At 27, Rene alrady had four children, one boy and three girls. Her son was actaully the young guide who had escorted us to the horses. I told her I was surprised that at her age she already had four children, some of which were already in their teens. She told me it was nothing, and informed me that she was one of eleven in her family, aparently not all from the same mother, and her husband was one of twelve. Sounded more like a litter than a family. She laughed and agreed, telling me that the younger generations were not surrounding themselves in as many children as their parents and grandparents once did. "It´s too hard to take care of all of them," she said. There is an obvious equilibrium between having enough hands earning a living to provide for the family unit, and just too many mouths to feed. It seems as if the number to reach that equilibrium has been decreasing over the years. This may mean one of two things: families may be earing more per person, making it easier to gain a living wage. Contrastly, it may mean that money is so scarce, even with the addition of more viable labor within the family, there is not enough to go around. I sincerely hope, for the sake of Rene, and people like her, that it is no longer necessary to birth entire soccer teams in order to put food on the table, due to an increase in the standard of living.

As we rode we passed other groups of horseback riders. The guide from each group we passed waved to our group and exchanged unhurried but short conversations with Rene. As we distanced ourselves from each group she would inform us of how she was inevitably related to them. "That´s my brother that just passed us." What number sibling was he, I wondered. "See that woman half way up the valley grazing those two horses?" We all leaned over the cliff as our horses trotted on beneath us, and saw a dot of a woman leading two horses into a fenced-in pasture by their bridles. "She´s my half sister." It began to seem that everone conected to a horse on this hillside was related to our guide. I asked her about this and she told me the history of her grandparents.

A few generations ago her family had owned quite a few horses, the exact number had escaped her. They were one of the prominent horse owning and trail guiding families in Banos, of which there were only a few. Unfortunately, due to the country´s history of economic problems, they were forced to choose between keeping their horses, or selling them while they were still worth some money. In order to continue to put food on the table they sold what had defined their family for genterations. Their horses were bought and taken to other cities around Ecuador, and her family was now relegated to working for larger tour companies as guides, who had no claim to the horses themselves. She told me she wished they could still afford the horses themselves, but said the economy was still too unforgiving.

I told Rene that last night we had taken a tour to the volcano Tungurahua to watch it erupt. She asked if we saw any explosins, and I told her we had, but they were relatively small, and not very frequent. She was genuinely glad we had been able to witness the eruptions at night, as the lack of light allowed the molten red rocks to glow like neon.

She told us a story that took place in 1999, when Tungurahua, the volcano that provides Banos with its mineral enriched thermal baths, had threatened to boil over and decimate the entire city of Banos that had grown at its Andean base. She told us the military ordered a general evacuation of the town and of the homesteads around it, under penalty of imprisonment if they refused. At the time, the volcano was coughing mushroom clouds of black smoke, and the rumblings of exploding rocks were like chest thumping booms of thunder. Her grandmother´s house clung to the hilside overlooking Banos. At eighty years old she was weak framed but strong willed, says Rene. Rene had tried to tell her grandmother she needed to evacuate because of the danger. Her grandmother apparently looked at her with a calm expresion and told her she was wrong, the volcano would not be a problem for anyone in Banos. When Rene asked her how she was so sure of this, her grandmother told her that before her husband died, years ago, there had been a similiar incident. Back then no evacuation was given, for any number of reasons, and the volcano was as agitated then as it was now. She rememebers being scared, but her husband informed her that she had nothing to worry about, Tungurahua would never harm the town, ever. Rene´s grandmother had kept his words of reasurance with her even after his death, and she took those words as gospel. No amount of pleading or coaxing from Rene would budge her grandmother, and still Tungurahua rumbled and shook free bolders that it incinerated into liquid. Fearing for her own safety, Rene evacuated, and was heartbroken to have to leave her grandmother alone on the hillside. She woried that if the volcano didn´t prove her grandmother wrong, then surely the military would find her and arrest her, neither of which were safe options for the eighty year old woman.

Apparently, her grandmother was crafty. When the military had done their search of their home to make sure everyone was evacuated, she had hid herself, and saved herself from imprisonment behind military bars. Having outwitted the military, would she still be able to survive the volcano?

A few days later, Tungurahua´s fit ended. Lava had spilled, but it had not gone very far from the volcano´s spout. Banos was untouched and Rene´s grandfather was right again. Once the town was re'opened Rene rushed up the hillside to see if her grandmother was all right. When she burst thorugh the door she found her grandmother, acting as if nothing had happened, and wondering what all the worry was about, hadn´t she told her grand'daughter everything would be fine?

Rene laughed as she told us the story. "It´s still a big deal for me," she said. Her smile broadens and I can sense that her grandmother has since passed, but her tenacity hangs strong in the family.