River of Traps

River of Traps: A Village Life by Bill deBuys (text) and Alex Harris (photography) is an examination and narration of their life in the northern NM village of Las Trampas in the 1970’s. It was printed in 1990 by UNM Press, almost 2 decades after the photos were taken and notes penned. Focused on the life story and seasonal activities of the elderly neighbor Jacobo Romero over a period of 10 years, deBuys and Harris relate their deep gratitude and appreciation for Romero’s friendship and sharing. “His memories and values are his legacy, shared here without sentimentality … River of Traps teaches how to irrigate a field and gather hay, how to break floodwaters, how to document a life, a landscape, a culture, how to live with grace and die with dignity.” (jacket) It is a story of transformation for the authors, and of their humility before generations of culture, learning, and way of life, a way of life that demonstrates “how the land … is always dominant” (61).

River of Traps conveys the sensibility of a time past, of familiar and sensible values and perspectives rarely encountered in modern times in US culture. The value of teaching by example – “learning was elective. If Alex wished to make manojos correctly, he would study Jacobo more carefully. If not, he might do as he pleased.” (98). The value of a barter economy, where cash is optional and not often a cause for concern – “it is one thing to understand cash, and quite another to surrender to its imperatives” (103). The old-fashioned measure of completed work as a job being done, for everything to look right, to be the product of “an eye for intactness” (97). That stupidity can be excused, but sloth cannot (158). And the lovely, comforting, teasing, fantastical sense of humor, of beguiling a listener down a path of incredulity, with the release of the humor coming only when the absurdity of the increasing drama became clear (throughout).

Most impressive in River is the respect and genuine regard Bill and Alex had for Jacobo and the culture they entered suddenly and without invitation. As two white men in Trampas, they understood their lack of knowledge and understanding and allowed those to develop organically, in response to offers made. They lived their respect in imitation of the living respectfully of those whose home they were in. They learned from the elders, by example, how to build and protect their home, how to care for their animals, how to be part of the community. They left their own judgments and presumptions in the city and allowed the land and, more importantly, the people who had been stewards of that land for generations, teach them how to enter the flow of village life, how to become truly part of the community. So much so that deBuys was asked to speak at Jacobo’s services – a rare gift and honor.

I was most grateful for deBuys’ and Harris’ respectful approach and entry into a culture very different from their own cultures of origin, for the manner in which they approached learning – by observing and imitating the lives lived around them, without agenda or deadline, and without the accoutrements and motives of capitalism and contracts to fulfill. They learned and deeply understood (and currently understand) the rhythms without imposing their own values and assumptions, as we have seen in another, less judiciously grounded author (who, perversely, is receiving a hero’s welcome by our esteemed, though arguably misguided, department).

I read River during the last week or so of my grandma’s life, and found comfort in the familiar rhythm of speech and conversation which she could no longer engage in – the rhythms of rural northern NM. The quiet comfort of a familiar lifestyle insulated me from some of the shock, I think. I finished the book a few days before she died and had looked forward to sharing it with her, if only the photos and a few passages. It was not meant to be. Santana and I arrived at the Living Center a couple of hours after she passed and sat with her and a very few of our living relatives – her sister Jean, my sister Vicki, brother Johnny and his wife and teen boys – to say goodbye. It was a sad but peaceful time, a pause between agonized breaths for us. Jean asked me to speak at Grandma’s funeral and I recalled the similar honor given to deBuys. Last Thursday was the sevice and we buried Grandma and Robert together, with the first snow of the season on the mountains.

There with family, friends, and people I hardly knew, I was again comforted by the singular, insular culture I am a grateful part of. The services were outdoors, graveside, and the familiar rythms of speech, of the scent of pinon wood smoke in the cold breeze were familiar to my senses and uplifting.

*****
This past weekend (and Nov 5-7) I am taking Mediation Training at UNMLaw. The mediation model and resolution possibilities have reminded me of Jacobo’s admonition on irrigating: “the water will show.” I remember irrigating with Grandma, guiding the water to exercise its will effectively, productively. And I come back to mediation, to encouraging the impetus of people who want to reach resolution, reach level ground again, relieve the tension of conflict. But mediation and irrigation is another post, or essay, for another night ….