Hanging On

After we made the decision to head back to Mexico and have our baby there, things fell into place as they usually do once intentions become clear. We found a great family to rent our house, and Mark had so much work thrown his direction that he was able to be choosy about what worked best for our family. As he packed up for one last job in Stanley, Idaho, he simultaneously packed our car like a sardine can. We kissed him goodbye and caught up with him a few days later in Stanley.

Our last day in Missoula--getting some road treats from one of our favorite bakeries.

Our last day in Missoula–getting some road treats from one of our favorite bakeries.

Finalizing the packing and cleaning the house was a huge chore for my 5-months-pregnant self, but it had to be done. It felt really BIG to drive away from Missoula, just Owen and I, knowing that when we returned we’d be a family of four. We made our way to Mark’s hotel and spent a couple of nights there waiting for him to finish. Mark’s schedule is always kind of insane when he’s working, and this was no different. Awake before dark and home after dark, he put in long hours doing hard labor with just enough time at the end of the day to eat, shower and go to bed. So by the time he’d finished his job, he was pretty tired. And I was raring to go.

The view from Mark's hotel room in Stanley, ID.

The view from Mark’s hotel room in Stanley, ID.

Before we’d left Mexico in April, I’d been told by the head of the ‘artesanos’ that if I didn’t return in time for the first market of the season, my spot would go to someone else. “And everyone wants your spot,” he said cryptically in his thick, Chilean accent. I’d nodded back at him, wide-eyed.

I. Would. Not. Lose. My. Spot.

So that meant that we had to book it down to the border to make it back in time. Mark’s project had gone over by a day or two, and there was no time to spare. He was tired with no desire to rush, while I was a wound up pregnant woman about to move to Mexico. We clanged against each other for the first day or two on the road. Actually, I just clanged against him.

2013-10-28 08.11.35

Nevada. Love driving through Nevada!

When we finally crossed the border into Mexico and arrived at the visa office, we were right on track to make it back in time for the first market. But then it all went to hell when we realized that we didn’t have our car registration. Who doesn’t have their car registration in their car, like, all the time? Us, apparently. Our nomadic lifestyle had caught up with us, and neither of us could recall what we’d done with the registration. I had a vague, dim memory of possibly throwing it in the trash after peeling off the sticker and putting it on our license plates. The visa office didn’t care about our sticker—no registration, no car permit. Adios, amigos.

At this point, all of my exhaustion, anxiety and freakishness came to a head, and I burst into tears in the parking lot. Then Owen started crying. It was no bueno. Some locals saw the commotion and asked if they could help. They offered to make it happen for us. We just needed to give them some pesos, and they’d meet us at the OXXO convenience store right down the road with our paperwork. We hesitated for a second, thinking that maybe this would be the quick fix that we needed. Then a police truck rolled into the parking lot, and our helpers all scattered. One of them chatted with the police and returned to our car to ask if we wanted to do it. “No, gracias,” was our reply. Seemed just a tad too sketchy. So back across the border we went. We got a hotel room and arranged to have our registration overnighted from the fine people at the Missoula County Courthouse. We rested. It was glorious to be forced to slow down.

Entering the oasis of San Carlos on our first night back in Mexico.

Entering the oasis of San Carlos on our first night back in Mexico.

Once we had the registration in hand, things went more smoothly in every way. Except we’d had our car A/C fixed right before leaving Missoula, and it wasn’t working. As we headed into southern Sinaloa with our windows down and sun beating in on my side of the car, I wondered if I might die of heat stroke. All of the sudden, the heat became too much, and I begged Mark to pull over ASAP. He pulled over under an overpass, and I jumped out and dumped water on my head as if my hair were on fire. Since the sun was only beating down on my side of the car, I took over driving for a bit to get a break from it. Thankfully, the sun hid behind the clouds for the rest of our trip to Sayulita.

Owen making the most of a hot and windy car ride. Such a trooper.

Owen making the most of a hot and windy car ride. Such a trooper.

We arrived in the dark after our longest and hottest day of driving and pulled up to Tacos on the Street to eat. We called my new friend, Leia, who I’d only met online, to get the keys to our place. I’d met her on a Facebook group called Sayulita People when I was asking around about having a baby in Sayulita. She’d responded with great info, and we’d developed an email friendship. I brought her some things down from the States, and she’d checked out our house in Sayulita to make sure it was okay to rent. She was hugely pregnant and due in 2 weeks when I met her for the first time on that hot and humid night.

Leia, the most lovely surprise of a friend, with baby Evelyn.

Leia, the most lovely surprise of a friend, with baby Evelyn.

We found our place in the dark and opened the gate. It immediately felt amazing and like we’d hit the jackpot. We peeked inside and all let out huge sighs of relief. Yes, we could live here. It would be just fine. It was laid out like a studio, with a half wall separating the living area from the bedroom and one king-sized bed for all of us. But it would work.

Baby on board.

Baby on board.

During the first week, the mosquitos found Owen and were well-fed. The ticks found Rosie, too. It became the norm to pick up to 40 ticks off of her per night. Owen’s scratching led to the common (here) and annoying staph infection on his legs. It is a pain the butt to deal with, and all the tea tree oil in the world won’t beat it. Believe me, we tried everything. As the staph infection peaked, so did a fever and crazy rash. It came on in the middle of the night and had us worried, so we took him to his new pediatrician the next day.

The rash. Yikes.

The rash. Yikes.

It ended up being just a common (to here) virus, but the whole welcome-back-to-sayulita-here’s-a-staph-infection-and-scary-rash experience had me seriously questioning what I’d gotten my pregnant self into. To say that I felt vulnerable is an understatement. And if I’d known in that moment what was coming down the pipe, I’m fairly certain I would’ve packed my bags and headed home.





Last summer, we were living in a month-to-month rental in Missoula with every intention of returning to Mexico for the winter when we found out that I was pregnant. Suddenly, everything was up in the air. Should we have the baby in Mexico? Should we stay in Missoula, ‘settle down’ and live a ‘normal’ life? What would it be like to give birth in Mexico? Would we be able to keep working south of the border with a newborn? How would we feel if we gave up on our dreams?

Mark, Owen and Rosie at Rattlesnake Creek shortly after returning to Montana.

Mark, Owen and Rosie at Rattlesnake Creek shortly after returning to Montana.

Before finding out that I was pregnant, I’d made a little list of goals for the summer. Number one on the list was ‘Apply for Mexican temporary resident visas.’ This would allow us to stay south of the border for a full year instead of just 6 months on a tourist visa. After moving back to Montana for the summer, we were all realizing just how stressful it was to find housing and make a living in two different places. Acquiring the resident visas would also be the first step toward working legally in Mexico. While researching how to do this, I quickly realized that our family didn’t qualify. Mexico had just changed the requirements, so as a family of three we would have to show around $3000/month coming into our account in the States even while in Mexico. We have rental income from renting our house, but it sure isn’t $3000! I asked two different attorneys—one in Mexico and one in the States—and both confirmed it. I really didn’t want to return to Mexico again and work with just a tourist visa and have to cross a border after six months with a 2-month-old baby, a 6-year-old and a dog. So that decided it. We were staying. It was heartbreaking, but it seemed to make sense.

Owen and Rosie on Waterworks Hill in Missoula.

Owen and Rosie on Waterworks Hill in Missoula.

In the midst of all of this, we started putting out feelers to find a full-time, year-round job for Mark. He hadn’t had a ‘real’ job since 2010 when he’d quit as General Manager of the Western Montana Grower’s Cooperative to build our house. Since then, he’d been piecing things together, working seasonally doing ecological restoration to allow for our winter escapes south of the border. On one particularly fear-filled day, I approached someone to inquire about work with their business. Talk turned to meetings, and meetings turned to a sweet job offer. After much hand-wringing and discussion, we decided that he should take the job.

When I think back on last summer, I remember lots of stress. But there was also lots of this.

When I think back on last summer, I remember lots of stress. But there was also lots of this.

Before leaving Mexico, I had applied to be a permanent vendor at a market in La Cruz de Huanacaxtle. At the time, I considered it to be The Best Market in the Bay of Banderas. While we were trying to make the decision about the job offer, I kept saying, “I wish I could find out about the market before we decide anything.” Well, two days after Mark accepted the job, I heard that I’d been given a spot in the market. This alone was amazing news. But on the exact same day, I shot an email to my attorney contact in Mexico asking if having our baby in Mexico would change anything regarding the visa situation. “Absolutely” was the answer. She would be a dual citizen, and we could apply for residency without any problems. Unbelievable. I. Was. Giddy. But shit! Now what?! I knew what it all meant. It was crystal clear to me what it all meant. We should go to Mexico. But we didn’t decide to go for it overnight. Because staying in Montana seemed like the safe choice, the responsible choice. Maybe even the best choice.

Owen at Holland Lake with his boogie board.

Owen at Holland Lake with his boogie board.

Mark’s job wasn’t to begin for a few weeks, and this turned out to be a blessing and a curse. It meant that we had time to waffle back and forth and drive ourselves crazy trying to make a decision. It was one helluva summer and fall. Owen started Kindergarten to ‘see how it felt.’ (It felt okay.) We put our house on the market to ‘see how it felt.’ (It felt bad.) We decided to move back into our house to ‘see how it felt’. Well, on the night that we moved back in, I stared at the walls of the house that we’d planned for and built and painted and at the concrete floors that I’d stained and sealed and thought, ‘This isn’t enough.’ It wasn’t the bright colors of Mexico. Or the endless sunshine. Or the amazing street tacos. Or the smiles of Mexican strangers. Or the ocean waves or the beach or my son boogie boarding or the locals touching his ‘recitos de oro’ (golden curls). It wasn’t exciting or exotic or interesting. It was nice and comfortable but not right.

The house.

The house.

Mark was simultaneously having a very different experience. After living in other houses and apartments for two summers, he was falling back in love with the solid, near-perfect house that he’d built with his own two hands. And who could blame him? He started talking about how the new job would allow us to _______________________ (fill in the blank) while I was wondering if the new job might get us stuck. There is nothing wrong with living that way: working 9-5, kids in school, etc. Unless you don’t want it. But I was also appreciating how we could have a nice little routine in Missoula for the first time in years. For the 8 years that we’d lived at 428 and 434 N. 1st St. W., we’d worked our tails off renovating the old house and building the new one while juggling jobs, a baby and all of the rest that life brings. Now, if we stayed, we could live more freely with just a job and no house projects. That sounded pretty sweet.

Owen and Rosie on Waterworks Hill in Missoula.

Owen and Rosie on Waterworks Hill in Missoula.

But then I started really taking stock. I imagined my days: Mark would go off to work all day. Owen would go to school all day. I would spend my days home alone with a new baby and maybe try to fit it my art. That didn’t sound like the worst thing in the world by a longshot, but it sounded damn lonely. We’d just spent a couple of years being together as a family like never before, living the life that we wanted and I wasn’t ready for that to change. Not yet anyway. One night it just all came together. I said to Mark, “You can go to work all day every day building someone else’s business and being away from your family. Or you can work with me growing OUR business, have whatever schedule you like and be with your family whenever you want.” That made things pretty darn crystal clear. We both knew then that we had to go for it. So he turned down the job. It felt exhilarating and scary and crazy. And really, really good.

And so we started packing.

I’m Serious

I’m preoccupied these days. A major shift has occurred that, while not taking us completely by surprise, has made us surprisingly confused about the future. I’m pregnant. I was going to try to write a post about something else, because you’re not supposed to tell people that you’re pregnant when you’re early in your pregnancy. Right? But I couldn’t keep it a secret with #1, and I can’t with #2. It’s a really big deal, and I can’t pretend that nothing major is happening in my body right now. It kind of consumes my every waking thought.

baby owen

Minutes after Owen was born in our bedroom.

It is consuming my every thought, because The Plan was to return to Mexico in early November. And now, if all goes well, The Plan is to give birth in February in either Mexico or Montana. So here we are, trying to sort out our feelings and goals and concerns and dreams and see what shakes out in the end. I wish it were an easy decision. I really do. And maybe it will become an easy decision soon. But right now, I’m thrilled to be expanding our little family and utterly conflicted about what that means as far as Pursuing An Art Business In Mexico goes. It’s kind of a win-win situation, right? Mexico vs. Montana. Except that we were on this trajectory…

My fear is that all of this momentum that we created last winter will disappear if we don’t return. What if that’s it? What if we don’t make it back? On the other hand, I fear that I’ll underestimate what a Big Deal it is to give birth and care for a newborn and be sleep-deprived and that I’ll end up feeling overwhelmed in a foreign country with no family in sight. But then I think about the fish tacos at Bicho’s, and it’s like, who cares?! And I’m being totally serious! They’re that good.


This is making me drool!

I’ve already begun doing research on birthing down there: options, pricing, what to expect. Mark and I had an all-day discussion on Father’s Day as we drove a long loop from Missoula up Rock Creek, over to Philipsburg and back to Missoula, with some fishing and picnicking mixed in. It was perfect for talking it out. He’s torn, too.

owen with bubbles

Owen and his friend on Owen’s birthday in 2012.

So this is the very unexpected and exciting next chapter in our story. We’d been trying for another baby off and on since we first went to Mexico in the summer of 2011. The fact that it worked–finally–is a bit of a surprise! We told Owen recently, and he kept asking, “Are you serious?” over and over and over again. He was stunned, to say the least. I can’t even imagine what is going on in that sweet brain of his, but my guess is that he’s excited and confused, too.

Yes, honey, I’m serious.

A Long Story


One of my favorite things about Mexico.

Back in 2004, my husband and I bought our first house. It was an old fixer-upper that my mom, upon seeing it for the first time, referred to as a tear-down. Another friend referred to it as a shack. They were both kind of right. Let’s just say it had good bones. Being do-it-yourselfers to the extreme, we decided that we would tackle this sad, neglected home and bring it back to life. Holy hell, if we’d known what we were getting into…

I’ll narrow the gruesome details down to this: I was almost killed by a pile of bricks. Our infant was almost killed by infant botulism. We barely took any time off. When my dad passed away from cancer, I had to go to his funeral alone because our house didn’t have a roof on it. I gutted our living room when I was 8 months pregnant. My husband put a nail through his hand on his birthday and then called me at work to ask me to Google it. (“Google what exactly,” I asked. “Nail through hand,” he replied.) At 9 months pregnant, I couldn’t find our mailbox. I went out to the front porch (wearing an oversized shirt with a big grease patch on the front from the Weleda belly oil I was using) yelling, “Hon, where the heck is the mailbox?!” And then I realized that an entire university class was standing in front of our house, on a tour of our historic neighborhood. Enough said. It was hard. For seven years, it was really, really hard. (And sometimes really, really funny.)

Owen infant

The very best thing that happened in the old house: the birth of our son.

Oh–but then! We weren’t yet finished with the house, and we decided to divide our property and build a NEW house! Yes! Financially, it would be great! Right?! Mark would build it with our builder friends, I’d be the general contractor, no problem. So we put the old house on the market (For Sale By Owner, of course) and began building the new one. And our dog had puppies. And I had an in-home daycare. And…well, you get the picture. It was bloody insane.

New House

The house that we built.

Okay, so this is all sounding really negative…and that is so not the point. But this is the back story. And the back story is relevant. Soooooo relevant. Because after 8 years of caring about houses and working on houses, we were so sick of houses! So. Sick. Of. Them. Seriously, it’s kind of amazing how much energy we can put into our homes. But that’s another story. So we sold the old house just in the nick of time and then finished the new one. We’d already decided, Forget this. Let’s just rent it out. This brand-new house that we’d made just right, just perfect for our little family…we didn’t give a rip about it anymore. We were so burned out. Fried. Disturbed. American Dream? What?! Whatever!

So as we were finishing the last details–literally out the back door–our renters were moving in the front door. And just like that, we had no home, no jobs, no schedules.

Owen sleeping in carseat

I remember crying as I took this picture. We were so fried as we drove out of town.

We had a bit of cash from selling our house. Not a ton, but enough. We decided to travel around Montana for a bit…unwind. We were so tired. So tightly wound. We needed space and time to make decisions. So we went to Yellowstone and Chico Hot Springs. It was a wonderful trip in so many ways. But I couldn’t sleep well, because we were camping in grizzly bear country. I’m terrified of grizzly bears.
(One time a naturopath asked if I had any irrational fears, and I said, “Well, I’m terrified of grizzly bears.” And she said, “That’s not irrational.” Thank you, naturopath.) So then the conversation turned to whether we should buy a rig that we could sleep in or just fly to Mexico.

While we’d been working on the old house, we’d spent evenings watching travel videos. We must’ve watched every Lonely Planet video that our library had. It was so far out of our reach at the time, but we talked about it and dreamed about it and made it our goal. We would travel. Someday.

So here we were. We had time and a little money and no plans. Like, none. So we booked a flight to Puerto Vallarta and ended up in Sayulita, Mexico, in August of 2011. Friends had told us about it, and it sounded good. It was good. It was soooooo good. We stayed for 5 weeks and had an amazing place all to ourselves. We did nothing but eat, swim, sleep, hang out, eat, and swim. And sweat. We did a lot of that. It was heavenly for our family. We’d never been anywhere like that or done anything like that for THAT long.

First family beach shot

This picture really captures the feeling. Amazing!

On our last night in Sayulita, we met a family that we’d seen around town. Our kids hit it off, we hit it off and we spent the next 24 hours together. It was a love affair. They’d sold everything they owned in Sweden and bought a sailboat 2 years prior. They’d been sailing ever since. Their story was super inspiring. They were living there temporarily, and I swore we’d return. ASAP.

Rosanna & crew

We fell in love with this family of sailors. Almost missed our flight home!

We went back to Montana after that, moved into the new house and Mark went back to work doing environmental restoration. We’d both done this work in the past–before having a child–and it’s a flexible schedule along with pretty good pay. It’s seasonal work, so Mark worked that October and November. During those two months, I had vivid dreams about Sayulita. I just knew that we had to return. It seemed crazy at times since we’d just been there, but the story just didn’t seem over yet.

We drove back down in January. Our new friends were still there, and our days revolved around the beach, our friends and food. That was about it. We couldn’t really afford this trip but once we’d made the decision to go, miracle money appeared. It just worked out. This became the norm: follow your heart and doors will open.

We spent 3 months in Mexico that winter. It was amazing, and I knew once again that we’d be back.


Owen and his buddy having a little piece of heaven.

We returned to Missoula and picked up the odd housesitting gig. Mark returned to the seasonal work. I decided that since the universe seemed to provide when we asked for something specific, I’d ask for something really specific: I wanted a free place to live in Missoula. One night, while looking for a more permanent (than housesitting) place to live, I found a caretaking opportunity on Craigslist. I emailed immediately, and we were picked out of over 70 others to be the caretakers of a property with 10 horses and an enormous garden. In exchange for 12 hours of work per week, we lived there for free for the entire summer. Well, maybe it’s true that nothing is ever truly ‘free’. Things with the arrangement went south in the fall, and after a very difficult couple of weeks, we decided that being freed up to return to Mexico was just fine. We drove back down in January.


The amazing view at our caretaking gig.

This time, prior to leaving, I told all of our friends and family pretty much the same thing: “We really can’t afford this trip at all, but we have the time to do it…and we don’t know if we’ll always have the time…so, we’re doing it.” It was really, REALLY crazy out there to do what we did. But a few weeks before departing, someone backed into our old 1992 Subaru and the insurance company gave us a check to fix our car. My husband fixed it instead, and we knew we at least had the money to get there!

My loose plan was to sell my art in Mexico. See how it went. I take artsy photos when I’m there, and then I transfer them onto wood. I found the technique while looking for something else online, and I was hooked. We really, really needed to make money somehow while we were there, and I felt good about trying it out. I figured I’d just set up on the street with the other artisans and see how it went.

Photo Transfer Alamos

An example of my art: I take photographs and transfer them onto wood.

The first week, it went shitty. I can’t even remember exactly what happened. But it felt overwhelming and someone told me I needed a different kind of visa and my pictures turned out weird from the print shop and all kinds of other small things that can overwhelm a person following a crazy dream happened. And then we ran into a woman on the beach in Sayulita. All she said was, “Sayulita has a way of providing.” That was it. But it gave me hope. Prior to that, I’d told Mark that it seemed like the universe was telling me to quit. It was too hard; it should be easier. Without missing a beat, he said, “The universe isn’t telling you to give up. It wants to know how badly you WANT this.” Yeah, my husband rocks. He’s always had this Following Your Bliss thing down–don’t worry be happy, listen to your heart, follow it. Always. That’s one of the reasons I fell in love with him. Not a fearful bone in his body. And when you’re around someone like that for long enough, it rubs off on you. Thank goodness.

Mark Rosie Coffee

My inspiring husband with our new Mexican mutt, Rosie.

Okay, so long story short (ha), after that first week, things went really, REALLY well. It blew our minds. It was the most amazing experience in so many ways. A truly cultural experience where I was this gringa from Montana selling my art among these beautiful, talented, Mexican artesanos. They saw me out there, right along side them, at market after market. And I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was gaining their respect. We were all in the same boat…trying to feed our families and putting ourselves out there day after day with a smile and faith. It. Was. Amazing. And then something else happened that I wasn’t expecting. I met some other gringas and senoras who were doing what I was doing, only better. They helped me so much and inspired me to no end. Every step of the way, I was helped by someone who just wanted to help. Every step. Log hearts We were crazy busy down there, but we did it. We totally did it. It was probably the most empowering thing I’ve ever done. And we can’t wait to go back.


Mexican ceramic plate

Love the bright colors at the markets!

One warm March morning, I set up my art display at a new market in Sayulita. It was the first day of its existence, and no one knew what to expect. I was already selling at four other markets, but this one was literally steps from our door. I wasn’t sure where to set up, so I ended up on the very edge of the market. I was the only non-Mexican selling there, and I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. It turned out to be a painfully slow morning. No one in town knew about this new market, so very few people came by to shop.

While I waited patiently to see if anyone would come by, I noticed two Mexican women approach my stand. I recognized them from the market—they were vendors, too, and were set up near me. They must be looking for a way to pass the time, I thought. They stood in front of my display and stared. “Muy bonito. Muy bonito!” One of them picked up a small, square picture that I’d taken of a statue of Christ in a cemetery. It was an image that resonated with tourists and Mexicans alike, but I hadn’t sold a single one since I’d started selling my art two months earlier.

Christ in a cemetary

The image that capitaved their hearts.

She looked at it lovingly and again said, “Muy bonito.” She may have asked, “Cuanto cuesta?” I don’t remember. In that moment, I instantly decided to do some giving. “Regalo,” I said. Remembering that I had the same piece in a larger size, I pulled it out from the back of my display to show her. I waited to see what she thought of this larger piece and judging by the look on her face, she loved it. “Regalo.” She looked at me in disbelief. “Si, regalo,” I said. I pulled out a similar picture for the other woman. “Regalo.” They stared at their pictures, looking back at me with the most loving eyes. “I will put this above my bed for protection,” one said. They cradled the pictures in their arms like newborn babies saying, “Muchas gracias,” over and over again as they walked away. A third woman, having seen what had just gone down, approached. I offered her the small, square picture, and she happily walked away with it.

Later that day, one of the original women returned and handed me something wrapped in paper. She said only, “Regalo,” and walked away. It was a brightly hand-painted sun made out of a coconut. I loved it. That day, I sold only three tiny pictures to a tourist family and made maybe $18, but I packed up my things with a full heart and a big smile on my face.

Painted Mexican art

This is similar to what I was gifted.

Later that week, I was selling at my favorite market, the Mercado del Pueblo in Sayulita. I wandered over to look at my neighbor Memo’s jewelry. We’d become buddies, and I loved how he was always smiling and content. I tried on a ring with a symbol of the circle of life, and it fit perfectly. Admiring it on my finger, I asked, “Cuanto cuesta?”

“For you, regalo,” he replied.

“No! Necesitas dinero.”

“Regalo. Regaaaaaalo,” he said smiling.

I looked at him and hesitated for a second, really wanting to give him something for his work.

“Regalo,” he said again. “Some things matter more than money.”

What could I say? I knew exactly what he meant. I knew he needed to give it to me, so I let him. I pulled my hand up to my heart and thanked him.

Hearts painted on a tree

Sayulita, full of creativity, love and open hearts.

Over the next few weeks, I watched the circle of positivity and giving go round and round. Someone would give to me or some amazing thing would happen, and then I’d feel fueled to give back to someone, anyone! At one point, I offered a discount to two different people because they bought more than one piece. This was a standard thing for me to do. BOTH people paid me the full price instead.

The flow of giving and receiving was humbling and exhilarating and amazing. I’d never witnessed or been a part of such instant karma (or whatever you want to call it) as I was during those last weeks in Sayulita. I think I’m addicted. 😉