Song of the Mockingbird: My Journey with Josefina

I grab Josefina’s hand and pull her toward the grove. She grins and squeezes my hand back. With Miguel following, we trot over the next hill and skitter down the other side, rocks sliding beneath our feet. As we get closer, Miguel says that we should go ahead. He’s going to break up some fallen branches for firewood.

As we step into the grove, my breath turns into a gasp. The piñón trees are clustered together in shadows. Their trunks are gnarled and their branches stretched toward us, twisted and strong. Our feet pad softly on the heavy carpet of fallen knee needles and pine cones.

Josefina says that her mother always felt close to God in a piñón grove. We stand silently together, and Josefina points upward towards the pine cones. I follow her finger and see the cones hanging thickly along the branches. Josefina says the nuts are in the pine cones. But first, we must see if they are ripe.

I ask how we do that. The branches are at least five feet above our heads. Josefina says that we must shake the tree. She puts her arms around the trunk. A ways away, I hear a cracking sound as Miguel breaks up fallen branches for firewood. Josefina and I are on our own. I wrap my arms around the tree, and the bark is scratchy against my cheek.

We shake the trunk from side to side. The tree sways and the branches clack overhead, little nuts falling to the ground like rain. Josefina cries that they’re ripe. And it looks like a big crop. Papá will be pleased.

I bend down and pick up one of the hard, brown nuts. The ones Mom brings home are soft and white, they must have already been shelled. I asked Josefina how we get the nuts out of the shells. Josefina is busy gathering the little nuts into her lap. She says they don’t shell the nuts now. On winter evenings, they sit by the fire to roast them and then they crack them open with their teeth. Josefina says she wishes she could eat the whole pile.

I nod, savoring the memories of Mom’s chicken penne with pesto. My mouth waters. I plop down beside Josefina and make my rebozo into a little bag. Working quickly, we pick up the nuts from where they fell among the dry pine needles. When we’ve got all we can, we empty the nuts into a pile of the base of one of the trees. Then we shake another tree and gather up the freshly fallen nuts. I don’t even notice when Miguel comes up behind us.

Miguel comments on how many nuts we’ve collected. Josefina and grin at each other. Miguel says we must be tired and cold. Our cheeks are red. It’s time to rest from our work, and he’ll build a small fire. I realize Miguel is right. My arms ache from shaking the trees, and my hands are scratched from the sharp pine needles. Josefina looks tired, too. She has a big smudge in her cheek, and her hair is tousled.

We sink down next to the fire Miguel has built. The piñón smoke is strong and sharp and sweet. I notice Miguel carefully scraped away all the dry grass and needles on the ground before lighting the fire. Its heat is like a blanket against the cool wind. I tell Josefina that I am tired, but I feel good. I’m glad they’ll have so many nuts for the winter.

I can tell how much Josefina loves this land just by the way she looks around. Her family gets almost everything they need from here. It doesn’t seem so empty and dusty to me anymore, now that I’ve seen it through Josefina’s eyes. I wonder if I can take my new feelings back to my own time. I look around the sunlit grove, with the fire cracking merrily, and I want to love this place, too. And I think I can now—thanks to my new friend.