My mother, Manuela Huerta de Matute, was born of poor Mexican immigrant parents in 1913. Her father, Albino Huerta, had been recruited from Mezquital del Oro, a very small town in Zacatecas, Mexico, to help build the railroads as part of the economic expansion of the American Southwest. He […]

My mother, Manuela Huerta de Matute

Nana’s house was my sanctuary and a sea filled with many loving memories. Her roses in the backyard gave life to the hummingbirds who would stop by and the blackberry tree gave all the grandchildren a mountain to climb.

345 Wooster Avenue

To talk about my history, it’s easy to assume that it starts with me. However, I didn’t make myself so my history starts with my parents.

Del Bajío a la Bahía

She was strong, often silent, cold to caresses. Our home interaction with her was about working at the house, and on Sundays she rewarded me and my 8 brothers with handmade tortillas and salsa from the molcajete. What a joy it was when she was home!


She, my mother, knew that mothers cannot do it on their own; that they need to form armies of shared parenting; that love has to be shared between the children of the earth; and that love we share is involved in the care of every human being.

On the Occasion of May 10th

I remember my grandmother was strong. It was difficult for her to show her feelings since she had participated in the revolution. She had fifteen kids. Of those, most died of hunger and she was left with four.

Pinch of Love

“My Zapotec Goddess”: the woman who gave me life. Thanks to her effort, her struggles and sacrifices I am who I am.

A Zapotec Son

... my family lived in El Salvador and survived the war in the 1980s. She tells me many stories of the violence she saw and about everyone who did not survive... No, I cannot—I cannot imagine being in that position at 15 or 16 years old.

My Mom

I listen for grandma’s voice to echo in my ear. I hope to live long enough to tell my grandchildren about their great-great-grandmother and of all her teachings. And to let my youngest granddaughter know that her name “Echo” comes in honor of my grandmother and our ancestors, who often echo in our ears if we just stand still and listen……

Echoes of Faith