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Descriptive Writing of Family Weekend

Descriptive Writing of Family Weekend

The sun shined bright and blazed hot that summer, a summer more than a few years back but not at all that long ago. In the San Joaquin Valley is where our tale lies...surrounded by mountains and rolling hills where you see grazing cattle meandering in an ever coil up the steep golden rises, here perched on the side of a treacherous highway sits a large Flea Market. This market has an unmistakable giant red barn and when days are good the place is filled to the brim with customers and the sounds of haggling, rambunctious children, and their parent’s scolding remarks.

Every weekend the Canezales family would set up their two stands, one for the fruit and vegetables that Antoinetta picked from her garden and cluster of fruit trees at their meager home, and the second, a couple stands down and across, was where Marcos would make and repair zapatos. Now their other children were older and either had families of their own or worked for other farms. But their youngest, who was about eleven, helped them down at the Flea-market. His name was Poncho or Ponchito depending on who addressed him. He always sang in ‘spanglish’ while he played a cheap little guitarra to entice people to come buy his mother’s good produce. His mother was a polite and slightly talkative middle-aged woman whom everyone loved mostly because she was down to earth and treated people as if they were of her own flesh & blood. No one was a stranger in her eyes. Marcos, stern yet humorous like many good fathers, was quite skillful at making and repairing shoes even though it was a side job of his. He regularly worked as a mechanic at a friend’s car garage during weekdays. The couple made just enough to fill their families bellies and buy decent clothes ever so often but the love they shared filled in many, if not all, of the gaps in their tattered finances.

One busy market day Antoinetta was tending her stand surrounded by a couple fresh baskets of lettuce, one of peaches, one filled with tomatoes, and another of various chili peppers. As usual Ponchito was strumming his slightly out-of-tune guitar to the likeness of an estranged version of the Three...

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