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Showing posts with label spiritual. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spiritual. Show all posts

Saturday, August 20, 2016

San Juan Midwife






Crucifix belonged to Polonia Montanez

San Juan Capistrano Midwife

The blister on her left hand bleeds on the slath. Rods and weavers form the crucifix constructed from willow and native grass. Doña Polonia Guiterrez Montanez (Canedo and Simard) waits for labor of the girl on the cot to hasten. Doña puts the cross in progress on the night table.
"I'm adding oak to the stove outside, I'll be right back."
"Hurry before the next pain comes, or I will die." 
"He watches over us, pray to his mother Mary."
Doña trims sprigs of black and blue cohosh from hemp string bunches of herbs. Flowers and leaves smash in a mortar. Herbs turn to malachite green mush. Then she carries the ball of moss to the fire outside. Add a log, and place the herbs into a iron pot hanging over the fire. Water bubbles over the iron. It spits as the tincture dunks. Aroma of smoking sage fills the air. Doña allows the medicine to steep. She returns to the girl.
Inside the girl's legs prop on the hammock. In the darkness her limbs are the color of roasted chestnut.
"Sit forward, I'll massage your back."
As the girl  leans forward, Doña times stimulation of energy pathways with the return of the spasms. Doña hums. Her hands sand the sharpness of pain.

She sings the responsorial psalm, "Cuenten las Maravillas del Señor."

The girl screams.
"Don't waste energy. Let me see if it's time to push."
The midwife pulls up the girl's gown. She holds the legs wide. The opening is the size of a silver dollar.
"Next contraction we push. Breathe now."
The girl inhales with a whistling sound  through the gap in her front teeth. Doña brings the clean towels closer. She mops the brow of the Indian girl.
"Will the Padre take my baby?" Tears are in her eyes.
"No. We know what the soldier did." 
The wave of contraction returns. Doña props the girl upright to use gravity. 
"Make long good pushes. Don't yell or speak. Bear down."
The girl's face reddens. She grunts.

"A breath. Now push more. Almost."
The girl leans back. She rests. In a minute the urge to push out the pain returns. The girl lifts up. With Doña's coaching, the head comes out from the womb. Doña holds the neck of the baby as the girl relaxes before the next contraction. Cramps return with force to push the shoulders, and a wet child is born. Doña cleans the infant's mouth and eyes. 
The girl, a child herself reaches out  to hold the infant. Doña places the cooing baby on her chest.
"Let me put your son in a clean blanket. Let us pray in thanksgiving for a healthy child."
As the two rest, Doña finishes creating the straw and willow crucifix. She hangs Christ upon the wall above and blesses herself.

(The cross remains in her humble house in Old Towne San Juan.)


Caroline Gerardo
copyright August 20, 2016




Polonia was one of a few midwives at the San Juan Capistrano Mission. It is said she created rain from prayer during the drought. Oh how we could find such a talent today.  She taught the native children at the mission. This woman out lived four husbands (Simard - the last was a Medical Doctor who lived to the age of 103) She practiced healing arts with native herbs. If you have any artifacts or information about her family the Heritage Society, and myself would be proud to record more facts.



Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Saint Patrick’s Cathedral Sending A Message

stpat'scatheralphotograph Copyright Caroline Gerardo March 2011
see the lower left corner candle holder that popped and the fuzzy color image above, I swear it was focused by a leprechaun fixed it.

Saint Patrick’s cathedral on the walk to MOMA. We walked in to say a prayer for his holiday tomorrow. The church looks lovely. Men were buslting about with flower arrangements. Carson and Blair wandered from me and I found myself in front of St. Pat’s painting and a tiny relic of him in a Waterford cross. I am pretty tiny, but a lady half my size and wearing a beret stood close smiling.


“He’s looking wonderful today. I think he’s smiling at you.”

“Oh not at me, I said a prayer for the police officers outside for a peaceful day tomorrow.”

“Our beautiful Patrick.” The woman is clearly a regular parishioner.

At the same second the one of the green glass offering candles pops. Neither of us stood near the rack of candles. Pieces of green fall like music on the marble floor.

“See he sent you a spiritual message.”

“I think he heard me.”

She squeezed my hand and brushed the broken pieces under the rack. Before I could ask her name, she disappeared. I turned around to see both my teenagers holding arm and arm across the pews. The church is quiet, only the bustle of the workers with the flowers, a few viewers and a sprinkling of sleeping homeless are breathing softly protected from the rain.

It was my little miracle today. It is not green beer. I will not be me with glowing green lights on a headdress tomorrow. We may watch a little on 5th Avenue but Saint Patty he gave me a little special treat today. I hope he will bring you some too.