A Promising Beginning

North Thompson River from Westsyde

March 10^th, Puebla – Kamloops, British Columbia, the patch where I was born, is a town of around 100,000 people spread across the semi-arid valleys that lie 4 hours inland from the Pacific Coast. In Canada, there are few ecosystems of its kind, and summer temperatures can easily stretch into the high thirties. Close to my parents' home is North America's most northern wine vineyard; they've had bears roam onto their yard and peak through the garage door windows; and in the distance, across the North Thompson river, the hills are bare with black-scorched pine trees dotting the dry, golden earth; a remnant scene of wildfire that swept through some years back. In early summer the hills blush with lavender and the pastel green-grey of sagebrush that powders the landscape and infuses the air with calmness and contentment.

Far from the forested valleys of BC's interior, it is sunny with a cool breeze in Puebla. Although temperatures don't get quite as high as the hottest days in Kamloops, at over 6000 feet from sea level, it's a blistering heat that burns quickly and sucks the moisture from your skin. The historic centre of Puebla is a UNESCO Heritage Site and the city is well-known for its ceramics: over 1000 colonial buildings are adorned with azulejos, artistic and colourfully painted tiles. When I told a Mexican friend in Vancouver that I was going to be living in Puebla he said: “There are 365 churches in Puebla. You can visit one each day of the year.” And certainly he was not wrong. The cathedrals and small churches seem to be on every block, adjacent to every park and plaza where young couples stay locked in embrace in the shade of the bell towers. It is said to be the purest colonial town in Mexico, in the sense that no pre-hispanic culture had ever settled in the area before. 

When the Spaniards first arrived in this region they settled in Cholula - just beyond the rather highrise developments and shopping malls of modern Puebla – and built a Cathedral directly on top of a Mesoamerican pyramid. Some say the positioning was symbolic of their conquest, while others believe that the Spaniards had no idea what lay hidden beneath the rolling hill, which would have been long abandoned and covered in thick earth by the time they arrived on the scene. Either way, it's an impressive sight: the bright white and yellow Cathedral perched high above the small town, dominated only by the volcanoes in its midst, bellowing smoke into the already hazy sky. Interestingly, Cholula is also the longest-inhabited city in the entire American continent and it's triangulated by three imposing volcanoes. The hippies who have congregated there say that its “got some very serious energy going on” and they point to each speck of dust in their pictures as proof of lingering spirits. Ok, sure, maybe, who cares...I'm more interested in stretching and eating: despite being a fraction of the size of Puebla, it's home to many more vegetarian restaurants, yoga centres and anything else alternative, I swear, just take a look at this picture. 

Plant Nurseries in Atlixco

Just today I felt the first few drops of rain, desperately needed after months of bone dry conditions. Apparently April is when things really get wet. While negotiating the slick brick roads along the palm-lined Avenida Benito Juarez, still learning to trust my new “motorbike”, I thought to myself: what fierce winds and vibrant shades of green will the rainy season bring? And how will this affect the plants? I need to build cover for wind and rain, especially if the seedlings are to survive and make a new home in my self-irrigating planter system. After a few weeks of researching and sketching I've finally plugged in the drill to complete the 6 plastic tubs that will be home to some of the veggies. As much and wherever possible I'll be setting up the garden based on the principles of permaculture: less is sometimes more; everything is connected; a problem can be a solution; imagination is the true limiting factor; multiple uses for multiple functions; and many more. Permaculture succinctly blends common sense and lost bits of wisdom to help us live in better harmony with the cycles of nature to which we all belong. It's a revolution disguised as gardening and there's nobody weighing in, they're all reaching out.

The soon-to-be rooftop garden is in central Puebla, quite near the Zocalo (main town plaza and Cathedral), and sits above Casa Sattva, a yoga/meditation centre, a bakery and another “soon-to-be”, a vegetarian/vegan cafe that will serve organic coffee from growers in Chiapas. The house has three stories with ample rooftop space on each level and plenty of light all day, all around. Here, it's the shade that's in demand. Some of the structure and lay-out of the space that I'll be focusing on is already so perfectly suited for my needs that I've caught myself three times shaking my head and smiling in curious satisfaction. I reaffirm myself: it's all about the small things. 

 My first flete, or hired-truck delivery, was a load of 20 pallets from the dusty grounds on the fringe of the Centro de Abastos, where wholesale goods are sold to the public. Everything was under the sun and stacked as just high: pallets, bundles of cardboard and the small wooden boxes for fruits and veggies. Unsure who was in charge and tired of waiting, I decided to help myself and hopped onto the pile. Two young boys eventually appeared and we teetered across the columns. They might have worked there, but could have just been hanging out to scrounge up a few pesos. We shuffled around on the towers of wood until we'd extracted enough of the sturdiest and best-looking pallets to fill a truck. Our driver Miguel will be a good contact. He seemed to know the ins-and-out of the market and he made reasonably priced trips in and around Puebla. We discussed a trip to neighbouring Atlixco, some 30kms away, which is where most of the nurseries in the region are located. To boost up the life on the roof I'll bring back a truckload full of plants to help make homes for bugs and flowers for bees and soil all around to catch some of the rain when it comes. Little by little, things are getting done and it's nice to smile after that last steep, narrow step up to the garden and breathe deeply the fresh, fragrant air. 

Bases for the self-irrating system in the primary food growing area

I'm all smiles as I sit down to write, with half my mind still in a whirlwind of painted murals, an inviting bench, and living walls to break the wind made from recycled materials. Most of my day was spent carrying pallets up the narrow, almost fragile, thin metal staircase that snakes up to the highest level; and then tediously dissecting them board by board. I rested between trips and just patiently took in the space: the corners and edges, the broken and sagging awning, the tips of the Cathedrals all around me, poking through the colourful buildings; the green, tree-topped plazas; the days and nights to come; and the endless possibilities. 

Cathedral through the rooftops

For the last few weeks, Maria and I were busy making lists, visiting hardware stores, negotiating with the GPS and the pot-holed avenues, and elbowing through the vendors at the markets, gathering the essentials to start work on the garden. So far, I've felt very safe in the streets and I just smile when older ladies tell me to avoid some dangerous area. After living in Caracas, everywhere else seems like a playground, but those warnings act as vital reminders: never get too comfortable or lazy because a threat can appear anywhere, at any time. Just yesterday I had to lunge and duck to avoid being sidelined by a cow: as I was plucking through the tomatoes half of a bloody carcass lurched through the market on the broad shoulders of a blind butcher. I nearly took a bow afterwards for all the people who were reeling with delight. Knock on wood, but mostly I've only encountered the kindest people, curious kids and proud humility in every slight gesture, whether tilting a friend's mango to harmonize his little stacks of bright orange, yellow and red, or gently putting down a quesadilla to pause thoughtfully and steer me in the right direction.

It feels like a promising beginning and I'm excited for tomorrow. I'm expecting the lifeline of the project to arrive at Casa Sattva: a delivery of soil, compost, worms, natural liquid fertilizers, and crushed volcanic stone. Let the gardening begin!