“All of my ancestors lived in poverty. They all worked on the fincas and left nothing for their children. I may live in poverty as well but I hope that my children can harvest the fruit of my labor here. And break the circle of poverty.”
—Jose Abel, worker in La Florida.
Esteban stopped in the middle of the trail, smiled, and asked if I could endure the load of wood resting on my back. His smile is warm and, despite his lack of front teeth, somehow dignified. We spent the last hour near the macadamia grove collecting wood for cooking. He gathered the dry limbs, chopped them to size, and methodically put the bundle together, explaining that it is care and patience that builds a solid and secure load. One that will not collapse. It seems to mirror his approach to life. As we walk I notice that he seems small but he’s strong. A bit squatty. Stocky. Not handsome but definitely charismatic. And I find myself thinking about last night and his candlelit words. He tells the story of the community. The occupation. La Florida’s vulnerability. It’s interesting what is possible when people stand up and say enough is enough! And as we labor up the last hill and the houses come into view I find myself in awe of this humble man.
She wakes every morning at 5:00, builds a small fire and slowly begins to make tortillas by hand. To sit in the dark, smoke filled kitchen watching her is like a meditation. She possesses a soft confidence that is staggering. Her ancient hands work the masa with over sixty years of practiced clarity. Doña Maria is a living work of art. As she slowly and steadily walks to the coffee fields she carries her machete at her side as if it were an extension of her arm. Her face is worn and tired but not bitter. Her small dented frame speaks of a lifetime working on the fincas. She is illiterate and has no education but she seems to know more about inner peace than we ever will.
Here he comes wearing those beat-up highwater pants with a broken zipper and that raggedy t-shirt sporting a faded image of the first Harry Potter movie. It’s early in the morning and Eduardo and his brothers pass us, backs loaded down with wood. We can hear the scratchy hip hop being pushed out of the old transistor radio dangling from a free hand. I catch Wardo’s eye, smile, and in that moment wonder how he will face the future. At twelve he is almost finished with school. He seems to be in that awkward place between childhood and responsibility. So lean and small. So young. Already handsome. He tries to be like the other boys, rough and mean, but he is gentle and his smile gives him away.
You are invited to visit the La Florida website for more information about their history and current struggles.