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It will be half a century. What I am going to tell happened at the end of my early childhood; in a region that at that time was paradisiacal... I like to contextualize my memories, now as an adult.

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In those years, the first satellite television transmissions began, we also began to become, what at that time was perceived as a global village; but, that today it has been transformed into the virtual, instantaneous society, which immerses us in a sea of digital images and audios; with whom we have been building a parallel, virtual reality; which alienates us from nature, without the intention of prejudging it as good or bad. In the municipality of Arismendi, in the state of Barinas, in Venezuela; at that time there were no land communication routes.

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All the transport was fluvial and was carried out by its innumerable streams and rivers; which descend from the Venezuelan section of the Andes mountain range and flow into the majestic Orinoco River. This situation of transport, only fluvial, is maintained today in this Arismendi municipality; and, just like half a century ago, a cheese-producing area is developing there. Livestock farming is limited to small herds, because the recurrent floods in the rainy season limit the possibility of their being very numerous.

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My grandfather had one of these artisanal cattle mills. To get to his farm, where he had his cattle, you had to navigate, in canoes with outboard motors, for hours...

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It seemed like hours to me; but, more or less, it was about an hour and a half away. Those smells still remain in my memory, of a virgin nature untouched by human beings, as well as the landscapes, the sky, the birds... I reiterate that, above all, those smells and landscapes, were indelibly recorded in my memory and They feed my spirits to this day, because many times I take refuge in those memories and always extract a smile and a feeling of well-being.

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After that long navigation, we disembarked at a bend and climbed a gentle rise in the land, until we reached a mansion. To enter there were a few steps, built in front of the portal, when the rainy season came, the river would overflow and, from those steps, one would get on a bongo to go around the flooded surroundings. The bongo is a kind of canoe and the one who leads it uses a very long and resistant pole, which is submerged until it touches the bottom to propel the canoe forward.

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The big house had thick whitewashed walls and a roof of rusty red tiles. On the right side of the house was a cornfield and after it a forest. The front part of the mansion comprised a large hall, bedrooms, and kitchen. The back part was elongated and in it there was a kind of covered corridor where some wooden crates were placed in which the milk was poured and the cheese was curdled. I don't remember what the landscape was like behind the mansion or to its left; but, I know that after those places there was a climb, by which the milking pens were reached. I remember one day I was sitting on the rungs of the corral and I asked a milker for milk, who pointed the cow's teat at me and shot me full in the face. An uncle of mine got angry about it, and in a very bad manner he made me go back to the mansion. On another occasion, we went with two cousins, one about my age and the other already a teenager, to a lagoon that was down from the land where the cattle pens were.

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The boy fired a shotgun, I don't remember why, but instantly a cloud of birds of all colors rose and made a lot of noise. The variety and quantity of birds that I was able to see that time, I have never been able to observe again. I think the reason lies in the extermination of species and their habitats. That lagoon always returns to my memory with its forest to the left and its savannah with bushes to the right and the elongated water mirror in front of me. Walking through I don't know where, we came to some red ravines, very red, and at the bottom the river ran! To the right, at a bend in the water current, a small sandy beach formed, and on it I remember my mother collecting crabs, also very red, and putting them in a large punch bowl. On another occasion, when everything was flooded, we went out in the bongo, looking for a lost cow. That is one of the best memories because the journey and the search lasted a long time. We never got the poor cow, but we got into many fantastic places, some full of beautiful skies and others roofed with green, under the trees; and all that sailing in the bongo.

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To conclude my story, which happened in my early childhood, I want to share with you a scene that always comes back to my mind; and now it happens to me more, in these very sordid times, in terms of nature and respect for life. Another day we returned, my two cousins and I, to that land that went beyond the cattle pens.

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My adolescent cousin left us behind a tree and he, about fifty meters away, made a fire with a lot of white smoke; that is achieved by setting fire to wood that is not completely dry.

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Then he fells the dead tree and cuts off its branches, leaving only the trunk. Then he tied him up with some ropes and dragged him away, pulling him with the ropes with which he had tied him up. My other cousin and I followed behind, licking our hands full of honey, which was spilling from the dry trunk that my adolescent cousin was dragging. It was an immense honeycomb of bees that had made their hive in that dry tree.

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