Picaflor was the name of the ash-colored horse that my father had and that due to his genius we couldn't saddle or ride him, he had a long silver tail. He was beautiful, tall, stylish, elegant. He knew he was free and allowed himself to be ridden only by my father, who like a good connoisseur of animals, treated them with a delicacy and affection that he imposed on us. El Suncho was and is the family corner that most unites us the siblings. When my father took us in the summer, my mother did not go, there were five of us with him. My father was always of few words and a soft voice. Never a cry or reproach or an incisive gesture. He did not give advice nor was he very expressive in the expression of affection. He was a calm and serene man. No pretense or fuss. When we arrived at the ranch, Isaías, Angelines and their ten children were waiting for us, they were the foreman and his family. From that moment, they were the ones who took care of us because my father saddled his horse and was lost in the field. He returned at lunchtime when Angelines served a steaming, fragrant stew. Rich to see and eat, with corn, pumpkins, sweet potatoes, and a chicken, when it was not a kid or beef ribs, the source really was a still life, a beautiful still life. After lunch, he would take a short nap while we played very close to the house under the trees. He saddled the horse again, who was jumping with joy and went out again to make his rounds. The field has that, he always needs a review and my father needed to reconnect with him, with his childhood and with the fresh emotion that only the quiet and bright-field gave him.
TEXT BY MARISA CAMINOS
