Reflections On Building la Bañera (Turn into journal entries)
Shame causes my face to flush every time I remember my glaring
failure to invite anyone else to help me dig la bañera. I can feel the heat creep up my neck, invade my cheeks. They patiently stood, waiting for the silly new teacher to take the obvious step. It never occurred to me that they were there to help. I was so SMUG that I thought they were only there to enhoy the sight of their new teacher actually doing some physical work, which in their world, White women are afraid to do. How could I be so wrong?
Every time I walk on the rounded stones fished from the river, making
a pathway from the river to the tub, I get a warm glow, a good one this time. When all the water had leaked out the next day, many hands deepened the layers of stones, "erosion stone, then 2" oversize, then pea gravel, road grade" as I heard one Native American tell his friends. I found out later from Bruno that he had worked in a quarry, and varied the sizes until the tub held the water pretty well. Even tough, gruff old María has been seen soaking in it on hot afternoons. She is too old to risk the river current, but the tub is a safe respite, shaded from the afternoon sun by Alberto's choice of location under a tree.
Last updated 8/23/03.