El Jardinero
I'm not big into poetry but once in a blue moon I try my hand at it...I wrote this about 5 years ago when still I lived in Mexico. It was written as a memory to Ricardo, a little old gardener, who worked in my neighborhood.
Many Mexican workers don't own transportation of their own, so they depend on their city buses or taxis, IF they can afford it. Most of them, though, walk wherever they need to go.
At the time of this photo, I lived at the top of the "mountain" in the neighborhood of Chula Vista. It was more like a very high hill when compared with the mountains across the lake. (The mountain range was/is the Sierra Madre Occidentals.) My house looked down upon the village of San Antonio Tlayacapan, Lake Chapala, and those mountains. Many times, as I drove down the mountain, I'd pass workers walking to or from work - gardeners, maids, brick layers, carpenters, etc., and of course, Ricardo.
Most of the workers were younger people, but Ricardo was an older gentleman and not very quick in the step. He was in his late 60's and worked halfway up the mountain as gardener for one of the neighborhood families. I knew how hard it was to traverse this cobblestone road on foot as I'd attempted it myself once or twice. I just couldn't imagine someone his age doing this twice a day, five days a week!
So one afternoon, I decided I'd ask if he'd like a ride down to the bottom - at least that would help a little I thought. Mexicans are a very proud people and traditionally very hard workers - happy workers, too, I might add, so I didn't know if he'd accept the ride but I thought it couldn't hurt to ask. I stopped, and in my halting Spanish, I asked if he'd like a ride down. He told me gracias with a big smile and got into the car.The next morning I stopped and offered a ride up to his work, which he happily accepted and thus this became the daily routine for me and Ricardo.
After a few weeks had gone by, one day my gate bell rang. As I opened my gate door, there stood Ricardo with a bunch of flowers in his hand, the bottom stems held together by a piece of foil. All he said, as he handed them to me, was "Para tu, Señora." The next day my bell rang again, and almost
each day after that. Each time, there stood Ricardo with flowers ~ sometimes a whole white 5 gallon bucket full!
On the days I was not home, I'd find them on the side of the gate in the window ledge. To bring them, he was leaving on his lunch hour and walking up to my house at the very top, then walking back down to his employers house to continue his afternoon work. It seemed to me that defeated the purpose of me bringing him up in the first place, but what could I do. I did tell him he didn't have to bring flowers every day, but he always smiled and continued to bring them.
Most of the workers were younger people, but Ricardo was an older gentleman and not very quick in the step. He was in his late 60's and worked halfway up the mountain as gardener for one of the neighborhood families. I knew how hard it was to traverse this cobblestone road on foot as I'd attempted it myself once or twice. I just couldn't imagine someone his age doing this twice a day, five days a week!
So one afternoon, I decided I'd ask if he'd like a ride down to the bottom - at least that would help a little I thought. Mexicans are a very proud people and traditionally very hard workers - happy workers, too, I might add, so I didn't know if he'd accept the ride but I thought it couldn't hurt to ask. I stopped, and in my halting Spanish, I asked if he'd like a ride down. He told me gracias with a big smile and got into the car.The next morning I stopped and offered a ride up to his work, which he happily accepted and thus this became the daily routine for me and Ricardo.
After a few weeks had gone by, one day my gate bell rang. As I opened my gate door, there stood Ricardo with a bunch of flowers in his hand, the bottom stems held together by a piece of foil. All he said, as he handed them to me, was "Para tu, Señora." The next day my bell rang again, and almost
each day after that. Each time, there stood Ricardo with flowers ~ sometimes a whole white 5 gallon bucket full!
On the days I was not home, I'd find them on the side of the gate in the window ledge. To bring them, he was leaving on his lunch hour and walking up to my house at the very top, then walking back down to his employers house to continue his afternoon work. It seemed to me that defeated the purpose of me bringing him up in the first place, but what could I do. I did tell him he didn't have to bring flowers every day, but he always smiled and continued to bring them.
During those short rides, we'd converse in Spanish about little things, mostly family. He'd ask about my children and I'd ask about his...that's how he started calling me Mamacita. He was always respectful though. That's also how I found out where the flowers were coming from. One day I decided to ask and he told me, with a mischievous smile, that they came from the garden where he worked! I asked, "Don't they mind if you bring me their flowers from their garden?" He answered, "They have many flowers and will not miss these."
So, Ricardo, this is for you...
"El Jardinero"
He brings me flowers.
From far below, he takes the long walk
To the top of the hill.
His weary bones cry out
Yet upward he walks,
The little old gardener
At the bottom of the hill.
“Each day, Mamacita, I thank you.
I’ve picked them just for you.
They come from the garden in which I work.
You can never have enough flowers.”
From far below, he takes the long walk,
And, he brings me flowers.
(When I asked him to smile for the camera, this was his idea of a smile.)
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