However, the two celebrations have very different histories and contemporary evolutions.
Joseph Sorrentino is a regular contributor to Mexico News Daily.There is often a misconception that day of the dead is simply the Mexican version of Halloween.
#DIA DE LOS MUERTOS ALTAR FLOWERS FULL#
A couple of the young men helping with the tapeta drove off in a truck and returned a half-hour later.Īnd, of course, the back of their truck was crammed full with f lores de muertos. We had a large drawing of a skull, and it was clear that there weren’t nearly enough flowers. Chicken wire was placed above that, and flowers were placed in the chicken wire. To make this item, a drawing was first made on a large sheet of plastic. Later that afternoon, we constructed the tapeta for Day of the Dead, a structure placed with the altar that bears flowers topping an image of the maker’s choice. We arrived at the house, five hours after we’d left, with a couple of bunches of flowers. We drove down the mountain, faithful Washi lying down in the back. Finally, an hour later, Gordito showed up with a fistful of yellow flowers. We ate some tortillas and cheese and waited some more. He then turned up the volume as loud as possible and sat with the rest of the men in a small hut. After fiddling with the dials and antenna for a minute, he settled on a station that was mostly static. I decided not to point out that we had just been back there and that there were no flowers to cut. “He is back there,” he explained, “cutting flowers.” I sidled up to Alberto and asked why we were waiting. It was almost nine o’clock, and we’d only collected a handful of flowers. I trotted out, trying to not look pissed. Alberto parked, got out and also proceeded to look bored. The men were sitting around, looking bored. We found the other truck pulled off by the side of the road. I didn’t bother to mention we hadn’t seen any fields bursting with yellow and red flowers on the way up. Well, maybe there will be many down below.” “Last year,” Alberto explained, “the fields were covered with flowers up here. Alberto stopped the truck after a few minutes and opened the back door to let in Washi, who had fallen far behind, her love of running apparently sated for the day. We climbed back into the trucks and headed down the mountain, Washi again trotting slowly behind. “We have to go to another place,” said Alberto. Washi, who had indeed found us, was lying on the ground, panting heavily. It was clear the photographs were going to be pretty damn boring. We walked around for a few minutes, picking the occasional flower. The fields of yellow and red I’d been promised were nowhere in sight. The men were all combing the hills for flores de muertos, but there were hardly any. “I hope.”Īn hour later, we found the second truck. Washi the wonder dog was nowhere in sight, but Alberto was untroubled. He followed the same ritual at the next fork. He shrugged, muttered some more and then pressed on the gas, heading up the right fork. The first time the road forked, Alberto slowed a bit, looked at both roads and muttered something in Spanish.
The second truck soon left us behind.Īlberto, refusing to believe that his truck couldn’t make it up that mountain, simply kept the gas pedal on the floor every time the truck got stuck and smiled at me broadly every time we got unstuck. The hard-packed dirt road turned into soft soil, and although Alberto’s truck was often spinning its wheels, we still made progress.
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