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Itzapa, Guatemala
I rose early in the morning to begin my journey. I had been back in the highlands of Guatemala for only a short while, having returned after a year of studying permaculture in the United States. Memories of the people living in these mountains and the work they are doing kept me going while I was away. It had taken a couple of weeks to get readjusted to a new community of friends and pace of life, but it felt great to be back.
Itzapa, Guatemala
I rose early in the morning to begin my journey. I had been back in the highlands of Guatemala for only a short while, having returned after a year of studying permaculture in the United States. Memories of the people living in these mountains and the work they are doing kept me going while I was away. It had taken a couple of weeks to get readjusted to a new community of friends and pace of life, but it felt great to be back.
I was starting from the town of Itzapa, in the district of Chimaltenango, to visit several of the surrounding villages. It was a journey I had looked forward to for what seemed a very long time.
Trees for Life was invited to support local projects here in the late 1980s. I began my work in 1991, and this was my first visit in nearly two years to the area. I had worked with the villagers on tree nurseries and fuel-efficient stoves. That was a time full of challenges and problems to be overcome, as well as many small successes.
In this type of work it is easy to wonder whether one is doing more harm than good, but I felt a growing excitement and curiosity about what lay in store for this day. What impact had our efforts created? Today I would find answers to this question that had been in the back of my mind.
After a filling breakfast, I began the climb upwards to Itzapa's first mountain village - Xepalquiy (pronounced "Shep-al-kwee") - nestled among the cloud forests that mist the landscape, leaving the fields wet and brilliant green. As I walked around the first bend in the mountain road, I came upon Doña Petrona. She was standing at the front of her home, her face filled with gentle folds and her white hair wrapped in a colorful bandana. As in the past, she invited me to come into her small, simple hut for coffee and sweet bread. We talked of family and how she loves her little village with its plants and its quietness.
After our visit I said good-bye and continued on my way. Within a half hour I reached the village of Panimaquim. Here I paid a visit to the home of Adelberto, and came upon a typical scene. There was Adelberto in his straw hat and cowboy boots, one strong, wiry arm swinging his machete. As always, his son Roman was working closely with him - absorbing the knowledge and wisdom passed down for generations.
This was where a fruit tree grafting workshop had been held nearly three years ago. I remembered well our struggles due to a lack of tools, attempting the necessary fine cutting with bulky machetes. Now I almost didn't recognize Adelberto's place for the dense tree cover dominating the yard. Nearly every open space was filled with apple, peach and plum trees, a testament to the villagers' skillfulness and attentive care.
Roman took me to see the grafted peach trees we had worked on together. Soon he was filling my hands and my bag with ripe fruit. In the distance I could see mountain slopes that were once barren and lifeless. They now supported young cypress saplings more than six feet high, reaching skyward, protecting the soil below and supplying wood for the future.
After taking my leave from Adelberto and Roman, I continued on to the village of San Bernabe. Once again I was overwhelmed with what I found. The villagers offered me large juicy peaches as a welcome. Their fruit trees stood intermixed with the corn fields in all directions. Along the roadsides, they showed me rows of ilamo trees growing strong and fast, offering nitrogen to the soil and fire-wood for future generations.
Then I was off to the village of Chinjuyu, where I found the villagers at market, laughing and joking with me as they always did. But I was surprised to see that they were selling gravilea fruit trees ? descendants of the trees they had grown with help from Trees for Life. Some villagers had joined together several years ago to begin their own tree nursery. As we went to see it, they explained that they plant trees in their fields and sell the extras to their village. Their faces beamed with pride as they showed me the nursery and offered me gravilea seedlings.
Another hike brought me at last to Calderas, Itzapa's most distant village, at the base of a large volcano. I came upon Pedro Lopez, a good friend and co-worker. As in the past, his family quickly welcomed me into their home. Its simple dirt floor and cornstalk and block walls were graced with their energetic children, barefoot and smiling with excitement. Almost before speaking a word they were feeding me lunch. Out of the corner of my eye I could see their son climbing up a tree to pick peaches as a gift.
Pedro told me that he is now promoting the fuel-efficient stoves throughout his region. By foot, horse and bus he travels to surrounding communities, organizing and teaching small groups how to build them. These cookstoves benefit families by decreasing the amount of firewood by 62%, taking smoke out of the kitchen with a chimney, and protecting children from open fires. Pedro volunteers to train others in addition to working his farm and caring for his family.
Sitting with Pedro's family at the end of the day, I felt a new vitality. Any doubts had been completely washed away. Rarely does one have such a dramatic opportunity to see and taste the fruits of so many people's efforts. Trees for Life had simply provided initial support through workshops and simple materials, and then the villagers took on the work themselves. Today I saw the impact of their generosity and perseverance.
In these villagers I discovered what Trees for Life recognizes and encourages in each person. We all have the capacity to share of ourselves and our lives. And in so doing, even in remote villages like those in Guatemala, we can begin to find empowerment and hope.
