When I was in high school, I often thought of living atop a similar rocky knoll. That hill would have been perfect with its view of the bay.

But the dream is as dead as the hill. And some families in the future will share a quite different experience on the flats. With any luck, they will make happy homes.

Not every tale has a happy ending. But the former hill holds promise for someone.

And that is an ending happy enough for me today.