Carboncillo was the best place any 9 year old kid would want to live. Set in the mountains of Ecuador, and surrounded by forest and meadows, Carboncillo was a 30 minute drive away from the smallest town, and then another 15 minute walk down the rocky road from where the bus let you off. I remember waking up in the cold cabin room with the amber sun peaking through my window onto my wrinkled, faded sleeping bag. The warmth in the living room would hit me as I walked out of my cold room to the fireplace to warm myself up. Cafe con leche would be heating on the stove, and the smell of eggs and toast would drift past me, drawing me to the kitchen where breakfast was waiting. After breakfast my sister and I would run out to the meadow, the crisp, morning air caressing our faces and hands. The mist would be so thick it was like walking on a thin cloud with the tips of the tallest grass peeking through the the top.
We would run along the clay trail past the creek that emptied into the watering hole where there was buried treasure waiting to be discovered. And that trail would lead us to the endless meadow. The meadow surrounded by hills on all sides but one where the sun set at 6 every day, painting the skies bright colors of orange, yellow, pink, and purple. Our little cowgirl hats would bounce on our heads as we ran through the wide expansion laughing and twirling in the wind. We would take the trail through the S shaped pine tree forest and come out on the other side of the meadow where the horses were tied up. Rolling up the rope into one hand , we would hop on bare back and go wherever the horses took us.
I remember talking about the hard life of a 9 year old kid, not realizing how easy I really had it back then. We would do tricks, my sister and I. We would see who could stand on the horses rump the longest, or who could turn from facing frontward to facing backward while the horse was running. Sometimes the horses would take off running with us on their backs, and we, having no reins, would have no choice but to ride where they took us.
After a full day of riding and exploring new, unfound trails, we would tie the horses back up in the meadow and head back to the cabin, the sun setting behind us. A warm fire would be going when we walked through the door, and dad would be fanning the flames with and old newspaper. We would take our boots off at the door, and hang our soaking wet socks above the fireplace to dry. Mom would be in the kitchen cooking chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches with hot chocolate on the side. After eating, we'd all curl up in the living room where the fire was going, and we would get lost in our books, in the cabin, 15 minutes from the road, where the bus would pick us up the next morning and take us 30 minutes back to the nearest town.
