Time and Tubers

no. 25

Leif goes into the orchard and comes back with a bright orange. He asks for a knife and Leifer helps him slice it. “¡Qué rico!” says Enzo. All the boys have a slice. “When the boys go get fruit from the orchard, they eat it happily. Nothing is wasted,” I share with Leifer. Next to me, Abuelito uses a cala lilly to swat the flies. Leif borrows it from him to try his hand at swatting a fly.

We eat new and unfamiliar vegetables—oca and caigua (technically a fruit, though prepared like a savory vegetable). Oca is a tuber, similar to a potato. After harvest, it’s left in the sun to develop a slightly sweet flavor. Its skin is purple, though it comes in other colors too. I watched everyone at the table peel it. I wondered why—my mom always told me the nutrients were in the skin. I love how Abuelita cooks. I hope I can recreate some of her meals when we return home. We are well nourished here and eat lots of vegetables.

Time is measured. When I played viola in the orchestra as a kid, there were a certain number of beats to each measure. The amount of time each measure filled was the same. Notes could be longer or shorter, which could make the music feel like it was speeding up or slowing down. There is a cadence to our days here just like the music I once played. The day unfolds as it must, and is measured by the needs of the crops and the animals. Everything wants your attention as the day progresses, and our activity folds within everything else. Time isn’t managed here, rather we move with it. Time cannot get derailed, it marches right along with everything else that pays attention to it.

On our way back from Mancos, Leif ran ahead and stumbled over some rocks, falling hard and banging his knee. He insisted he couldn’t walk. We were close to home. Leifer’s cousin, watching from 20 steps away, came over and picked up our bags of food. I carried Leif. Her generosity touched me.

At the doorstep, Abuelita and Abuelito were sitting and chatting. Leif showed Abuelita his knee. I couldn’t see any scratches. He pulled his pant leg back down and ran off into the house. We all laughed. I suspected he could manage the walk after all—though soon, I know I won’t be able to carry him much longer. We joke about him carrying me one day.

I wonder how I’ll manage once we leave the mountains. Here, we've found a kind of shelter from the chaos of our immigration struggles. I try to embrace the time we’ve been given—the time ahead and the time we’ve already lived. Time has changed everything. Sometimes, I fear all the time I’ve spent pursuing a Green Card. But I know that’s a limited perspective—so much else has unfolded in that time. Most importantly, Leifer and I have built our family. Time has also given me the hope to keep moving forward. I once feared life in Peru—the food, the language, the unknown, parenting, making a home. But we lean on Leifer’s family. We are not expected to do this alone. Returning to the U.S. may feel foreign now. But I’m not going back for the culture—I’m going back for my family and friends.

Before I left California, my Tia Fran had given me the book Time and Turtles. We lost power early in the day and so I started reading this book. Later, I was curious because Sy Montgomery has written 35 books, some of which are children’s books. It was a trying day with no power and Lucca going on his 5th day with diarrhea. I found one of her books about the octopus on Libby. I opened it to a picture of an octopus, but the second page wouldn’t load. After closing the app down and trying again, I gave up. Lucca slid down from the bed and walked over to the table. He grabbed a book from the shelf. “Would you like me to read that? He lifted the book towards me so I picked him up and brought him back to bed. The book is called How to Get Your Octopus to School, he had found the other octopus book! We read it two times, reminding me of how Leif used to have me read the same book again and again. Lucca fell asleep and I told Leifer to leave him with me a bit longer before moving him to his bed. When Lucca is sick, I want to be near him so I can hear the rise and fall of his breath.

Lucca had a much better night, but by morning, Enzo was having trouble. I walked into the bathroom and found poop everywhere—on his pants, his underwear, his toe, the floor, and the toilet. He had told me earlier he wanted to go to school after a week-long break, but now it felt impossible.

Leif and I left for school. When we arrived, most of the parents were already sitting in the classroom. I hadn’t known we were celebrating the school’s 94th anniversary. Leif’s teacher asked for 4 soles for special food they would serve. She mentioned that my Spanish was improving—surprising, because every time I go to school, I still struggle to understand what’s going on. I miss the school calendars and teacher emails from El Granada.

“Will you stay with me? All the other moms are staying today,” Leif asked. I followed him to his seat. On the table sat his new school uniform. The kids wear it twice a week—on days with outdoor activities, like walking through Mancos. Leif grabbed the uniform and headed to the bathroom. I helped him change into it. They call him “Leyfer” at school. That’s not how we spell it, but I’ve never corrected his teacher.

With the rest of the “jardín” class (ages 3–5), we walked to Mancos singing. The children were given peach juice and crackers when we arrived. A band welcomed us. We took photos, then walked back to school. There were games and lunch—chocho.

On the eve of my birthday, I stepped outside and saw a clear night sky. “Leif, Enzo, come look,” I called. I had been waiting patiently for a sky like this. Leifer and I looked for the Big Dipper. “Isn’t it amazing?” we said to each other, still leaving space for awe.

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Thank you for all the letters, well wishes, and support you sent after my birthday request. I am hopeful, encouraged, and motivated by all of you.

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