Where we belong

It has become a tradition for me to go every November to see the flower fields in Cholula, my home town. In Mexico, we have the festivity Día de Muertos, the day when we remember our loved ones who has passed away and celebrate death as a friend who is part of everyones life.

In this festivity we use a lot this flower called Cempasúchil, witch are in different and bright colors. Their smell is strong and nostalgic.

As I visited this flower fields with my friend Irene. We walked pass a man who told us that the next day would be the day to pick the flowers to sell them in the market. I couldn't loose the opportunity to document it.

The next day I woke up early and went to the flower fields, to find the men and his family starting early the job of piking the flowers that would take the entire day. It was a cloudy and hot day. At first they invited me to pick up flowers with them, and before I grabbed my camera and started taking photos, I started to pick up the flowers they where cutting. Two of them where cutting the roots, while the other ones where gathering the flowers in heaps.

The family was joyful and happy with their family business. The head father told me a short story about the history of his family having this flower field for generations and planting different kind of flowers. I talked with the daughter about her study plans. She was a really smart girl and felt really enthusiastic about studying political science by the next year.

As I started to feel more unnoticed and comfortable I took my camera out and asked permission to take them photos. They felt so comfortable with me walking around with my camera, I felt part of their family, part of their everyday life, even thought I didn't knew almost anything about them. I didn't knew their fears, their worries, their dreams. I was part of their life just for one day, and suddenly I felt special and honored.

The weather was changing every hour. It could feel really hot and suddenly the sky would fall down in water, refreshing their bodies and moods. The weather could change but they would continue working. They had a duty to accomplish.

After some hours of shooting photos, picking flowers, having small conversations and an proposition from the mother to meet again his son and get married, I went home with a strong smell of flowers all over my clothes and a smile on my face. I didn't saw again the family, but the memories from that day remind on the photos.

Sometimes I get amazed by the stories and lives you can find in strangers.