Where Water Meets the Land

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As for the cultural clash, Camille is philosophical: "It doesn't matter what the situation is or how it appears externally. As long as there's an issue, it begins inside me. If I work to save turtles from a place of reaction, I'm creating more reaction. I've got the bellows on the flame. If I come from a place of response - a place of compassion without attachment to outcome - I can make a difference." She points out that clashes can and do happen anywhere, even between ranchers and environmentalists in the American West and in farming communities surrounded by survivalists. "I enjoy the differences here. It's more colorful," she continues. "The language is like a song. The people are alive. There are definitely places here that I prefer to some rural neighborhoods in the U.S.

"Many Americans visit Mexico and can't stand it," she continues, "because it's mañana land, and people don't show up for appointments when they say they will. In New York, people hustle up and clown the streets. Here, they stop and visit on the corner. Americans come and want Mexicans to be like them. But they need to leave behind American expectations and arrogance. This is not the U.S."

LIVING ON THE LAND

Building their home from local timbers and bricks, plus concrete mixed by hand on site was an arduous process. Skilled workers were not an abundant commodity. "It would be good," Steven advises, "to live in an area for awhile before you start building so you'll know who is actually a qualified plumber, not who just claims they are." How much to pay workers was another matter. Camille notes that Americans who live in Mexico and pay the local wage are often criticized for taking advantage of cheap labor. But, she insists, there's a lot more to it than that. "An elderly Mexican rancher came to us and said please don't pay over 50 pesos a day. If you do, the teenage boys won't come out and work for us at the wages we can afford to pay." The Dannuccis weighed all the factors and decided to pay workers 12 to 15 pesos (less than $2) an hour.

Today, the Dannuccis are beginning to harvest the fruit of their physical, emotional and ethical struggles. Before dawn, they wake on the sleeping porch to a rhythmic surge of ocean waves. They light candles and a propane stove, remove goat milk from a propane refrigerator and make cowboy coffee, using water provided by the ejido from a central well. Steven takes a pail and heads for the potrero to milk goats. Cobbled together from local purchases, this herd produces half as much milk as did his New Mexico nubians. Goats in the state of jalisco, explains Steven, are raised for meat. He plans to improve milk production by culling, selective breeding and additional purchases.

Camille opens the back door and feeds mash to a pack of dogs and cats. Grahhing gloves, she walks around the house past a small gray-water pond teeming with tadpoles and tilapia fish. Insects and birds congregate at the pond, which produces a robust crop of flowering hyacinth, a delicacy beloved by ducks. In the rock beds around the house and in the flat, sandy soil next to the beach, they have planted limes, avocados, figs, pistachios, sugar cane and almonds. A white butterfly - its wings large, paperlike and fragile - weaves through banana fronds.

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