Earlier this month my father passed away, and, as expected, I could not be present to pay my last respect. Sadness was tinged with longing for the one place on earth where I belonged at this time but could not be. Many people helped to make a connection possible without actually having to be present, and I am forever grateful. My father was an avid traveler with an eye for natural and cultural beauty and he was remembered by friends throughout the world. We received words of comfort and remembrance from different continents and he would have taken great pride in this convergence of sympathy from far-away places on his behalf.

In the local community word traveled fast and people showed up at our doorstep to let us know they understood this was a time of sorrow. Later this month the mother of our neighbor passed on and we found ourselves in the strange circumstance of being present at the wake of someone we hardly knew. We have become part of everyday life in this community. It is here that we live and belong, but at times strong ties pull us many miles across the world into communities of which we are part as well. We dwell in the embrace of many social circles and we cannot always choose where we want to be.

We are extremely lucky to have landed in this agricultural community with its strong sense of connection based on family ties and a shared livelihood with enormous inherent risks. Weather dominates our daily existence and hardly anyone can escape its fate. During the wake men were talking grape prices within minutes of exchanging ceremonial words of bereavement while women bemoaned the early onset of fall and the real possibility of losing a crop. Currently rain threatens the grape harvest and even though people are worried one knows that nothing more can be done, it is a matter of waiting and trusting and hoping and praying. It instills a certain kind of fatalism, a trait most prevalent in this area, something I would not have understood before.  Under the pressures of living a farming life with so many risks the people in this community have become helpful, jumping in with advice and practical assistance; they are wiling to share and go to great length to give someone a break. One does not ask for things in return when one has extended a hand and one does not pressure someone to return borrowed goods. All will be equalized in the long run is their take; after all, we are all in the same boat. That this attitude is rather uncommon we hear from people in the larger community of San Rafael as well as from expats we know. Some expatriates starting their own finca have met with taciturn hostility that demands rather than gives; that will have you fall flat on your face without blinking an eye; that will find joy in your failure rather than extend a helping hand. In these areas you are on your own and life can be extremely harsh. Not even success may give you a break instead you could become the target of envy. It is very difficult to make it under these circumstances, nonetheless some do.

The expat community is a varied bunch of people. Most have come from North America and Europe to settle here. We are all immigrants, the last wave of many settlers that has come before. We are a community of sorts. What we have in common is that we have left hearth, family and friends to make a new home away from home. It makes for some commonality of experience. But it is also where commonality ends and differences begin: differences in national and cultural background; differences of gender, class and social status; differences in personality and personal history. I find myself gravitating towards those individuals who have chosen a similar existence, which is a life on a farm. It is the common experience that binds us, the common failures and frustration; the hardships and triumphs. It is with them that I feel most connected no matter their background or personality. Unfortunately very few foreign women live this way of life, the ones that do are a precious few and I share my daily stories with them. Women from the local community are my biggest allies; they point me in the right direction when I have no clue, they help me out with advice and practical knowledge; they lived this life for many years and have many answers. Speaking the language has been of immeasurable value and learning the local dialect and colloquialisms with its Indian influences has been most appreciated. It is my window to this world, however clouded it still is.

I have started to adapt to this life and with it comes a certain measure of loss with the world to which I once belonged. Experiences no longer match; my point of reference has shifted to what matters here. I am most acutely aware of this when we have oversees visitors whose outlook and approach to matters is naturally tied to another place. It makes for comic and disconcerting intermezzos. One friend has started to provide the very romantic with a sort of reality check in an effort to prevent big time disappointment: be prepared for loads of labor, mountains of paperwork and possibly, nothing to show for. Life here in a nutshell!

While writing this blog rain has poured continuously for five days, the vineyards are flooded and the sugar content of the grapes has dipped far below the required grade. At this time of year, total crop failure is a real threat and people are desperate. We hear heartbreaking stories: harvesters called in to pick the grapes out of the dirt where they had fallen after high winds kicked the ripe bunches of their vines; owners trying to prevent total loss of their harvest by cutting away the rotting fruit in a bunch; a hailstorm devastating a vineyard while harvesters were in the field to pick the fruit.  We will not go to this extend, but we can relate.