by B Stacey Villalobos

My parents were raised on lands whose names honor bird relatives in nahuatl. Tecolotlán is my mother’s birth place, a small pueblo just southwest of the capital of mariachi music in the state of Jalisco. In December of 2016 I decided to visit my madre’s hometown for the first time, so my friend Carlos drove me to Tecolotlán from his home in Tlaquepaque as a gesture of our friendship and shared interest in travel. As we approached the main street from the highway, we were greeted by vendors selling ‘tacos de balde,’ something that Tecolotlán is quite famous for and that I highly recommend if you find yourself in the land of owls in search of a simple and affordable treat. After indulging in a handful of tacos, we turned immediately onto the street where my mother had grown up on, directly in front of el Templo de la Virgencita. We parked and wandered the plaza, asking elders and shopkeepers if they knew anything about my family’s history. We followed a path inland until we found the remains of an old hacienda. Walking along an unmarked road, we ventured towards the sound of running water, pausing to witness the initial stages of decomposition from a recently dead cow. Just beyond the creek, we found the rest of the herd and the most beautiful organ pipe cacti dotted the landscape. Although we returned twice more after the first visit, the only tecolotes I saw on that trip were paintings of the town’s emblem across walls and an abandoned food cart that sold ‘teco-tacos’. 

Ven chiquatli hacia mi

Para darme paso a ti

After my initial move to Morongo Valley in 2019, I overheard the courtship of two great horned owls outside my home. They had chosen the tamarisk tree just beyond my fence to share their duets with one another. I had been indoors when I heard a sound that oddly reminded me of a goose, and since I had never come across a pair of tecolotes during mating season I was unaware of how to interpret the sound I was experiencing. Eager to capture this exchange on my voice recorder, I slipped outside with the most gentle presence I could gather, so as to not disrupt their epic courtship. Eyes strained, I was able to make out their silhouettes among the branches, partially due to their characteristic ‘ears’. Of course, once I got close enough to press record on my device their singing paused.

Vuela suave al cielo

Traime magia al sueño

Not too long ago, I had the most wonderful encounter with a chiquatli. I had been cleaning and preparing my home to receive someone I love, and had stepped out of my house on a chilly October evening to toss a bag of trash. Flashlight at the ready, I quickly realized it was pointless; the moon was out and although not quite full, they were beaming as if an auntie was grinning with pride. My eyesight isn’t the worst, so I can get by without wearing my prescription most of the time. I allowed my eyes to adjust to the night sky, while my feet followed the grooves of the land I had come to know & adore for the past four years. As I approached the beaten plastic garbage bin, which the Santa Ana winds had pushed up against my chain link fence, I was stunned to see the swift shadow of a large bird upon the desert floor. I looked up and even though my vision was fuzzy, the ghostly iridescence of the raptor’s feathers affirmed my encounter. My heart swelled, and I recalled the words a Wixárika elder once shared with me in Nayarit: los tecolotes son los mensajeros de la noche/owls are messengers of the night. The chiquatli was offering a message, and unlike some Indigenous relatives my family and I do not associate owls as omens of death or bad news. To say that their presence culminates to that of literal death is to oversimplify their message. We experience many deaths in our lifetime, on a cellular level and oftentimes through more poetic means. Death can be expressed as change, transformation, alchemy, un cierre. A symbol or metaphor for that which is ready to be let go of, returned to the land; the promise of a seed and of new beginnings. 

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** This essay/cuento was first published in the Fall edition of Desert Times, by invitation of Riah Buchanan. You can purchase a physical copy of this text by visiting https://deserttimes.bigcartel.com/