"I was driving a winding Ohio country road while my husband was at his mother’s funeral in Mexico. I was driving by myself, listening to a live recording of Natalia LaFourcade’s “Aventurera.” On either side of me, fields shone bright green under July sunshine. The sky was that big, earnest Midwestern canvas of blue and tufted cloud. I passed the Sugar Shack, the cows and the sheep, the tractors, the Amish boys pedaling their homemade bikes. I passed the sign that reads HAY FOR SALE, which still elicits dumb laughs from Jorge and me with its unwitting Spanglish interpretation: THERE IS FOR SALE, a fitting description of U.S. culture."
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