Five children, a dog, occasionally my grandmother and a cousin or two joined our childhood camping vacations. It was partly economical but also for the love of being outdoors. My father grew up as a Boy Scout and loved all things merit badge. I learned to build and cook on a campfire, make a sling for a broken arm and identify constellations. His rule was to leave the campsite cleaner than you found it. My father’s admonitions live in my heart to this day.
Being my father’s daughter has served me well for living in Bacalar in the southern Yucatan. It’s a lot like camping, only better. The windows to our home are persianas which do not seal out the world.
Our alarm clock.
We hear birds squawking, dogs barking, the roosters greeting the sunrise and an occasional goat braying. It’s not all at the same time, usually.
We choose not to use air conditioning even in the heat and humidity of the summer. We cope as do most people here by keeping activity to a minimum during the heat of the day, jumping in the lake in the afternoon and if necessary, taking a shower before bed. The night seems to cool down just enough and we are up with the sunrise.
With the windows always open, you can feel the shift in the wind which indicates a possible shower rolling in.
My dad would have loved Bacalar. This past week was twenty-eight years since his death. I still see his gait in my son, and his stewardship of the earth in myself and my children. I hope my children and grandchildren will someday share stories of their crazy grandmothers who lived in the jungle in Mexico with their windows open.
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the adventures of dos tortas 
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