My grandma has the best home I’ve ever experienced.
It is surrounded by hills, open to nature.
Its simplicity is what made it magical.
Its simplicity is what gave us, kids, a blank canvas to see and imagine new worlds, new views that could one day be our reality.
Her room was the very first room of the house. It had a window facing the dirt and open hills of San Antonio Arenillas. If someone was knocking, the window was our peephole. Through the window we can see passers-by in their beat-up trucks. We can see Don Crecensiano in his bike, carrying the milk carts, stopping miles away at a few houses that still purchased fresh milk from him. There was so much room, so much space between houses; we can see what people were doing, who was home and who just arrived. We can see the bulls and the cows pass by to the other side of the hills to eat pasture. The goats and the sheep would follow. The dogs followed after all of the animals as they socialized among each other. And the sole teenager, in care of the pack would be last.
It was so simple, so peaceful, and now so far away.