Dear Graham,
It is Saturday night, and we walk up the street from Renita’s new home to Pedasi’s Jazz and Art Festival. Five different bands will play throughout the evening. Around the square, artists have transformed walls with vibrant murals painted in spray-can blues, reds, oranges, yellows, and greens. Some depict Panamanian cowboys, chickens, farmers working fields, sunsets melting into the ocean, and whales rising from the sea.
As we near the square, a man stands beside a barbecue fashioned from an old oil barrel, grilling chicken and beef kabobs. The smoky aroma drifts through the warm evening air, impossible to ignore. Nearby, vendors sell tacos, and a truck is piled high with giant green avocados. A woman sits quietly in a chair embroidering, surrounded by examples of her beautiful handiwork. There is a long line outside the Mojito Bar. Jewelry tents sparkle under strings of lights.
The music has already begun. Panamanian rhythms—guitars, maracas, drums, and bass—fill the square. A few people dance while others sit smiling, nodding to friends and neighbors as they pass. Everywhere I look, there are familiar faces.
I see Stephanie and her husband from water aerobics, and Erick and his wife, whose beautiful tattoos seem like works of art themselves. I sit beside the German couple I met at the farmer’s market. She tells me about their plans to move to Pedasi from Germany and how, after traveling all over the world as a travel agent, this little town captured her heart in a way no other place has.
Jessie Bell, the woman who helped us find our home, greets me with a warm hug. Pricilla, who sells healthy lime drinks at the farmers market, is there too, and Tom and I each buy one. Jana, her husband, and daughter stop by to say hello. Jana and I are planning to share an art studio together.
There is something in the air that night—a sweetness, an ease, a feeling that life has slowed to a gentler rhythm. It reminds me of my childhood in Arkansas. Maybe it’s the warm southern weather. Maybe it’s the small-town feeling where people know one another and stop to talk.
When the school band takes the stage, the entire audience stands and listens. There is a quiet respect for the town’s young musicians. Stephanie explains that in Pedasi it is considered an honor to be in the band. The students are admired, encouraged, and appreciated by both their parents and the community.
Later, one of Rentia’s friends, who has lived in Pedasi for years, leads us down the street to see the Carnival Queens’ celebration. As we walk beneath a hazy full moon hanging over the town, I find myself drifting back to my teenage years in El Dorado, Arkansas. I remember wandering the streets at night with friends, breathing in the thick summer air, talking and laughing until we lost track of time.
For a moment, the years seem to fold together.
That same feeling returns—the feeling of being young, free, and completely at ease in the world. As I walk through this little Panamanian town under the moonlight, surrounded by music, neighbors, and new friends, I realize I feel exactly that way again.
And Graham, what a gift that is at this very special time in my life.
With Love,
CC
