Mike had been emailing me for several days to let me know when he was going to hold an agave roast. He had to find someone willing to have the ground dug up, had to locate a few harvestable agaves on private land, and do all the digging.
The agave roast was much like how the Apaches have done it for years: dig a deep, narrow pit, line it with hot rocks and charcoal, throw in agave hearts, cover the pit and let the agave steam overnight. Blue corn is prepared the same way by the Hopi.
The agave roast was scheduled for today at 4pm, which didn't give me much time before class. I had to finish my assignment first, complete some more gardening, take the dogs up Upper Ash Canyon for a 3.2-mile run up the hill, and get ready.
I got to the designated location at 4:45pm, on his friend's acreage east of the mountains about ten miles northeast of our house. We had a perfect view of both San Jose Peak to the south, the Huachucas to our west, and the Mules to our east.
We met at Mike's friend Gilbert's house. It was in an older area of wide lots, sprinkled with single and double-wide trailers near dusty roads. Every yard was its own display of unique ranch artifacts, from old animal bones and skulls to long-abandoned rusty vehicles, overturned coaches and mangy dogs on guard.
But this is the kind of property I like because the focus is on simplicity and comfort over luxury and haute design. There were no property fences here other than natural shrubs.
Gilbert is quiet man originally from San Antonio, TX. Gilbert sat on an old tree trunk used as a bench, sipping his seltzer water as he watched the fire. He bought this land seven years ago and has seen houses spring up quite a bit since moving here.
The fire had recently been lighted. The charcoal still needed to hear up before throwing the charcoal into the deeply-dug pit. The pit was three feet across and at least four feet deep. Judging by the heavily-compacted soil the hole took several hours to dig.
Several cut agave sat near the pit ready for sacrifice. Itwas chilly now, as the sun was low over the mountains ready to set behind the peaks. The charcoal filled the air with a slight mesquite aroma, Native American flute music played in the background, and distant dogs barked. This would have been a night evening out under the stars, chatting about whatever, sipping beer and watching the stars.
"I see the Big Dipper every morning when I go to work" said Gilbert, who has been working for 30 years with the local school district. He was dressed in blue jeans, a tan leather overcoat and a cowboy hat, looking very much like a South Texan. Or like a Mexican, depending on how one sees him with his dark skin and dark hair and quiet demeanor.
But there is more to Gilbert. He is part Native America and the music playing in the background was his uncle Mario's music. There was a resemblance between the two.
Gilbert, like I, was pressed for time as he had to drive back into town for a church service. He helped Mike roll hot rocks into the deep pit, carried the humungous agave hearts near the pit and shoveled hot embers into the hole. Then, with little romp, he was gone. I hope to meet him again some day and get to know him better, sitting on one of his wooden trunk benches while sipping beer and enjoying the night sky.
The sun was now setting low and light was deminishing. Mike and I talked about upcoming trips into Mexico for various research projects, the ever-sinking economy and the threat of local school districts cutting back on teaching positions, freezing pay or eliminating some classes altogether.
And then there's the news out of Mexico, which in the last month has been nearly daily beset with ambushes, beheadings or assassinations. Despite the rising drug-related crimes along the border, with yesterday's protests in Cuidad Juarez just yesterday that closed three border crossings into El Paso, even I am starting to feel uncomfortable traveling into Mexico. Yet according to Mike, traveling to Mexico and knowing where to go is like being streetsmart. Stay away from bars and drug dealers and go more toward the pristine countryside where no one will bother you.
The fire was getting big as I warmed up near it. It was 6:10pm when I had to tear away from out conversation and sped to campus where I arrived a minute before class start time of 6:30pm. Mike was left alone to finish the roast: dropping the agave hearts into the pit, covering the pit and making sure the pit was well-covered. An agave roast is an event that takes time both to prepare and enjoy, and the 90 minutes I was able to spend with Mike and Gilbert just wasn't enough.
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