Stories Inspired by Life in Rural Brazil
Aren’t memories grand? Life is made of both the big milestones and the tiny pebbles under our feet.
It sounded like a firework going off. CRACK-BOOM! Francisco, my brother-in-law stopped stringing the new fence to let out a “yee-haw” shout to the neighbors across the valley and I settled back into my reading, convinced that it was the usual celebratory firecracker. It wasn’t a holiday, but that doesn’t stop Brazilians; they’ll set off …
We just wanted to see the fireworks and a police blockade stood in our way. The crowd broke through, and we ran. We ran like our lives depended on it because it did. When you’ve got no papers the boys in blue aren’t your friends. We just wanted to see the fireworks so I grabbed …
I went for a run today on our farm road. I caused quite a panic; my in-laws had never seen such outlandish behavior. They had heard of people running for exercise, but never seen it in the flesh. They thought that I was running towards a crisis. They’re never quite sure what to do with …
As we work to fix up and give new life to the family farm where we live, I realize that a lot of our success is due to our accumulated skills. I get the impression that a lot of observers in the community think that it is because we came back with lots of American …
As a linguist I have a love for words descriptive and versatile. Bicho ranks right up there with fuck in its versatility. Insert it wherever words fail you: pega isse bicho lá para mim? (grab that whatzit over there for me?) and with a certain air of the expletive: bicho está trabado! (damn thing is …
(This post was published accidentally about a week ago before it was complete. The mistake was quickly corrected, but some people got a 404 error as a result. Sorry for the confusion! Here it is in its finished state.) Without language, we strip human interaction down to it’s most basic. I find I learn a lot …
I pile brush under a sky pewter gray. Vultures circle overhead over the field one hill away where a cow past her prime is being laid to rest. Beef which forms income to purchase the next generation. I pile brush dry and crackling so that we can burn it; hours of labor gone in fiery …
When our nephew appeared in the open window and waved his father outside I didn’t think much of it. When he appeared again and waved my husband outside and my husband left with his arm wrapped around the boy’s shoulders, I knew something was up. What disaster had occurred to call away all the men …
In a rural world where there is more than enough work to go around, even the animals have jobs. The cows are The Breadwinners, beginning their work day early to provide the milk that is the backbone of our income. On Sundays when there is no milk delivery they instead give us cheese and doce …
