The Arroyo

There is an arroyo next to our house. Most of the time it is just a way for 4 Mexican families to get to their houses; a narrow track of dirt and rocks. Now with the rains we see its real purpose. It is a path for the water in the saturated mountains to flow down to the lake. It comes out of the mountain like a creek, being joined by other water flows, including one very large one from some nearby waterfalls. At the entrance to our development all the arroyos join and pour down next to a church, normally a shortcut to the village. Today anyone using the shortcut will need boots.

For us, on the dry side of the fence, it is charming. It sounds like Rocky Creek, a favorite camping spot of my childhood. It even smells like Rocky Creek did, along the California coast past Carmel.

It can't be all that charming for the four families that live there. I watched their kids play in the torrent in their yards like we used to play in the creek. Kids are always going to be kids. But the mothers are careful not to drop their laundry in the mud when they hang it out. Babies must be carried, the puddles are very deep. Keeping the dirt outside is not possible. If it didn't come in on its own, the dogs would bring it inside. There is no pavement on the arroyo, and as the water rushes down, it carries big rocks and brush with it, making deep trenches. The people who live in those four houses have no other way to get to school or to work - there is only one entrance to the street. The kids wade through the arroyo to get to school. The old cars, radios playing loudly, drive over the rocks and through the water. None of them are four-wheel drive. Sometimes I hear them take a few attempts to get around the narrow curves between walls. One night, someone got stuck. I lay in my dry warm bed listening as over the fence his neighbors came outside to help. At moments like that I feel very gringo.

You can get a glimpse of the arroyo in some of the pictures .