How to Find a Feather

Two nights ago I stayed over at a family’s house who I have become great friends with since being here. I originally met Maria Eugenia while working at La Esquela Ortiga where she works part time. She and her husband Lucas have three children: Valentina (14), Diego (7), and Elsie (4), all of whom adore me. They live about thirty minutes higher in the valley than I do in a little rustic cottage. Though both Maria and Lucas were raised in large cosmopolitan cities, they chose a quieter life here in the Valle de Elqui where Lucas has begun raising goats. I’ve been over a few times, but this time I spent the night which I think was a nice break for Pablo and Barbra. We made bread and barbequed chicken, bathed in the river, and had long talks by candle light; but I most enjoyed a peaceful nights sleep devoid of regeton music.
In the morning, after a breakfast of porridge, I decided to go for a walk along a canal that flows through the upper portion of their land. Tall and twisted trees grow on either side of the waterway, and I felt a sort of energy walking in their shade. My feet became muddy and my clothes covered in plant matter, but what’s an experience if some of it doesn’t stick to you?
After going across a few properties, I spotted some structures on a hill above me. First I entered a stable, inside was all charcoal as though it was burned out. I rested in its coolness away from the sun and thought about continuing along the canal. But the mystery of the others intrigued me. Just above rested a long adobe building, which may have been a barn. I circled the structure and found, to my dismay, that all the windows and doors were boarded up. The only viable entrance was a bard door that was open about 12 feet off the ground. I used a window sill to scale the building and was able to poke my head in the opening, but found that there was an overturned table blocking my view.
On the way down I noticed that the shutters on the window budged a little. With little expectation I gave the board a shove and heard a thud as the wood creaked inward. I climbed through into a dark room and found a rock, what was holding the window shut, on the floor. The only other thing in the room was a poster of a Catholic Virgin on the wall. I explored the three other rooms of the building by the light that fell through the cracks of the ceiling above me. All were situated in a row with a hallway running through them. The second contained a pile of dust and trash with two brooms and a hand made ladder. The third had a more rusted cans and a bed frame, the last, heaps of decaying barbed wire and another ladder.
I remembered that I had left my water bottle and notebook out side the house and thought I didn’t expect that anyone would be passing by, it would have been a definite sign that someone was in the house. I brought them inside and went to explore the rooms once more. Just as I was leaving the barbed wire room to go, I noticed a square hole in the corner of the ceiling. I used the larger ladder, which was difficult to maneuver because of its weight, the barbed wire, and the room’s small size, and positioned it under the opening. It had a few rungs missing and on the way up another one broke. When I entered the attic, a wave of dank heat engulfed me. Pigeons the size of crows fluttered out through the holes in the roof as I creaked along the floorboards. There were feather and poop everywhere; in some places so thick I couldn’t see the round. The walls were stained with long cascades of feces. There were wasps everywhere, humming in the heat. Old hives hung fossilized to the rafters or lay strewn amongst the feathers. Only when I walked to the barn door could I breathe fresh air again.