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Outside of Otavolo lies a a small township, Carabuela. The roads are unpaved, dusty when dry, muddy when wet. Amidst the simple houses of mainly Quechua Indians is a small children’s center that Secondo, a Quechua native runs for children whose parents work long hours of the day. Meg and I were introduced to this center by Karen and Carlos, whose medical and mission skills serve many people and programs from Quito to the coast.
Secondo’s father and mother live in a one room house, smaller than the average American living room. There they cook over a wood fire, wash dishes by hand, sleep, and store their minimal possessions. Their real treasures of heart and love for each and their children are stored in Heaven.
Two years ago, the father also did all his weaving inside the house. Now, his work area has moved outside to a covered shed that is open in the front. He raises the sheep, shears them himself, cards the wool, spins it into yarn, dyes it and then weaves it into a variety of products. I bought an incredible heavy scarf from him. It reminds me of the contrast between his simplicity and my complications.
Day in, day out, he focuses on his wool. I have no idea how long he has been at this work. And, as you can also see,his wife is there with him, in the simple sweetness of companionship. I was truly privileged to be there.
