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115 Rancho Viejo to Tiombó Reflections at the old mission site New orchard for Antonio Ghosts of Incha The next time I saw Tista, he had started rebuilding his cocina, enlarging it by erecting a new roof over the old one that he would then tear down. Tista built his present cocina eighteen years ago after Juanito was born. In spite of ample ventilation, the palm thatch and structural members are totally black with soot. But Tista has told me more than once that they still prefer to cook with wood. Tista is an excellent craftsman. He had several large-diameter palm posts cemented in place with squared beams resting across the tops. His corner posts were deeply notched two ways to accept the crossbeams coming in at ninety-degree angles, and the beams themselves were notched into each other for a very secure joint. Out back, on a level area near the goat corrals, Tista was manufacturing trusses out of palm lumber. With wooden stakes pounded into the ground and string stretched between them, he had made himself a full-sized template and was in the process of cutting and fitting pieces together. It was getting late now, and this would be my last visit for a while, so Chari fixed a plate of tortillas, beans, and cheese for us, accompanied by their usual tea, and we talked well into the evening. The moon had risen above the crest of the Sierra, spilling soft white light into the high desert valley; the air was agreeably warm. When we retired, Tista pulled a bed out 5 116 Chapter 5 for me, a simple wooden frame with woven strips of cowhide stretched across it (“cama de lia”), and I slept under the stars. Before closing my eyes I saw a silent flash of lightning in distant clouds, far to the east. A storm was brewing somewhere over the Gulf. In the morning Tista and I went out to look for his goats, as they had not come back last evening. We climbed a prominent height of land to watch and listen for bells, but only on the way down did we run into the goats, all in line and walking deliberately toward the corrals. We headed to the cocina for breakfast. When the goats still didn’t show, Tista went back out, found them, turned them around, and herded them to the corral (they had gone past the ranch toward the arroyo). Tista explained later—when I asked why the goats would stay around the ranch at all with so much room to roam—that it was important to bring them in every night and make them feel safe. While herding them he throws rocks and shouts, but once in the corral he moves slowly and speaks softly to comfort the goats. The lead goat, he says, is trained to come back at night, but in cooler weather they often wander into the wind and end up some distance away. After breakfast Tista returned to the corral, and within minutes a nanny gave birth to twins. When I got there Tista was feeling two other pregnant nannies for readiness and decided to keep them in the corral that day. He then rounded up all the kid goats and put them in a pen together, where they stayed while the herd was out foraging. The kids would go from 7:00 a.m. to about 7:00 p.m. without milk—or overnight if Tista couldn’t find the herd in the evening. Later we walked to the site of the first mission of San Javier and the old mission garden. This is where Bule raised crops when he lived at Rancho Viejo, but the site is useless now as the flood from Hurricane John deposited eight inches of sand over the original garden surface. Leaning with our arms on top of the old pila, hands together, our elbows out the way men lean on the back of a pickup truck to gab, Tista opened up. We talked a lot about Tista’s feelings regarding ranching. It’s the only life he could accept. Freedom, clean air, healthy work, tranquility—these he valued. His son Juanito is living in Loreto now, married since the last time I saw him, and Tista lamented that he is not likely to return to ranching life. His new wife is not of the ranch culture, he said, and would not go near the livestock when she...

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