The Realest Social Network

Facebook's Got Nothing on La Esquinita

La esquinita in full swing
I love the neighborhood where we’ve landed in San Juan. Not only are we two short blocks from a beautiful beach, but we also live a few steps from a bustling thoroughfare that has restaurants serving delicious criollo food, a thriving grassroots community center in an abandoned school, a free lending library made from stacked milk crates called Libros Libres, and a constant stream of interesting characters who are always happy to shoot the breeze.
My favorite thing about my neighborhood, though, is my friends’ pop-up shop at la esquinita. Three times a week, Erika and Marcos set up shop on the corner where there’s an abandoned bank and drive-thru teller. At their stand, they sell seedlings from their nursery—a wild collection of native trees and healing herbs—as well as fresh juices made from local fruits. Everyday they’ve got a different selection: Flor de Jamaica con china—hibicus tea with orange juice. Carambola y parcha – starfruit and passionfruit. Te de limoncillo—lemongrass tea. Melon con limon—watermelon with lemon.
The other afternoon, la esquina was buzzing because they had jugo de uvas playeras. The sea grape trees that cover every beach on the island are heavy with beads of grapes, and Erika y Marcos had harvested a bucketful to turn into juice for their customers. Myself and the other neighbors who hang out at la esquina couldn’t get over the juice’s gorgeous color—a deep pink, like the inside of a seashell.
New to the neighborhood, I was thrilled when I first met Erika and Marcos at la esquina. As an obsessive gardener, I gravitate towards plants and the people who care for them. It was clear that Erika and Marcos had in common this deep love of plants, and we began sharing knowledge and nerding out about seed saving and growing tips, like planting with the moon cycle. Nearly every time I visit their corner, I leave with a new plant as well as some plant wisdom they’ve shared with me. Sometimes, I leave them a bucket of food scraps from my kitchen so they can compost it on their farm. Other times, I trade them homemade bread for juice. I’ve brought them cuttings from my Miami garden and shared any seeds that I happen upon.
It hasn’t taken long for me to realize that la esquina is way more than just a juice stand. I’m not the only one who looks forward to Monday, Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, when Erika and Marcos will set up their corner shop. As the weeks go by, I’ve met a cast of characters who frequent la esquina, some to buy juice, others to leave plastic bottles (which Erika and Marcos up-cycle as pots for their seedlings), and many who stop by just to chat. Young and old, men and women, natives to the island and transplants like me—everyone who passes by ends up taking part in whatever conversation is happening at the moment.
I don’t know if it’s the presence of the plants, but talk frequently turns to ailments and natural remedies. From a tattooed young woman who has a nasty cough to an elder who hasn’t had a normal bowel movements in over a week, Erika and Marcos have something to offer them all. I’ve watched Marcos harvest wild medicinal herbs growing through the concrete in the abandoned drive-thru bank teller to give to a passing friend. I’ve seen Erika hand bundles of dried herbs to someone in need. On their table, they keep a collection of books—plant guides and natural recipes—which they flip through frequently to locate information and share with others.
While working beside Erika and Marcos on their farm, I’ve understood a bit better their philosophy around la esquina. Yes, it’s how they make their living, selling juices and seedlings for money. But it’s clear that it’s so much more than that to them. It’s a way for them to connect with others, share knowledge, and learn from the elders of their community.
This last part is of utmost importance. They often speak about how much native wisdom has been lost on their island—wisdom about how to live in harmony with nature, how to nurture and heal ourselves while also nurturing and healing the earth. They are aware that their parents’ generation is the first to be removed from the land and farm labor, thanks to globalization and the impact of food stamps. Their generation is the second. Separation from the land and labor has led to a massive loss in information, know-how, and knowledge. They recognize how important the older generation is, because they hold the key to living sustainably and in harmony on the island.
La esquina is a juice stand. It’s a recycling center. It’s a pharmacy. It’s a town square. It’s a message board. It’s a seed bank. It’s a university. It’s a story circle. It’s a web of wisdom.
The other day, when an elderly woman exclaimed that she’d been there for an hour already and still didn’t want to leave, the thought hit me. This is a social network.

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