A la orilla de Milpillas hay un árbol… Hace tiempo en una de mis pocas aunque más o menos frecuentes idas a Milpillas, viajaba en el tradicional camioncito, eran como las 6 de la tarde, el sol se estaba poniendo,  sus rallos dorados pitaban el firmamento;  las casas aparecieron de forma imprevista  al terminar de subir la cuesta de “los Sauces”, con todo, llamó mi atención una escena que pude contemplar fugazmente, mientras pasábamos en el vehículo: a mano derecha una Señora  y un Señor (creo que era Chepina y Melchor Rivas) labraban la tierra; . . .

Catholic Priests hanging on a public sight, for the purpose of scaring the religion out of the Mexican citizens.

devout, and back in her day, even more devout. A minor militia of the government had set up a camp near Milpillas; inevitably, they had some beef with my ancestors. The military wanted money, but my great grandparents had none, so instead they asked for my grandmother’s grandpa, but my brave great grandfather volunteered to take his father’s place, even though it was against the family’s will.

After being beaten and starved my great grandfather somehow escaped through the dead of night. At the very beginning of his escape he bolted out of the camp, sprinting at full speed. Unfortunately he ran straight into a rock fence, acquiring several injuries, but he was still far from home. He was chased through the mountains and after crossing a raged river in his decrepit state the military gave up their pursuit of the fugitive. He made it home to Milpillas, only to die (from the injuries and malnutrition) in front of his family. Leaving my great grandmother a widow for the rest of her life. I imagine that she believed him to be her one true love and only soul mate, she had found the “one” but he died. As a result my poor grandmother barely remembers her own dad, but this story of perseverance in the face of persecution influenced the very core my grandmother’s being.

My grandmother prayed, and still does, at least one rosary a day, three a day during October. During religious days of celebration and Holy Week there must be no talking and also no spitting, all day and night… how do you not talk! I have mucus in my throat! Such intense standards are what my grandmother spent her youth in, and with no regrets, she wouldn’t have it any other way. Like her, the whole village prides itself in our religion more than anything, more than even race and culture. Instead of the whole stereotype of the Mexican screaming “Viva la rasa!” The town of Milpillas proclaims “Viva Cristo Rey!”

Now the town of Milpillas is very secluded from the urban, up until the 80’s, there were no such things as light bulbs or lamps, only candles. Like all little girls my grandmother was fond of dolls, but where to obtain them? She would make her own, sowing the skin and clothes out material cultivated from my family’s farm, filling the inside with hay to give it volume. Doll houses? No problem. She would build houses out of “cañejote” which is a plant stem’s vascular tissue. When dried it has an inside like Styrofoam and the outside can be peeled into separate sticks. Once you take apart a cañejote you end up with building blocks similar to the modern toy “K’NEX.” Every house needs a corral in Milpillas, my grandmother built “doll corals” out of rocks. Corrals need animals; more exotic plants would be used to take the place of cows, bulls, horses, donkeys, chickens, and etc…

Her brothers also got her into marbles and a game known as “trompo.” There is a hill, close to the town, that is not a lump of “tierra” but a lump of “barro.” Barro is clay which can be used to make pottery and more importantly, marbles. All you got to do is sculpt it and then burn it. As for the game trompo, only boys played it, but my grandmother didn’t really care, the game is fun and sinless, therefore it is very rational to play it despite being female.

Since there are almost no jobs in this “middle of no where” village, the people survive off farming, accomplishing chores determined whether you wanted eat or not. Often times forgetting one chore meant the whole family missed a meal. My grand mother had the responsibilities of cooking breakfast everyday, farm: potatoes, radish, lettuce, spice, tomatoes, lemons, and most importantly beans and corn.

It’s obvious why beans are important, beside the fact we are beaners, beans are the only source of everyday protein… at least for the poor people of the rural village Milpillas de Allende. Corn is important because from corn Mexicans produce a type of dough to make the infamous tortillas. This dough can also be made to create sweets.
School was shunned in the environment my grandmother grew up in. School is funded by the government; the government suppresses the publicity of the church, thus many negative assumptions were assumed about education. The Priest of Milpillas told the village that if you went to school or allowed your children to attend school, you could not receive the Eucharist. Like most sane Christians, my grandma was not too fond of burning for eternity and chose to leave school after receiving a 3rd grade education.

My grandmother was also very talented when it came to making tortillas, teaching, and math. Math was her best subject; she multiplied numbers faster than a calculator. Since there was only one teacher for the whole school, my grandmother volunteered to teach first graders the alphabet. The whole village knew of her magical tortillas, they are really good. She was so pro at “torteando” (making tortillas), that she even had the honor of cooking for the priest. Her parents also viewed her as very responsible, whenever her sisters wanted to go out, she had to accompany them so that the parents knew they were safe and not misbehaving.

As her adolescence came so did the boys, whom she all rejected (except for my grandpa). Being conservative and catholic to the bone, the village shunned the adolescents who even spoke to the opposite sex, they had no such necessities. Boys only need to build and herd, girls need to garden and cook. If a boy and a girl were talking, everyone knew they were up to something. So how do you get a girl? Well a genius recipe was developed: You write her a love letter and make sure she gets it.

Now not every guy knew how to write, and the ones who did weren’t necessarily poetic. Most of the time, one had to pay someone else to write the letter. I mean, these letters were intense. If you liked a girl you did not date her or get to know her. If you liked her then you are literally considering marriage, and the girls knew this. In that first letter you had to convince the girl that she was the love of your life, even though you have never exchanged a single word in person. That’s why you paid the village’s top notch poet to write for you.

My abuela was so conservative in her beliefs that she rejected men more than a pissed off nun would. She wouldn’t even take the letters, let alone read them. No one could take her except her eternal soul mate, whom to him alone she would give everything. No really, I literally mean everything. Saving virginity till marriage? Weak sauce. Concepcion Castaneda saved her first kiss for her husband. Her true love meant so much to her, that she didn’t even want to have another guy in her mind. No one was worthy enough to be on her mind except her soul mate. That is why she rejected all the letters, fearing to contemplate another guy, who was not handpicked by God, for her alone. Now that is real love.

It is very difficult for me to compare my grandma too both Mamma Grande (character from Burro Genius by Victor Villaseñor) and Toots (Barack Obama's grandma). She is hardly like Toots, because grandma never speaks her mind. She keeps her holy thoughts to herself in silence. Abuela does know innumerable amounts of applications when it comes to nature. She is able: to make cheese and cream, feed any animal in her native lands, and countless medicinal plants. Like Mamma Grande, my abuela respects nature and is an environmentalist. Although grandma doesn’t talk to trees, since orthodox theology from the Vatican says it’s a useless practice.

When I asked my grandmother what she wants, for her offspring to preserve, from her customs, she went strait to the point. “Daily Rosary, assist during mass, comply with the holy days of obligation, fast during lent, and most importantly Confession and the Eucharist.” (Concepcion C.) Her words were like a spear to my heart. None of her grandchildren can say they do all of these… I almost live out her entire list, except for the daily rosary. I want to vow to uphold her standards, but I am not so sure that I keep that promise. My parents don’t allow me to go to weekly confession, and I get lazy when it comes to the rosary. I still have a lot more development in my faith that I must under go, before I can follow such principles. Nevertheless I wish to follow these standards, for I have nothing but respect and love for my grandmother, Concepcion Castaneda.

References:

Castaneda, Arturo. Personal Interview, 1 November 2009
Castaneda, Guadalupe. Personal Interview, 1 November 2009
Castaneda, Concepcion. Personal Interview, 1 November 2009
Photo of hanged Catholic Priests. Photograph. bp2.blogger.com 1926-1929
Trompo Photo. Photograph. i36.photobucket.com, 26 May 2008
Couple Photo. Photograph by Arturo Castañeda. 2004
Marriage Photo. Photograph by unknown. 5 May 1949