the hills are alive

For Katherine Hepburn, in The Lake,* calla lilies had oracular powers.

In these parts, it is the Mexican Rosewood. Whenever the surrounding hills look as if piles of snow have accumulated in our tropical greenery, it is an omen of two events: the migration south of northern visitors and day/night of the dead.

Of course, it is not snow --as welcome as that occurrence would be. They are the white flowers of the Mexican rosewood. Or barcino as it is known locally.

The barcinos start blooming in October, just as the Canadian feet start hitting the Manzanillo tarmac. Those sandal-clad feet constitute the first ranks of the long-term northern visitors. People who will stay for seven or six months, and who are happy to trade the snow of the barcinos for the white stuff clogging their northern homes.

They will be followed by waves of visitors with shorter stays in mind, until the flow peaks in critical mass in January and February. It will then start ebbing.

Even with only the early arrivals, it is possible to discern a shift in the social cycles. Grocery shelves are being re-stocked. Seasonal restaurants are opening. Hotel staff are practicing their English.

During half of the year, this area is a Mexican tourist destination with a feel of its own. In the winter, the place is simply -- different. Only Christmas and semana santa bring back the Mexican aura in spades.

The second event is day/night of the dead. To a certain extent, the Mexican Department of Education's declaration in the 1960s to turn a regional rite into a national cultural event did not fully take root in our area -- or other areas of Mexico.

Some areas of the country had a long tradition of celebrating an annual conversation with dead relatives. (Up north, we call that Thanksgiving dinner.) Oaxaca and Pátzcuaro, for instance (choosing my mask).

The tradition was certainly not that strong in this area. There is some activity in local cemeteries, but most altars are built in the privacy of homes.

A couple of years ago, Hank told us that when marigolds, the traditional flower in the Mexican highlands for decorating graves, were difficult to buy here, people would pick the barcino blossoms for graves. The substitution made sense. Not only was it practical (because the barcino are in bloom this time of year), but it was better-suited to the purpose of the flowers -- to allow the departed soul to find its way through a familiar scent. What could have been more familiar than a local bloom? Otherwise, grandpa may have ended up sniffing marigolds in Tzintzuntzan.

Miss Hepburn, we can dispense with your calla lilies and stick with our barcinos. After all, they are serving us well this time of year in announcing the arrival of the quick and the dead, as the Apostles' Creed would have it.

Bienvenidos to you both.       


* -- That was the play where Dorothy Parker famously characterized Hepburn's acting as "ran the gamut of emotions from A to B."