Anne Davis Latham. Photo by Joan Gould Winderman.

Bill, my husband-to-be, told me how charming Alamos was. For 25 years his father had been manager for a Canadian mining company in the Sierras, with offices in Hermosillo and Alamos. Bill first came to Alamos in1957 for Christmas with his family. He described the posadas, the dances, and the Sunday promenades around the plaza. I said that he had to show me someday.

Bill and I met in Puerto Rico where he was stationed in the army and I was teaching at the elementary school on the base. As we held hands and explored the streets of Old San Juan, he’d tell me how much San Juan reminded him of Alamos. “So, show me!”

How could a little girl growing up in Boston love Mexico although she never went there until she was in her 50s?

My mother dressed me in Mexican embroidered blouses that she bought when she went to visit family in California. She decked me out in silver Mexican jewelry. My favorite was a little silver butterfly pin with turquoise spots on its wings. She braided my hair with ribbons such as those that the Indian women wore. One of her pet names for me was “Chiquita.” Our home was filled with Mexican pottery, glass, and wrought iron. In the 1940s, Mexican food was unavailable in Boston, so my mother invented her own.

It wasn’t until February of 1996 that Bill finally brought me to Alamos. We were recovering from having to deal with all the heartaches of closing my parents’ home after my father’s death. My mother had passed away years earlier. The house still reflected her love of Mexico. We had to deal with selling the house and dividing the estate with my two brothers. With their legacy, one brother bought a motorcycle and the other a swimming pool for his yard. I bought the little house at 14 Calle Mina.

The house, with massive adobe walls, is in the old part of the pueblo. It has a tiny pool and a garage. The latter is such a bonus in the narrow streets. Most of my adult life I have lived outside the United States. I sometimes feel a foreigner in my own country. I love being able to live in a different culture.

Alamos suits us. We enjoy our Mexican neighbors. Bill has a finquita in Uvalama. He has a greenhouse and fruit trees. We have had a wonderful time making a garden in the barren courtyard. I work with Amigos de Educación with the home tours; often our house is showcased. Being able to walk to the market, the church, friends’ homes, and restaurants is a blessing.

My favorite view is out of my kitchen window—the whole Mexican world goes by. Children in their cute uniforms head for school in the morning and back in the evening. People rush to mass. Trucks, tractors, buses, horses, and bikes go by. Venders selling brooms, tamales, crafts, and seafood come to my door. The drinking water truck comes to my door and toots. It stops and I enjoy my chat with the man as he delivers our water. A complete Mexican pueblo story flows by that little kitchen window.

Little did I expect the richness of the arts that Alamos shows me. The ecology enchants. I fill my hummingbird feeders twice a day during migrations.

The time will come when we will move on. We will miss Alamos and tell others of its enchantment.

Lynda Barondes. Photo by Bernadette Mertens-McAllister.

I graduated in 1957 from Brandon Institute with degrees in architecture and administration. In 1963 I went to Germany on a three-month assignment as Manager of Administration on a small civil project for Graham Hanson Corporation.

I spent the next 25 years working on various projects in Europe, the Middle East, and Africa.

In 1976 I was attending the Transfer of Nuclear Technology to Iran, International Conference in Persepolis, Iran, “the city of roses,” one of the four most beautiful places I have ever seen. During the conference I became friends with a couple of fellow Canadians, Ian and Stella Morrow, who invited me to visit them in Gibsons, British Columbia.

In 1989, I finished my last project and returned to Canada. I sold my home near Toronto, moved to Gibsons, BC. and two years later, while attending a community event in this small town of 8,000, I heard a voice that brought back many memories—a voice I had not heard since I was at NATO headquarters in Brussels five years before. I looked around the room and there was Bryan Judd! What was Bryan doing here? I walked over and tapped him on the shoulder! He turned, looked at me and dropped his glass of champagne. We stood looking at each other for what seemed hours and then hugged each other in between laughing and crying, each asking the same question, “Why are you here?” Bryan, a member of NATO, and I had met in 1984 in Hamburg, Germany, when I was working on the NFR-90, the largest NATO project ever undertaken, with members from Germany, Spain, France, Italy, England, United States, and Canada. Bryan explained that he and his wife, Jayne, were living with Jayne’s dad in Sechelt, just two miles away. We renewed our friendship and in 1993 Bryan invited my husband, Earl, to visit Alamos where they had recently bought a lovely old hacienda. When Earl returned, I asked him what Alamos was like and he replied, “Just like every other Mexican town—dusty, dirty, full of garbage and starving dogs and cats.”

Sometime later Bryan and Jayne moved to Desert Springs, Nevada. In 1999 Jayne was in British Columbia visiting her dad and Earl was in Nevada visiting Bryan. Oliver, my cat and companion of 21 years, became ill and passed away. I was distraught and Jayne suggested I should get away and invited us to spend a month in Alamos. Earl and I accepted and the next day left for Alamos.

As we entered Alamos, our car broke down near the hospital. It was Christmas; it was busy and it was warm. Earl shouted, ”Quick lock your windows and doors. We’re in Mexico and Mexicans can’t be trusted. They’ll break in, rape you, rob, and murder us!” So I locked the doors and windows and we sat there getting hotter and hotter and finally I opened the window. My husband shouted, “Now you’ve done it! They’ll break in and kill us”! Suddenly the car was surrounded by men and for one second I thought, “ Oh my God, he’s right”! Then the car started to roll and the men pushed the car off the street. They offered us water and food, brought a mechanic, and took us to Jayne and Bryan’s home. So much for Mexican bandits!

One night around dusk I took a walk down Galeana and passed an old wall. There was something in the air that night—the moon was shining and the night was magical. Something called to me and I climbed up onto the uninhabited property. I walked around and all of a sudden the hairs on my arm stood up. I looked, but saw nothing. What had frightened me? Suddenly I saw what looked like a woman carrying a lantern back near the old wall but as I got closer she disappeared.

The next day I told Jayne and she thought it was a message for me and said, “Lynda, your marriage is going down the tubes. Why don’t you buy that property, build a house, and spend six months a year here like the rest of us?” Two days later I was the proud owner. I didn’t know how my life would change and that the property was the birthplace of Maria Felix, Mexico’s most famous movie actress.

Maria Felix kept ringing a bell in my memory but it was two or three months before I finally remembered why. In the early 70s I had been working in France and a friend and I had gone to the horse races. A crowd of people was taking pictures of someone. My friend was curious, went to see what was happening, and returned saying, “Lynda, you won’t believe this, but there’s an actress down there who looks just like you!” About a half hour later a photographer asked if he could take my picture. I said sure but why and he said, “Aren’t you Maria Felix’s daughter?” I said I didn’t know who Maria Felix was. A little later he came back with Maria Felix and when she saw me she laughed saying it was like looking into a mirror! He took our picture.

Now here I was, the proud owner of her birthplace. I contacted her in 2003, she remembered our casual meeting, and I invited her to the Ortiz Tirado Music Festival. In January she called saying she was not well but would come in June. She died in April.

Three days after she died a strange thing occurred. During the night I awoke to a noise. Thinking it must be a storm, I went outside but it was eerily quiet. Nothing… just silence! I started walking toward the waterfall to turn on more lights, but an energy force stopped me. I wasn’t afraid, but turned and went back inside. Two days later a friend was visiting and said, “Lynda, look at the wall.” I looked and there was a silhouette of a woman with long hair, a gown with long flowing sleeves and her hands clasped together as in prayer. The silhouette stayed for about five minutes. I think it was Maria Felix returning to her birthplace.

Now I’ve been here 12 years and have only left Mexico three times. I love Alamos. The people are so friendly. I have no desire to leave.

Genevieve Louise Reynolds. Photo by Pember Nuzum.

The Story of My Mother by Douglas Reynolds

Genevieve was born October 13, 1918, in Boulder, Colorado and grew up with two brothers on their parents’ farm east of Boulder. She had horses all her life and remembered the names of every one she ever had. After graduation from high school at 16 in Erie, Colorado, she studied cosmetology in Denver, then went to work as a beautician, operating her own beauty salon for twenty years.

She married Ray Reynolds in 1942 and they had three sons before retiring to Mexico in 1971, due to my father’s health issues. They arrived in Navojoa, Sonora, with our family’s German shepherd, leaving me and my brothers, Lincoln and David, behind. Al Gordon, proprietor of the El Rancho Motel, suggested they visit Alamos. They took his advice and met his wife, Darley, who ran the Tesoros Hotel there. A week later they bought the house I am now living in!

After fixing up the house, my mother and father brought the first Arabian horses to Alamos, a stallion named Consentido (spoiled one) and four mares from Ensenada, Baja, California. They were accompanied by a horse trainer and his entire family.

As a result of her equestrian ability she was invited to join a group called “Calbagata,” an exclusive international organization of dedicated horsemen and women.

Genevieve had learned to ride before she could walk. She rode horses virtually all over the world, from New Zealand to Europe, the Fiji Islands, and Mexico. In New Zealand they rode polo ponies and were entertained by the U. S. Ambassador at the American Embassy.

In Alamos, usually in the lead and mounted on Consentido, she rode with her friends six days a week for well over twenty years. I have several pictures on my walls of Genevieve astride this horse. I was fortunate enough to join them on rides to the top of Mt. Alamos and enjoy the spectacular view.

During her lifetime she made contributions to the Alamos community. For example, she started a school milk fund. It was arranged that fresh milk be delivered to Alamos children. Later she was one of the founding members of the Amigos de Educacion, the scholarship committee, which has blossomed and grown to its present size.

She had a passion for orchids, which she first grew in a Colorado greenhouse and later shared with her neighbors in Mexico. She gave planting advice to newcomers with similar interests. She loved beautiful things and took great pleasure in her garden.

Years ago the Alamos ladies were very independent. They would leave their husbands for a couple of weeks to tour Mexico in search of Arts and Crafts to decorate their homes. These friends included Elizabeth Nuzum, Catherine Frost, and Beverly Douglas, to name a few.

A few years after my father passed away, my mother made friends with Frank Rupnik, a Baatan Death March survivor, and they remained close for perhaps forty years, until his death.

Genevieve also was known as a master bridge player. She played often and everybody wanted to be her partner. She initially studied Spanish with Frank Robles and with her many Mexican friends. She made progress quickly. She took art classes with Dorothy Whitehouse. I have several of my mother’s paintings on my walls and they are on the walls of other houses in town. She loved to cook and took Mexican cooking classes with Lupina Valezquez, a former Alamos resident who later became the owner of the Monarch Panaderia in Navojoa. It was arguably the best bakery in Sonora.

She drove for the House and Garden tours when transportation was needed.

Among her other activities were jumping in her Lincoln when the weather got very hot in the summertime and driving around town simply to cool off. That was before a/c for homes. Evaporative coolers did not do the job because of the extreme humidity in Alamos during the monsoon season.

I inherited a love and respect for Mexico in general and Alamos in particular from my mother. Consequently, I hope to remain here forever.

Hildred Vogel Aragon. Photo by Marta Reents.

by Marta Reents

Hilde or Hildred Grace Vogel, was born in El Centro, California on the May 14, 1914. She lived in Holtville, Imperial County, California, all of her childhood. She and her mother, Martha, had a small farm there. Her father had deserted her mother before she was born. It was hot—and no air conditioning then. She had to bring water from the nearby canal. After 1930 Hildred moved to Los Angeles where she attended UCLA and majored in art. She received her Bachelor of Arts around 1938. She met my father, Henry Rents, at a German American club. They married in 1939. I was born in 1942. Henry was in the army for World War II and the family moved to South Carolina in 1943. Upon their return to California, Hildred became a well-known ceramist in the San Gabriel area. She specialized in figurines and animals such as quail, various birds and bunnies. She was divorced from Henry about 1946. In 1951 Hildred and I moved to Padua Hills, California where an art colony had formed. Hildred continued her ceramics business and taught ceramics at a local community college.

She moved to Mexico in the mid to late sixties. I don’t know what brought Hildred to Alamos but I know she traveled with a neighbor, Virginia Cole, when she first came. Edith Pratt knows when they came and that they stayed in the Tesoros.

Hildred rented houses at first, then built a wonderful house at #31 Galeana Street. In 1971 Hildred married Gustavo Aragon. Hilde and Gustavo raised goats and Hilde made yoghurt. I remember drinking the goats’ milk from the freezer. She also had several birds in a large cage. She had a beautiful garden there.

While living at the Galeana house, Hilde and Gustavo began a real estate business. They sold homes to Americans including Carrol O’Connor and the Windermans.

Hildred was one of the founders with Elizabeth Nuzum, Teri Hale, Stephanie Meyer, and Joan Winderman of the Las Comadres group, which helps with food and assistance to families in need in Alamos.

Several years later Hildred bought some property in the Aurora neighborhood near the airport. She built a small casita and  planted many crops there. After selling the Galeana house Hildred moved to her little ranch house.

Hildred was active in the Garden Club and had meetings at her little ranch where she showed her beautiful garden. I have seen photos of the flowers she had. She also had raised beds where she grew all her own vegetables. Her pride and joy was her rose garden. The house was small but she added a bedroom and another casita on the far corner of the property. Hildred’s dream was to have retreats there and she had meditation groups on Sundays in her “meditation circle.” Afterwards she served pancakes for all, along with good conversation. I know she had one successful retreat there with friends.

Hilde traveled to India for many years to an Ashram run by Sai Baba. She was very devoted to his teachings and participated in the group meetings in Arizona.

In 1995 Hildred moved to Green Valley, AZ, a retirement community. She still lived in Alamos in the winter and in Green Valley in summer. I brought her to Alamos on short visits until she could no longer travel due to a stroke. She died June 13, 2007 in Tucson, Arizona, at the home of her caregiver. She was 93.

I now own the casita near the airport and visit there whenever I can.

Penny Dubak. Photo by Mick Dubak.

Two days earlier I was a happy camper and the thought of buying a house in Alamos hadn’t entered my head; now, I was having the first temper tantrum of my life. I wanted to buy Casa Colibri and my husband, Mick, who had initiated the idea of purchasing the house, had changed his mind and suggested that we rent.

My story begins in 2008 when we were heading north after spending three enjoyable months traveling in an RV along the west coast of Mexico. We first visited Mexico with our two young sons in 1985 and have returned almost every year since then, spending Christmas at a beach resort on either the west or east coast. This was our first year of camping in Mexico and we were enjoying the freedom to travel to more remote parts of the country and spend time in small non-tourist types of areas getting to know the people and the culture. When a friend suggested that we visit Alamos, a charming colonial town situated in the foothills of the Sierra Madre, we thought that it would be a nice change so we headed east from Navojoa for a short two-day visit.

After travelling over 6000 kilometers in Mexico, we were impressed with the excellent highway into Alamos, the best two-lane highway we had driven in Mexico. As we got closer to the foothills and caught our first glimpses of the Amapa trees in bloom and the spectacular mountains, we marvelled at the beauty of the area. We immediately liked Alamos: the architecture of the buildings, the beautiful setting, and the friendly people. My only disappointment was that the house tours that our friend had told us about were only offered on Saturdays and we had arrived early in the week. I spent two days peaking through every open door and iron gate that I could find. I loved what I could see of the courtyards and portales and was determined that I would return to Alamos another year so that I could go on a house tour.

We returned two years later in the spring of 2010 and were the first to arrive at the meeting place in front of the museum for the Saturday house tour. I fell in love with the beautiful homes, portales, courtyards, and gardens. After the tour, as we were taking a photo of Carroll O’Connor’s house, we spoke to a woman who told us that the house we were looking at had sold recently but if we were interested in buying a house, she had one for sale. It was a beautiful house but too large and expensive for our winter vacation requirements. She took us next door to see her “casita,” and we were both interested. It was rustic and needed a lot of work, but it was charming with a beautiful courtyard, a portal, a great kitchen, and an excellent floor plan. She gave us her realtor’s name and number. Two days later, as we were getting ready to leave Alamos, Mick told me that he was going to phone the real estate agent and ask if we could see the house again.

I asked myself if I would enjoy living in a Mexican casa each winter as much as I had enjoyed living in an RV over the past three winters; the answer was a definite ‘Yes!’ This casa could be my new Class A motor home. We looked at the house again and made the spontaneous decision to make an offer. It was refused but we made another offer later that day while in San Carlos that was accepted. On the return trip to Alamos, Mick was not feeling well and started having second thoughts. Instead of purchasing, he said that it might be wiser to rent. I ignored him and attributed his change of mind to illness. The seller had agreed that we could stay in the house while we were completing the paperwork. We arrived at Casa Colibri and I spent a happy first afternoon and evening getting to know the house. Mick spent the time sick in bed. The next morning I woke him to say that he should get up so that he could sign the papers. He said that there was no need to get up – I could tell the realtor that we had changed our minds and that we were not going to purchase the house after all. I had my temper tantrum. “We have not changed our minds! I WANT THIS HOUSE! If we don’t buy it, I will never look at real estate again! I will not rent! I will not buy a new motor home! This house is the same price as a new motor home!” Needless to say, Mick got up and signed the necessary paperwork with me. I was ecstatic.

We returned to our waterfront home on Vancouver Island and I spent the next several months thinking about and shopping for Casa Colibri. In November, we packed up our van with building materials, tools, small kitchen appliances, electronics, linens, books, food and clothing and returned to Alamos. It was an exciting time and I spent the winter “playing house,” socializing with new friends, taking a Spanish class, dancing Zumba, walking the streets of Alamos, going to History Club, and enjoying the many festivals and social events. Mick spent the time working on the house, practicing his Spanish conversing with workers, and enjoying the social life. We were amazed at the warm welcome we received, the sense of community, and the busy social life.

We are now coming to the end of our second winter in our Mexican home and it has been another wonderful experience. Mick has almost finished the restoration of our casa and we are both very pleased. We have become more involved in the community, supporting and volunteering for fund-raising activities, attending cultural events, lectures, and workshops, joining more clubs and social groups, and getting to know and become friends with more Mexicans.

A highlight of each of the two winters has been visiting the preschool and primary escuelas in La Higuera, a village in the municipality of Alamos. When we first visited the schools with supplies and gifts for the children, we were invited to participate in their Christmas fiesta; a rewarding experience. This past year, we returned with more school supplies and gifts and we are now committed to continuing to support both schools.

As a former educator and active member of college scholarship committees, I am also interested in becoming more involved with the Amigos de Educacion de Alamos. I have started to volunteer for the house tours and plan to continue.

I hope to spend many years living in my beautiful Casa Colibri and being an active member of the community of Alamos.

Jackie Slater. Photo by Joan Gould Winderman.

I flew from Dallas to Mexico City four or five times a month when I was a stewardess with American Airlines. All I had to know how to say in Spanish was “coffee or tea? Blanket, pillow?” After flying for three years, I had to quit because I was getting married. Those were the days when you couldn’t fly if your hair was too long or you were married. Jim and I spent our honeymoon in Acapulco. The groom spoke enough Spanish to get by, so again, I didn’t have to speak Spanish.

For fourteen years I owned a business, Missouri Art and Crafts, in Columbia, Missouri. We renovated one of the oldest buildings in town, an old hardware store. A local Mexican restaurant owner asked me to decorate his restaurant, too. I told him I couldn’t do it unless I went to Mexico. I brought my daughter, Moni, to “translate” and we bought out Tlaquepaque, the wonderful marketplace in Guadalajara! We bought so much we had to rent a station wagon and drive back. That was when there was a peso devaluation and phone strike and I couldn’t contact my mother for ten days. It was an adventure.

Another Missouri Art & Crafts patron arranged for me to teach art during the summers at Camp Perry Mansfield in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. The sound of Soda Creek running below my cabin made my decision to move to the mountains complete.

We loved the winters for many years, but things change, as they do. When Jim’s Alzheimer’s became life changing, it was time to think warmth. Our friend said his mother-in-law had a place in Alamos that was empty. We looked it up on the map. They said don’t drive at night. Then on a dark, wet night in 1990, we drove the last fifty kilometers into Alamos with my youngest son, Randy. As he drove the last leg, he looked over and said to me, “Mother, you don’t know anything about where we’re going, you don’t speak the language, you don’t know anyone there and Dad’s not well.” I said, “Randy, it’s an adventure and he’ll love it!”

We got to the church square and no one was around, not a soul. At last we saw a person! “Donde Cleaverdon,” we asked. “Up the road, next right, ” he said. At the house Pancho opened the gates to a new way of life.

The next year we stayed at the Diaz house where Ramon was the gardener. Not speaking more than a word or two in the same language, Jim and Ramon would still carry on like old buddies putting on masks and laughing. On Saturday mornings Ramon would gather neighborhood kids and bring them to the house for a lesson in something—a basket, pressed flowers, paper-making, beading, who knows. I only had to know a few words; the kids taught me Spanish to go along with my demonstrations. I still have pictures of these kids. Once in awhile, mainly at tianguas on Sunday morning, I will recognize one, all grown up with kids of their own.

Every place you look in Alamos, there is something colorful. When the sun shines on the palm trees, they are silver against the blue sky. Bougainvillea climb over the walls. Yellow or orange cosmos the size of your hand are the colors that mean Mexico to me. I had pressed flowers before and made somewhat of a living creating flower art in Colorado, but this color expanded my source of inspiration. I taught a lot of classes in the colorful courtyards and portales of houses I rented over many years. I taught these classes, and again, my students taught me back. I learned so many little things, so much that I felt I was ready to share by writing a book about everything you’d ever want to know about pressing and what to do with the flowers after they are pressed.

Leno planted lettuce before I even got to winter at Doug’s casa on top of the hill, enough for the crew of workers next door and me to have salad all winter. Of all the wonderful settings for classes, the top of the hill was the best. The kitchen was right there and we always had tea and crumpets. One time just before the Barron’s Ball, we made masks; Joan Mellon made a wonderful one, which she wore to the ball carrying a dozen red roses as Miss America. Ernest lived down the road, also on top of the hill. He had a garden of flowers and at night he would go out and meditate and sing to them. These special flowers I then pressed. That year just added to the ideas and energy for the book. I sat at the big table with a thirty-mile southern view and wrote every day.

Year after year I rented fine houses until finally one day Emily told me about the casa they had for sale. Lupe opened the front door. “Nice,” I said. Then she opened the door to the courtyard. Another adventure started. My granddaughter, Siena, stayed with me for six weeks the next winter when she was six. She spoke about as much Spanish as her Maw, but she, with her smile and “buenas dias” opened new doors.

My Spanish lessons are ongoing. When I appear at the market at the beginning of a season, Jose still will see me coming, hold up an onion and say, “onion!” and I, in turn, will say, “cebolla!” our lesson for the day. Gloria also always has words for me. My neighbors on Rosales have been my best teachers. Feliciano tried his derndest, he with not a word of English—but we laughed a lot. His wife, Virginia’s, garden became my garden when their house went on the market. She transplanted all of her plants into my garden, telling me all of the names. She knitted me a yellow shawl and gave it to me before she left.

It’s not over until it’s over. I would like to know how to philosophize a bit but maybe I’d have too much to say. To my dear Mexican friends, I can only think to say, “no excuses, only muchas gracias and mucho amor.