"On the hillsides one feels a spirit among the brush. A kind of pervasive presence that identifies the plants as real. Our ancestors knew that a spirit dwells there, pushing the seedlings out of the ground, raising them to their full stature, to drive out the weeds and claim the land for themselves.

Here in the city, our plants do not possess the spirit. They are listless and without vigor. They sit in their plastic pots with little interest in life. After planting, they languish in the sterile ground while the weeds, brought from far away, grow tall and smother them.

But these plants were different. One could feel the difference even as they sat in their pots. These plants resonate with the spirit of the wild. Now alone with the plants in the last hint of twilight, I felt a greater presence. It was becoming stronger, as if about to rise from among the plants. Slowly taking the form of a gigantic man with mustache and sombrero, the figure turned toward me and silently extended his great hands. I had not seen the plants move, but now they were all somehow facing the figure, expressing reverence and drawing strength from it. Yes, there could be no doubt: I was in the presence of Micorrizito!"

Testimony of Don Restoro, ca. 1779.