Dear Uncle Steve

My khaki shorts

and blue, zapzilla

t-shirt

were no match for your flannel

and blue jeans. My

soft hands and,

casual arm strength

held no sway underneath

your dolly cart,

desk loader and

assortment of

working man’s machinery,

like extra-terrestrials, looking

through,

my unpolished eyes,

still glowing with inexperience.

The baseball cap you wore

had more,

sweat than my entire body

but,

we worked hard,

to afternoon, sunset, and

evening through, and

even though i hindered, more

than helped

you let me lift things,

put my shoulders behind dressers,

kitchen tables and,

crawl into corners,

gathering

carpet squares, record

players, dishware,

tandem bicycles, golf clubs,

and speaker cables;

your life,

now stacked

neck high

against my chest

and arms and thighs

We were strangers,

we were family;

we were

opposites, and harmony;

like trials

considered joy;

you knew,

a thing or two

about having, and

losing, so,

leaving, you made

home, where home

always had been.

You drove trucks,

big trucks, for citrus

growers, and

house movers, but whomever;

I knew,

even before watching you,

could

tuck in and out

of any tight turn;

and back quarter inches

from obstacles, while,

fearing

no heaviness,

darkness, or emptiness,

and that days without

were but days within

to thank god for,

his compassion

to give today,

so when i passed

you’d call out “mike,”

to ask about school

and church,

or, whether my check

engine light was on

and if i needed work.

you told me you were giving double

while trusting god for the harvest,

and i saw eternity

in your sincerity;

in your grill tools,

pool net, and sandaled feet

simplicity,

in your leaf blower,

white shirt, ball-cap

clean trailer, and calm-bodied

surety.

We were strangers,

we were family.

We were

opposites, and harmony,

like trials

considered joy;

you knew

a thing or two

about having, and

losing, so,

leaving, you made

home, where home

should be;

over a meal,

in the bottle of

table wine,

through the resonating

laugher, and

in the second glass,

the mid-evening door knock

half gospel,

half politics,

half nonsense - whole,

we just enjoy each others

presence, talk;

the request for a good movie

the, middle age

and still make your wife laugh;

gladness

for your children’s

happiness, and

in grand babies.

I wrote this on a bus. I wrote it for my wife and kids running through my thoughts, for the ones that run physically through yours; as both stood at a distance, near the hope I’d somehow piece us back together.

Happy Thanksgiving

To the El Salvador comedor owners

After three difficult weeks,

the hunger sensation in my body has returned,

and my apatite is feverish;

just in time for a handful of pupusas tonight

out of Los Naranjos.

But here is my heads up

to the El Sal comedor owners,

apron wearers,

pupusa molders,

maiz, atol venders,

chuko mixers,

horchata sharers;

I am on to you, like

kobayashi on hotdogs, like

santa clause on christmas eve rooftops, like

nerves on the lips

of new-years eve kiss

wanters.

I am everywhere,

and will de-vour

pupusas

till curtido is my credo,

empanadas, pasteles, yucca

till oil pools in my naval.

Four weeks until christmas

I am going big,

then going home,

(returning of course).

Depulping Intro Video: October 31, 2011

"Where's your string?"

(I set pen to page, squared up to my failure; from the notion that blogging is easy, living is hard. If my world is grey, the people written about are painted solely from the motivation to draw from a colorful source).

I built a fence for my father, the summer after my freshman year of college, that, despite his hesitations, is still standing to this day.

There are a few beams, I'm confident he wanted dug deeper, but, at the time, he didn't have the time to stay, and help me through it, only 15 minute intervals between meetings, inspections, and orange-cranberry snack breaks at Dunkin Donuts; which, nearly always began with, "auhhh Michael," rolling his eyes, "I wanted the beams on the inside," or, "auhhh Michael," with hands in the air, "these posts need to be at least two more inches off the ground; the grassline is gonna grow right over the base, and then they're ruined;" meanwhile, grabbing a brick and two-by-four, he suggested I position it beneath the fence, standing on the two-by-four which had, by that point, been placed onto the brick, creating a teeter-totter like effect, hoisting the fence to the desired two inches into the air, where he then recommended I screw it into place; all before, "Oh! I'm late," running quickly back through the house to his truck.

But the one command, I still hear, anytime leveling is in need, is the one to stretch a string.

As if I didn't have enough on my hands, attempting his fulcrum-hoisting strategy, with screw gun in right hand, and six panel, double sided fence held in place with the other, he would call it from nearby windows, or out the screen patio, where he would stand, and watch through, "stretch a string Mike; you need a string; how are you gonna know when it's level if you don't have a string Mike?"

I love my father; I think the fence is fine. That question seems to come to mind, when watching projects like the one today; and when mindful of my life's, metaphorical fence, being unleveled.

The construction is moving quick, and I'm scrambling to learn how to take and edit video, while trying not to overdue things i think are nice.

Bare feet concrete

Drying patio construction at Beneficio El Manzano.

Ever since moving to El Salvador, I've wanted to capture cement mixing in some form. No matter where you go in the country, at every construction site, you will find men mixing their concrete in this manner.

They start by creating a pile of cement mix and sand, before hollowing out the center; at which point they pour water, creating a pool within their man-made crater. They then slowly, and always in pairs, work the the mix from the outside, into the middle, until water has meshed with mix.

I've always loved watching it, and noting the far greater implications for the development of societies. If the states are cement trucks, mixers, and work boots, rural El Salvador is this video, and barefoot.

El Manzano Lab Roaster - Eduardo Mendoza

The best part about this video is the gentleman in it. Eduardo works in the lab at the mill, and runs all the samples for every batch of coffee, therefore he roasts and cups daily, and with my "office" being in the cupping room, made me his pupil.

The kid (30) is gold; honestly, pure gold.

To Eduardo; to the fact that you cannot read this, and to your off-tune angelic voice. You are a sincere friend.

I carry a camera, but the question is does she still call me aperture

it’s, a canon

shiny, clear black,

nice

i bought it new

when she said to

after dry heaving

on the price tag,

it seemed selfish, then

it was selfish now

because between the two of us

we already had four

and she knew so

hers were brown

mine green

and not a person in the world

had ever owned one, or two,

or three,

years

we carried them, to ledges

beside railroad track

to red boots, alaska and back

to lighthouse hammock, augustine

over a stone wall,

up a water,

passed my fear,

fall.

(when all else blurred

she called me aperture

when she smiles

i call her beautiful)

we developed so many pictures

facebook couldn’t handle us

twitter had no place for us

she was my status

is my status

she will be

tomorrow

when i wake

i’ll drink coffee

in my left hand.

and right hand,

holding newness,

rub my eyes,

through a glass lens, and

always catch the suns

glare. (hear me clear).

if buying a camera

sounds good to your ears (you've got four already),

save your money,

don’t finish grading

keep your day job,

and leave.

buy her ice-cream

cone,

walk the boardwalk,

sit on stairs,

walk more.

but love her,

lover

love her

like waves do shore,

like i do,

and when the old man asks,

if you are lovers,

say always.

I took a picture,

wednesday morning, at 4 am

beneath my throat

where my soul sits

midway from my stomach

and sent it in an email

i’m positive it was everything,

and blurry

fish bowels and nowhere

Her tears were the voice of God,

spoken audibly

from the drivers seat

of a white Nissan;

sending me to a city

to practice a message of repentance,

reconciliation, salvation;

but grace appeared the enemy.

But now,

as I foot home,

our story smells of burlap,

and sackcloth.

And for my sake,

when you hear it,

good god,

let your pretty heart jump

a little,

if for no other,

than for the

hope,

I have,

it might.

Because I didn’t set my course for Nineveh.

I took a third class to Joppa, and

in the storm named ambitions,

dreams,

found myself asleep,

awake to screams to

summon God.

So when I drew the short straw,

and convinced this crew

my nightmare,

was in fact

the one to cut your wrists for,

they tossed me overboard,

into an ocean called lovesick,

homesick, godsick,

and without knowing it,

but hearing,

the voice in my body

hit the water,

“dear holy god,

if your holy ears

hear

my soul,

then bridge my reach;

swallow me,

neck deep

in fish bowels and nowhere;

but

my knees;”

like standing,

only laying”

and I pray day and night there,

i pray day and night there; and yet,

these hands

could still clench tighter,

this heart

could still know fuller

three days thirst, before

vomiting me onto her shores.

Partida #9: There's coffee in the mountains, and women in coffee, International Women's Coffee Alliance visits El Manzano

Representing multiple areas of the coffee industry, from producers and exporters to importers and marketers; women from around the world gather in El Salvador for the second Annual International Women’s Coffee Alliance, International Convention, from October 25-27.

On Wednesday, 30 of those women journeyed to Sierra Apaneca-Ilamatepec, to explore Finca, Beneficio, and Tostaduria El Manzano, observing the farm, milling, and roasting levels of coffee production.

As stated in their website, the objectives of the convention are threefold, “to increase the visibility of the organization, share knowledge of coffee from seeds to the cup, and promote relations in the coffee sector.” In conjunction and support for their theme, Emilio Lopez, wife Christy, and mother, Margarita Diaz de Lopez, each having experience in the different levels of coffee production, from growing to marketing, welcomed the group.

The day began late morning, in the garden area of the plantation, enjoying El Manzano coffee and pan dulce. From there, the tour began, following the path of coffee from seed to cup, as Emilio led the group through the construction zone of what will become a new patio at El Manzano, allowing visitors to pause for photos of the bright coffee cherries, blushing from the trees planted in route to their first station, the weighing and categorization station, where cherries are weighed and graded for processing.

They then observed the de-pulping station, where cherries are washed and separated by the mechanical syphon, into two qualities of cherries called sinkers and floaters, before passing through an unripe bean separator, where unripe cherries are rejected, and cycled back into the batch of second quality cherries; at which point, both qualities will be de-pulped by vertical machines, and filtered by horizontal rotary screens, which allow normal beans to pass through, while rejecting any beans that did not get de-pulped, is round, or otherwise does not have a flat surface, ultimately resulting in four qualities of parchment coffee; which are washed of their mucilage in water, and channeled into hoppers, and carts, to be spread out onto the patios for drying.

The women were able to walk the patios, as some asked questions, while others kneeled to hold and smell the coffees, taking photos of and with the coffee, or of the small placards marking each batch of coffee processed, listing its complete information, from batch number, to farm and quality. Completing the drying portion of the processing level, were the two horizontal dryers, which the group visited, staring up the long bucket elevators, and into the two furnaces that, fueled by husk, heat the dryers, before pausing for a group picture in front of the patio.

From there the tour entered the hulling portion of processing, as the group walked through the warehouses, already partially filled with parchment coffee from this years harvest, bagged and compiled according to elevation and certification, ready to pass through the hulling equipment, which removes parchment from the green coffee, and separates it with screens according to size, including a newly installed screen for peaberries; at which point the coffee will be ready for export and roasting.

Before the final stop on the tour, the group paused for stories of historic Santa Ana, of weeks journeying, and wagon trains out to the plantation, while imagining what farm life would have been like from 1870 to 1950, before modern roads and efficient transportation. For this reason, a chapel was built to host mass for family and workers throughout their stay at the plantation during harvest, the altar from which however, having now been removed, and replaced with a black, steel, Diedrich IR-12 roaster.

The Roastery at El Manzano is where roughly 10 percent of all the green coffee, processed at Beneficio El Manzano, will end up, where just over half of that 10 percent will be roasted for commercial clients within El Salvador, (i.e. Pollo Campero and McDonalds). The rest will be roasted for speciality customers, distributed to various outlets, (Super Selectos), also within El Salvador.

As the tour came to an end, the group rejoined others in the garden, for lunch and conversation, all accompanied by more coffee and pan dulce, from a famous shop in Santa Ana, bringing an end to an odyssey that began many months ago, as trees shed their flowers and absorbed the seasonal rains and filtered sun, to produce the harvest that brought these women together, now experienced, shared, and enjoyed at every step along the way.

Damien Rice - One (U2 cover)

Is it getting better
Do I feel the same
Will it make it easier on me now
I've got someone to blame
You say

One love
One life
When it's one need
In the night
One love
We get to share it
Leaves me baby if I
Don't care for it

Did I disappoint you
With a bad taste in my mouth
I act like I never had love
And I want you to go without
Well it's

Too late
Tonight
To drag the past out into the light
We're one, but we're not the same
We get to
Carry each other
Carry each other
One

Have I come here for forgiveness
Have I come to raise the dead
Have I come here to play Jesus

To the lepers in my head

Beneficio El Manzano: 16 crew, 8 hours, 4 wheels, 2 lightbulbs, and 1 installed horizontal cylindrical dryer

A sixteen man crew, eight working hours, four wheels, three support ropes, two lightbulbs, and one, installed horizontal cylinder for the new Pinhalense SRE-150 mechanical dryer.

There were moments of laughter, amidst others of waiting, measuring, and brainstorming, with reggaeton to fill the patient and often fraught silence, as the crew at Beneficio El Manzano worked into late Tuesday night, in order to install the first of many pieces for the new dryer.

Work began in the afternoon, with two freestanding base supports, and the two ton cylinder in the back of a truck, which needed to go from the latter, into and onto the former.

Using sawhorses to support long pieces of lumber, a makeshift bridge was assembled between the truck and foundation, and wheels were attached to both front and end of the dryer, which they then, rather then lifting, patiently pushed into its suspended position.

Hour by hour, the dryer edged nearer and nearer, until reaching it’s far end brace, where it was then hoisted with a jack, and clamped into position, leaving only the second base to be lifted and bolted into place. As the night set in, a truck was pulled near to cast light on the project, while other crew carried extension cords attached to sockets, and lightbulbs, which shone into the tight spaces where headlights could not reach.

Since the dryer had been suspended in place by sawhorses and lumber, it had to be hoisted again with a jack, allowing the lumber to be sawed in half and removed by hand, making for some tense minutes as the dryer held, suspended, supported only by the first base and a narrow, orange circular jack, which, once both foundations were secured in place, was released, allowing the dryer to rest in its now permanent home.

Ropes were removed, handshakes were extended, congratulations were said, and deep breaths again filled lungs as the day’s work was called and approved, and the feeling of deferred hunger suddenly emerged to everyone’s senses.

Beneficio El Manzano: Partida 7 (Here comes the sun)

With Tropical Depression 12-E passed, the clouds have soon emptied and dissipated, bringing the late morning and afternoon's clear sky and sunshine.

At Finca El Manzano, the new harvest is more visible each day, as cherries begin to show clearly from the trees, intermixed with still ripening beans. Early in the harvest, being a strictly high grown (SHG) plantation, it has begun to be picked, however will not begin full harvesting until December.

While at the mill, seeing some of the effects of the recent rains, many overripe beans make processing more technical and dirty, however, with sunny weather to wake up to, along with a full harvest soon arriving, attitudes are bright and 'cherry.'

We were three worlds, both in one world

No photo could ever capture all that is contained within that tin-wall, double-bench, tarp-covered comedor we call Maria's. I did my best tonight, and would be content if I never took another. These tables are my every day, these faces are family, these friends are true love, and these moments are everything.

We stacked benches on the stove and shelves, washed dishes with wet hands and cold air, and locked your tin windows with wire. I kissed yours and your daughters cheek, hugged your brother and your sons, waved goodbye, and wished as I have before, that I could swallow your poverty as you have mine. I bit my lip and turned my head, you walked that way, and I walked this...

We were three worlds, both in one world, pondering if bridges could ever unify our roads. So you made dough and lit a stove, and I poured coco-cola; and together we sang hallelujah from our island world, and called it home.