Soil and Soul: Materials of Memory in South Phoenix
“Sometimes While Growing Up, You Find Yourself” The Materials
A short essay written by BrassTuna Director Adam Corona
The lemony smell of burning ropes floods my memory when I reflect back on my childhood. So often my father would take me to our family's ranch. I can recall the early mornings when he would park his truck in the back near the barn/stables. As he would get down and speak with his brothers (my uncles), I’d aimlessly wander around the ranch, listening to the dribbling of the water fountain, and the birds chirping as the wind flows through the leaves of what seemed like endless trees. Casually strolling past and saying good morning to one of my aunts or workers on the ranch. The smell of the early morning, mixed with the wet dirt smell after a tractor with a water tank attached to the back, had just finished spraying the center of the arena.
These are the memories I so often remember when I think of my childhood. How common these experiences were to me, and how I would often grow bored of them, wanting and craving the, then, “not so boring” everyday of my classmates. The ones who had pools and bar-b-q’s. The ones whose families lived in states far away, spending summers visiting them, or winter vacations. For me, it felt that my entire world existed only in South Phoenix. It felt almost confined and boxed in to a single space. A space I often felt I didn’t fit in.
Growing up, I didn't realize how unique my upbringing was. It was just normal to me – the vast open land, the constant activity around the arena, and that unmistakable, almost comforting, scent of burning ropes. It wasn't until I started meeting classmates of different backgrounds that it hit me. Their stories were so different from mine. The structured neighborhoods and manicured lawns. Meanwhile, my childhood was defined by horses, the Charrería, and the raw, unfiltered sounds and smells of the arena.
Looking back, it's made me appreciate how lucky I was to be raised in a place where the land shaped everything, where the ranch was a second home, and where even the lemony smell of burning ropes told a story. This all made me realize that sometimes, while growing up, you find yourself.