¿Dónde está la luna?

The northern woods are not without merit.

Yesterday I visited Melleray, our family’s farm. And because my niece and nephew are bilingual, I spoke more Spanish in an afternoon than I had my whole three months in Belize. (The national languages of Belize are actually English and Kriol, though there’s a movement to have Maya taught in schools as a classical language. Spanish mainly figures in the west, near Guatemala.)

I don’t post much about my family’s farm here—that’s what the Byrne Diaspora is for—but suffice to say that six months ago, Dad put the farm on the market. Which meant that my brother Donald was looking for a job overseas. Which meant that the rest of the family’s hearts were heavy, even though we understood that Dad and his sweetheart Pam needed to do what was right for them.

And then, six weeks ago, Dad took the farm off the market, because…just because.

So many reasons.

Last night, Niko demanded of me, “Tia. TIA. ¿Dónde está la luna? La luna! LA LUNAAAAAAA. ¿Dónde está la luna?”

We went out and found it, rising over the fields.