Last week, I looked at a house for rent on Cerrada de San Sebastían. The man showing the house had been born in it some 60+ years ago. He was one of 13. They had kept hens for fresh eggs during those times. Guanajuato was different then. There was nothing above the Panoramica except for hills and sky. His wife told me many happy memories had been made at the house. Her mother-in-law always held dinners and posadas, inviting pilgrims off the street for a meal. It had been a festive home.
When she showed me the front porch, she told me the tree trimmer would be coming the next morning. Her father-in-law had planted the tree decades ago to keep those passing by from staring at the sisters as they sat on the outside bench. Sometimes, all eight girls would sit watching the street action, hidden behind the tree. Fifty years later, the tree’s function of veiling the girls is no longer needed, and the owners thought the new tenants might want an unobstructed view of the street.
