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.

(A version of this column was first published in the July 1, 1989 edition of this newspaper)

The United States Supreme Court decision concerning the case of Gregory Johnson, arrested for burning the U.S. flag during a protest demonstration at the 1984 Republican National Convention in Dallas, Texas, came just as that nation entered its most patriotic season, celebrating its independence from England. Perhaps that’s what stirred up so much opposition to the Court’s ruling, which stated that flag burning is protected by the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution as a form of political protest.

(This column was first published June 13, 1987.)

Despite a long list of bad, reckless and downright dumb habits — including a general reluctance to go see a doctor — I’ve just had the happy experience of returning from the Mayo Clinic, in Rochester, Minnesota, with a clean bill of health. Of course, there were a few exotic parasites making a home in my stomach — the result of eating at the kind of puestos I invariably tell gringo friends to pass by, on the street and in many market places. But the sawbones that inspected most of the functioning parts declared “I feel that your general health is excellent.”

(This is a rerun of a column first published June 10, 1989.)

The swan song of nature’s once-awesome predominance in our lives seems to grow fainter each day. Life drains from Lake Chapala before our eyes as condominiums push up the slopes above our heads, stripping all that’s living from the mountainsides.