Father

We stuck our heads in the front door and shouted hello. He stood with us for a long time in the doorway of his plywood and tin house, talking about the weather and life on the Montanita.

I asked him if I could take his picture. He nodded and disappeared for a minute into the back room of the house, emerging a little later wearing a clean, bright blue polo shirt. He smiled apologetically and then stepped into the light for his photo.