Groundwater sustainability. Maybe he had seen before, on the patio or balcony of a relative, in a clump of taro near the road, or a pot of sauce materials in Syracuse, NY. But today I saw it up close, and maybe this time I showed interest. We talk a lot of "underground economy", to refer to productive and exchange activities (especially the latter) that occur outside the radar and governmental tribute, but I would like to propose a parallel term for something that might look like, but it is another thing. Because look that academics talk about sustainability ... but there are those who practice it without giving it that name, as a normal part of life, and urban and suburban sprawl full.
But more story and less analysis. Today I visited the friend Don Tito. Don Tito is actually called Aquilino and I think almost nobody tells Don, except me. They call him Tito. Wine of the sister Republic, disguised fright night, salt water, in a yawl shared over twenty five years. He lived around without papers, working on anything: kitchen, garden, plumbing, tending tables and washing dishes, painting houses. All fluke he was good, and gradually ordered life, he legalized the situation, and built a work routine "by courts." So I met him. Was to cut the grass at home one day, and incidentally planted a palm and a couple of banana plants. "For the kids," he said.
As it turns out opposite the house of Don Tito is a road and on that road and in that neighborhood, as in many other neighborhoods shorebirds in Puerto Rico, were going to build a "project", ie a unit of cement plant ( the very antithesis of sustainability, possibly) for the enjoyment of those who have occasional second homes. But it seems that the owners faced problems in obtaining the necessary permits, and while waiting (still waiting), garbage piled up on the ground, which will measure half rope. It was becoming that other Puerto Rican phenomenon, the clandestine dump .
When I get bored, read and write. Some laughs - after all, the job of an academic is mostly that, and it's funny that it can also be your distraction. But think about it, Don Tito and I are alike - because when the man wants to "entertain" a clandestine dump is merely a playground in power. Or better yet, an orchard. In his spare time, cleaned the garbage man, evaluating each piece, throwing some and using others. He rented a machine, prepared the ground and sowed not cement but corn, squash, beans, black beans, plantains, okra ...
Among the objects found discarded chairs, empty pans and surfaces with which was furnishing the ranch. While a multitude dominguera swirls in furniture stores and hardware stores to buy, of paquetón, the objects that give effect to pretty the house and yard, Don Tito makes beauty, sculpted landscape with discarded objects in a strip of land next to develop, Cement waiting inexorable. It is true that to appreciate the aesthetics of the garden hut and to do as when you enter a dark room: blink, to accustom the eye, make adjustments, wait a bit. Our palate, sweet drunk, struggles to appreciate the taste of a fruit. When, in my car, I tried to see the seed Don Tito, proud, pointing at me, at first I saw.
But had my guide led me first to see corn. While planting showed me two ears put to roast in the same wood fire which slowly cooked a huge pot of conch, "to save gas," he said. From there we went to the bees. Yes, Don Tito 'seeding' bees, and get right in those homes where they call to remove them. They are worn with everything and queen, and accommodating going out there, to make honey. Bees are "junk" to the other, but in the corner of Don Tito does not hurt.
"Do not panic," he said, referring to the bees in a tree next to our dining room. I felt more of a kind of stupor, but not due to the bees, but rather to the logical, nice and tidy everything was suddenly. The chairs, tables, caches of bees and hens were laying eggs and raising chicks out there, the bees themselves, the wood of the fire, it was before, "junk", weed, pest, nuisance.
I asked permission to take these photos. I devoured my ear, which was ready and delicious. I said goodbye to Don Tito, muttering a vague promise to write something about "sustainability". "About what?", I asked her eyes. "On his seed, bees, and that," I corrected.