It is through our memories that we preserve the past and continue to give it life. It is through my own memory that I relive stories told to me by my mother, Carmen Astorga Soto.
Mom’s stories of her childhood, told to me when I was a child, created vivid scenes in my own head that have endured to this day. Stories of her leading her brothers and sisters on the walk to school, seeing grazing cows, a skunk crossing their path. But it was her fond memory of the playground at the school that always brought smiles and laughter to both of us.
Visiting the restored Red Schoolhouse in Lochiel nowadays there aren’t many signs of how clear or big their playground was in my mother’s time. Yet, here is this nice huge cottonwood that must be at least 100 years old or more, still standing tall and strong by the dirt road in front of the school (with its tall sister, its companion in her own beauty, standing across the road). This tree witnessed many years of schoolkids, including my mother, enjoying innocent, happy times: boys and girls playing baseball, kids chasing each other, children laughing.
In her early childhood Mom’s family had moved north from Imuris, Sonora, settling in Lochiel. Her father worked as a ranch hand for the San Rafael Cattle company, which expanded to both sides of the border. The one-room schoolhouse served the local children of ranchers and miners working in the mines along the Patagonia Mountains just west of the valley.
Life in rural Arizona was never dull for Mom. There was school and chores. There were responsibilities helping Mrs. Sharp at the main ranch house with kids approximately her own age, plus caring for brothers and sisters, and later taking employment as a waitress and going to local dances.
She was in her twenties when she met her future husband from nearby Harshaw. Love followed, but World War II separated the young couple.
While serving in the United States Navy, Miguel (Mike) deployed to the South Pacific. Prior to his departure his parents took their future daughter in-law in to live with them. Shortly after returning home from service to his country, Miguel and Carmen married on January 11, 1947.
The couple stayed in Harshaw to raise their young family. In 1956, returning from a community turkey shoot, a tragic auto accident involving the family sent Carmen to the hospital in Nogales with serious injuries. Recovery took more than six months. During this time Mike moved the children to Nogales to stay with relatives while their mother recuperated. From Nogales the family made a final move to Tucson, where Mike and Carmen raised seven kids.
Harshaw was always home, though. Mom and Dad often took us kids to visit our grandparents there. We would play outside all day long, picking quince from the fruit trees. A rusted frame of an old jalopy sat by the ravine, and I would climb it and pretend to be driving. Not knowing better, I ran around the open field licking blocks of salt meant for the cows or climbing the hill away from the house, using the fine dirt and loose sand as a natural slide.
Often Dad would take us for a ride. He would drive the loop heading from the homestead towards the Harshaw townsite where our home used to sit. We’d drive the dirt road leading towards Norman Hale’s ranch, passing the empty lot where our home had once stood, before it was demolished by the Forest Service. Then we’d drive past the Harshaw school grounds, where a sad-looking swing and seesaw showed their age, while the church was still bright with its white walls. Reaching Norman Hale’s, Dad would point out the peacocks and wave to people he knew. Then we’d turn around. A stop at the historical cemetery across the road was next. We climbed the hill to the gravesites to pay respect to our ancestors and baby brother. We mingled, viewing headstones, tying names with family relationships.
The drive would resume, taking the loop towards the old mines, Dad pointing and stopping to look for deer or coatimundis. Further, a memorial paying tribute to Friar Marcos de Niza stood tall along the side of the road. And finally, we’d reach Mom’s little schoolhouse in Lochiel. We’d ask her again to tell us of when she used to play baseball out in the playground. A story which never changed, always brought laughter, and never got old.
The last time I took that same drive with my own family we, too, stopped at the schoolhouse. From keeping up with the local news, I knew the schoolhouse had been renovated. Now we saw it. We peeked through the windows. The freshly painted walls and new floors brought the room back to life. As it did then, as it does now, it brings tears to my eyes picturing Mom as a child in the classroom, of her playing baseball out in the yard. Remembering how her eyes would light up as her own memories took her back.
Previously in “Great Trees of Eastern Santa Cruz County”:
“A Most Magnificent Cottonwood in Canelo” by Bill Steen
“Elgin’s Movie Star Cottonwood” by Sue Downing
“The Wise Old Emory Oak of Mowry” by Perin McNelis
“A Pleistocene Juniper” by Jim Koweek
“The Leaning Pine of Duquesne” by Bekki Jaynes
“The Hollow Tree of Harshaw Townsite” by Cassina Farley
“The Mexican Blue Oak of Sonoita Creek” by Vince Pinto
Do you know a great tree? Submit photos (or artwork!) and text about your favorite tree to prtadast@gmail.com. It can be any tree on public or private property in Eastern Santa Cruz County. (You don’t have to disclose the tree’s exact location unless you want to.) Tell us what makes the tree great: maybe it’s the tree’s size, shape or age; or its leaf color; or the animals and insects who inhabit it; or the special events or family traditions associated with it; or perhaps something more personal. Whatever it is, share it with us. Let’s celebrate our area’s natural splendor and heritage!