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tales from mexico. the road to cocucho

updated fri 17 sep 04

 

Eric and Rachel on thu 16 sep 04


The Road to Cocucho

Dear potters, the tales from Michoacan continue! The day after=20
we'd sat around and heard flaming tales of kiln firing Barbara and I headed=
=20
to a potters=92 village where they don't use kilns at all=85
Barbara and I drove out to the village of Cocucho, climbing the=20
curves over pine covered hills dotted with broad fields of tall grass. The=
=20
road was new and smooth. Such a road does not even exist back home in=20
Oaxaca, yet here in Michoacan they are almost commonplace. Why the=20
difference, I do not know? But we made quick time, for which I was glad.=20
Though no longer the case, this road was once a fine place to meet highway=
=20
bandits. That was a while back, before the pavement when this 20-minute=20
trip took 2 hours. However their spirits still linger on the curves, or at=
=20
least in the curves of my imagination.
Cocucho, a boldly traditional Purepecha village, sits high on a=20
slope, snuggling into the hilltop pines. The village overlooks a vast,=20
gentle slope that drops into a plain far below which is covered with that=20
tall grass and cornfields. The village is dotted with trojes, ornate=20
indigenous log cabins. They are small with steep, wood shake roofs, front=20
porches and stout porch posts carved with flowers and designs. Under the=20
shake eves are tied up bunches of dried corn; yellow, red and blue, with=20
the husk attached but peeled back. Seed corn for next year=92s crop. Peeking=
=20
inside a house you see dark wood walls, cups hanging in rows from the=20
ceiling (above which, in the attic, is stored the rest of the corn), plates=
=20
artfully placed on narrow shelves against the wall, colorful cut paper=20
decorations hanging like flags across the room, a table and a bed.
On the porch of the family we went to visit stood 7 stout clay=20
urns stained dark with atole, or liquid cornstarch, and three stout women,=
=20
corn fed and stained dark by pure Purepecha blood and work in the sun. Mama=
=20
Lorenza and her two grown daughters, Antonia and Angelina. They each wore=20
velvet blouses, pleated skirts and waist aprons with multiple wraps of blue=
=20
and red beaded necklaces tight around thick necks and large, heavy, silver=
=20
earrings in the form of hanging crescents that pulled their earlobes down.
Unlike the other villages Barbara and I had visited, Cocucho=92s pottery=20
showed no Spanish influence. These enormous pots, some four feet tall,=20
where coil built from the ground up and surface fired one at time in=20
bonfires. The potters here pulled the pots out of the fire smoldering hot=20
and brushed then with cornstarch which burned into the porous surface of=20
the pot and gave it a seriously freckled look, an ancient mottling. Old=20
school potters at their finest. I tried to lift one of the bigger pots and=
=20
could barely budge it. The walls were an inch thick top to bottom. The=20
women carried them on their backs.
But in Cocucho I found myself to be more interested in the potters=
=20
than the pots. Well, that is often the case if the truth must be known.=20
Often I think I wander on the trail of Mexican pottery because it gives me=
=20
the excuse to sit on porches and swap tales with these very earthy, solid=20
people.
Which is just what we did in Cocucho. We sat chatting back and=20
forth about their pottery and the village in Spanish. They told us that=20
the pottery wasn't even sold locally anymore. It all went away in the hands=
=20
of buyers to urban markets in Guadalajara, Mexico City and beyond. I could=
=20
certainly vouch for this as a former pottery exporter. The Cocucho pottery=
=20
was sold far and wide in the US by wholesalers and had become very popular.=
=20
They said the pots used to be for storing water, corn, cooking tamales and=
=20
so on, but no one was using them that way anymore (I guess no one didn't=20
include them because they had an enormous jug in the yard full of water).
Then they started speaking to each other, clarifying some point=20
about the way the pots used to be used, and switched from Spanish to=20
Purepecha. The tone of their voices changed entirely. Their voices went=20
deep, coming from below those tight blue necklaces, from the depths of=20
their chests in powerful bursts. Their voices vibrated in the ground below=
=20
my feet and seemed to have a physical presence as they poured their words=20
back and forth to each other like clouds of dense, warm, brown smoke. I=20
suddenly felt like I was seated in the court of the powerful leaders of an=
=20
ancient matriarchal clan and sat in awe of the power these women exuded.=20
Was this just this family, or did all the women in this village speak so=20
forcefully, so surely, in Purepecha? Then they switched back to Spanish to=
=20
speak to us and their voices came up a couple of octaves and went soft. I=20
wished I could speak Purepecha just to take part in the power of their=20
conversation, though at the same time I sensed I'd be squished like a=20
cockroach by the density of their voices.
As it was, no bugs were squished that day and we enjoyed ourselves=
=20
sitting around on the porch of the cabin talking about clay and corn. Soon=
=20
enough though Barbara and I had to go. Everyone I had spoken with agreed=20
that the road to Cocucho was entirely bandit free=85in the daylight. As=20
darkness was getting too close for comfort, I pushed for leaving and we=20
said our farewells. In the curves of my imagination I was redrawing the=20
roadside bandits from men with red bandanas and broad hats to large women=20
in silk blouses with hefty earrings. One has to pay for those silver=20
earrings somehow. They didn't use guns or machetes, they just stood in the=
=20
middle of the road and demanded, in locomotive horn Purepecha that you give=
=20
up all your valuables. There would be no arguing.
As it was, we made it to the other side without incident. And perhaps=20
darkness wasn't as imminent as I had thought, for we were home by 4pm.=20
Still, better safe than sorry, no?

atentamente, Eric Mindling

Want to brave meeting these Cocucho potters yourself? Join us in January=20
for the Michoacan Clay Adventure, Tour and Workshop. See=20
www.traditionsmexico.com for details.

Please note our new address- traditionsmexico@yahoo.com

Rachel Werling, Botanist
Eric Mindling, Tourist
Oaxaca, Mexico
Traditions Mexico Hands-On Tours
www.manos-de-oaxaca.com
www.traditionsmexico.com