Walking narrow cobblestone streets in San Miguel de Allende, hemmed in by ten-meter lot-line walls and exhaust-belching busses, I miss the nurture of the natural world. For relief, we visited the country home of our friend, Miriam.

Many years ago, a prescient ancestor bought a few acres of creekside land not too far from town. Her family held onto the property, passing it down through the generations.

(Mexican people hang onto their land. After all, real estate offers lasting value, unlike the oft-devalued peso.)

Miriam sought refuge from Mexico City. She moved onto the old land and built a small, charming house.

Throw in a few chickens, and this place could be my childhood home in rural New Jersey.

A grassy path winds through huizaches and nopales. Fifty meters from the house a casita provides quarters for guests.

The dry laid stone walls of the original cabin crumble under the weight of time and weather. Grandpa used to vacation here, finding renewal in nature before returning to smog and big city traffic.

A gate made of site-grown mesquite and carrizo leads to a vacant field. Weathered wood and stone are organic: a natural part of the countryside.

Shaded by a large tree, a garden makes a pleasant place to enjoy the smell of blooming plants, to feel soft breezes, to listen to birdsong.

I sat here for hours listening to Laura, Miriam, and her sister speaking softly in Spanish. I caught maybe half of what they said and offered the occasional awkward comment. Toward evening, creek frogs started up, staccato croaks punctuating our conversation.

Nature and serenity in the country. Culture and stimulation back in town. Miriam chooses one, we the other. That she invites us to the other side is a blessing.