When we would visit their farm, we would always have a huge gathering. My uncle and the other men would stand outside around the flame, manning the Disco to cook the meat. They would cook down bacon, ground beef, steak, onions, and bright green jalapeños. The smell of the rendered fat and the roasting peppers would drift across the entire yard. Meanwhile, my aunt and the women would be inside the house, prepping all the fresh vegetables, warming the tortillas, and chatting in the kitchen.

While the adults cooked, us boys were riding around on four-wheelers or trying to get into trouble otherwise. I always loved having my cousin, who was my age, drive me around their sprawling farmland. He would point out exactly what they were growing in the desert soil, showing me acres upon acres of soya beans, peanuts, and massive watermelons. The environment was so alive. It was loud, it was messy, it was vibrant, and it was deeply, fundamentally joyful.