Baking dry-season mountainsides offer paradoxes, cool promises
The “hot spring” that occurs below the Tropic of Cancer is hard with us now. It has turned el campo (the countryside) surrounding Guadalajara to powdery browns and grays.
The “hot spring” that occurs below the Tropic of Cancer is hard with us now. It has turned el campo (the countryside) surrounding Guadalajara to powdery browns and grays.
Forget New Years resolutions. Most folks trash them by February’s end. Contemplate these facts a moment: Our brains shrink approximately one half a percent a year.
This article was originally published in the August 14-20, 2004 edition. Allyn Hunt is a former editor of this newspaper.
Nacho Hernandez sat on his muddy horse staring across his milpa at the salto of dark red runoff slashing through a carefully planted field of corn. He snorted and swore.
This column was first published June 21, 1997.
Spending time in Mexico means learning Spanish — if you want that time to have much significance.
This column was first published in the April 9, 1988 edition of this newspaper.
Just behind the high ochre ridge that slices the northern horizon at the west end of Lake Chapala lie two small villages, the remnants of a once vast hacienda.
We got there early. In the corral behind Eustacio Ortiz’s tarpaper jacal, we stacked gunny sacks of chayote, wild camote, jicama, oranges, limones, peanuts, sugared candies.
Allyn Hunt, a former editor and owner of this newspaper and South of North columnist for more than 45 years, has retired from writing his weekly column. The Reporter will occasionally publish previously run columns of his in this space. This column was first published in May, 1988.