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Stove StoriesBy Elizabeth Kistin Step One The Base. Choose an appropriate location in the cocina (kitchen) across from an open door or window and begin to build a strong base of rocks and mud or adobe. I tossed my backpack down first and then jumped over the side of the faded red pickup truck, disrupting the dirt in a brief puff where I landed. The driver, Javier, hopped from the front seat and told us he would take us to where we were staying. We met our host mother, Juana, as she welcomed my partner, Mika, and me into her small adobe home. She sat with us while we unpacked some of our belongings, and she asked us about our families and our country. Her broad smile illuminated her beautiful brown face and the entire room. We thanked her for her hospitality and for opening her home to us for the next eight weeks. "They say we are all brothers," she told us as she stared out the window at the corn. "You and I are fortunate to be able to live together like family." I smiled and asked about the small photograph in the corner. "My brother," she responded, "and we can only pray he too has found a family in your tierra." Step Two The Mold. Mix 26 buckets of dirt, nine buckets of dry manure and three buckets of sand with enough water to create a desirable consistency. Pour this mixture into the wooden mold up to the depth of 40 centimeters. "I am going to teach you how to mix mud," Cecilia, the woman who lived with the big family on top of the hill, explained, "because here in Mexico we are experts on mud." I watched intently as she carefully added water to the 38 buckets of material and then, giggling, handed me a pair of her nephew's rubber boots and slipped on her own. "Like this," she told me, as she hurled herself into the dirt and began jumping and prancing about. I jumped in too, but, less experienced, I almost fell in nose-first, barely managing to save myself by tightly gripping the sleeve of her white T-shirt. We wiggled off balance, but regained our composure and erupted in laughter. It wasn't long before she was teaching me to dance and sing, for that is, of course, the secret to perfect mud. Step Three The Carving. After the mold has dried for a few days, the carving can begin. Carefully carve the firebox, holes for the pots the family wishes to use, tunnels for the fire and the smoke and finally the chimney. I poked my head inside the fence and yelled, "Buenas tardes" to see if anyone was home. Senora Morales was sitting on her front porch in a small wooden chair made for her grandchildren. "Just thinking," she said, "just thinking." She moved her chair into the cocina, where the stove was being built, and brought in two spoons so we could resume our carving. As we chipped away at the mud, to create the tunnels, we moved deeper and deeper into conversation. She asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I shrugged my shoulders and told her I did not know. Surprisingly, she looked delighted. I fixed my eyes on her strong silver braid as she explained to me that people waste too much time worrying about the future and forgetting to focus on the present. What matters most, she said, is not "adonde van, sino como van," a phrase meaning "not where you are going, but rather how you go." Step Four Aesthetics. After the carving is finished, use a small amount of water to smooth the top or the sides of the stove. Some families may also choose to white wash their stove to make it more beautiful. Mika and I sat comfortably on the hard dirt floor and explained the directions and drawings of the stoves to the abuelita, or grandmother, that lived at the bottom of the hill. We helped her remove dry corn kernels from the cob for tomorrow's tortillas and watched as she ran her fingers over the colored-in pictures and the small lettering. "Que bonita," how pretty, she told us as she handed the papers back to us. 
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