Their father, Señor Cabrera, was returning home in a few days for a visit, one woman told us as she led us by the light of a single candle down a hall to our room. The pictures were of their father and each one evoked a sweet childhood memory. My road-weary companions and I stumbled out of the darkness into a candle-lit kitchen, where six women were gathered around a shoebox full of photographs, passing them around the table and laying them out carefully in rows.
At a pause we knocked lightly and were invited in. A faint glimmer of light glowed at the base of the door, helping us find our way.įearing we were too late to check in to the Casa de Huespedes, we listened at the door and heard women singing songs in Spanish. Our destination was tucked away between two churches by the town square. Our headlights seemed a nuisance, so we found our way down a long cobbled street by the amber glow of our parking lights. The little town, under dense autumn skies, was hidden in the darkest dark - the smoke of chimneys not visible all movement absorbed in the night and no dogs dared to bark.
#Shoebox dia de los muertos altar generator
We finally arrived in the small lumber town in the Sierra Madre around 10:00pm, an hour after the town's electricity generator cut off to signal the mill workers that it was time to trade in bar stools for a productive night of sleep. Traditions of Mexico - El Dia de los Muertos TRADITIONS OF MEXICOĪfter nightfall, on a long drive, late in October.
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