Now that time has placed almost 50 years on my back – and the world’s population is feeling the shock of Covid – I have to say that my days are easier to bear if I reconnect with the little girl I was in a place where the cultivation of corn was a fundamental part of family life. It’s as if the mind of this indispensable plant (that is part of my own Amerindian culture) was connected to mine by means of my memories. Corn is also what roots me.
In mid-May, when the cicadas began to sing, my grandpa Felipe and the farm workers would climb to the high fields to prepare the land. With their machetes, ...
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