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"North of Santa Fe, Tia followed a narrow road that curved back and forth toward the mountains like a never-ending ribbon. . . ."
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“North of Santa Fé, Tía followed a narrow road that curved back and forth toward the mountains like a never-ending ribbon. Soon we could see the Chimayó Valley and the village where my family had lived for so many generations. And there was my Grandpa’s house.
Memories of family get-togethers, wagon rides, hunting for chicken eggs, and evenings of staring into the starry sky filled my head.
This visit would be different.
This time I would learn how to weave Chimayó blankets. My love for Grandpa was bigger than the earth, but would we find a way to communicate, Juan Meliquiades, el tejedor and I?”
Los Ojos del Tejedor: The Eyes of the Weaver.
University of New Mexico Press, 2006.