LEFTOVERS!

Last week, some friends from school invited us to travel by bus to the base of the active volcano, Tungurahua.  Hoping to get some "friendship-building time" and some photos of an active volcano, we quickly accepted.
After an 80 cent, two-hour bus ride, we arrived at Peulo, literally at the end of the line in the High Sierra Andes.  Isolated and silent, this was no tourist spot.  A motley crew, two English-only speakers, four Spanish-only speakers (Leda, the grandmother, her two grandchildren, and her daughter-in-law) and one fairly-fluent English speaker, Margarita, we soon discovered we were visiting Leda's sprawling acreage at the very base of Tungurahua.  Leda doesn't live here any longer because in 2010 Tungurahua erupted, destroying most of the village of Peulo and depositing an ash that would stunt fruits and crops.  But, she comes back frequently, not to stay, but to check on her vacant house and fields.
We followed her across dead corn fields and through groves of trees that suspended blackened nutshells and stunted apples.  Margarita explained that few people remain in the area because they are afraid of an imminent eruption.  Leda loved being here.  She loved telling us about the property and her life 'before" and seemed to proudly embrace the "leftovers;" her leftover land, lifestyle, and livlihood.

The volcano had left her something, and we sensed that she loved the present.  She loved being there, crossing her fields, climbing over fences; grandchildren trailing along, all of us trailing along!  Leftovers, which remind us of who we are now because of what we were once upon a time, are important.  They store information about our past, or, at least, indicate what had been.
She showed off a few raspberries, cabbages, and cracked open dried peas in a pod.  She loved being here with her leftovers. This was a fine day.  She had "leftovers" and was grateful.  Tungurahua stayed hidden for hours, but as we started down an isolated road toward the Town Center, she showed her icy self, just a tiny bit.  "Ah," they said, "she likes the Americanos!"
Five hours and one mean thunderstorm later, the bus arrived 45 minutes late to carry us back to Riobamba.
We got home that evening, grateful for a trip with spectacular views and with a new appreciation of the value of "leftovers," presented to us through friendship.

"They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over."  Somebody important thought leftovers were valuable!