What do these objects from Dr. Urrutia’s garden of Miraflores have in common? A large wrought iron gate with two sentry towers displaying riots of flores blossoming upon its tile murals, a giant bench cloaked in a garden of 700 clay azulejos de Puebla, and a statue of an indigenous man kneeling on one knee, wearing a feathered headdress, rebuking the heavens.

The entrance tower murals give the first clue. They proclaim 1921 as the 4th centennial of the founding of Mexico City. But wasn’t La Ciudad there long before 1521? We know it as Tenochtitlan, the ancient capital city of pyramids built by the original people of the Valley of México, the Mexica. The iron gate that provides passage into the garden, and the iron fence atop the rambling stone wall at the edge of the property, evoke the spears of the conquerors. My great grandfather loved the idea that the spears had been repurposed for the peaceful boundary of a garden.

We stroll past the Banca de Hernán Cortés. The antique tiles, some blue and white, some poly-chromatic jewel colors, recall a time when the indigenous people of Puebla took up the artisan practice of creating Talavera with such enthusiasm that an entire industry flourished in the region. The process was brought from Spain, but the clays of Puebla were a perfect medium. The 17th century buildings of Puebla to this day are clad in the intricate tiles, inside and out. The tiles were distributed throughout México, and even brought over the Rio Grande to San Antonio, to Miraflores, in the early 20th century. My great grandfather loved the idea that though the Spanish were a conquering force on México, they also brought with them the beautiful craft of Talavera.

Cuauhtémoc. Photograph by Kathryn O’Rourke. Used with permission.

We arrive at the first sculpture of the garden, Cuauhtémoc, the last ruler of Tenochtitlan. Did he know that his death at the hands of Cortés marked the end of a civilization? 100 years ago, Aureliano Urrutia knew it. But he also knew that flowers grow from the ashes. With fist toward the sky, sandals of a man, and feathers of an eagle, Cuauhtémoc could soar through time to deliver the message of a resilient, growing people, who would never be extinguished. The Mexica, the seed of the Mexican. Today we stand in San Antonio, Texas 500 years later, remembering. My great grandfather loved the idea that having Cuauhtémoc in the garden would connect San Antonio to its indigenous roots in México.

The gate, the bench, and the statue, incorporated by Urrutia at Miraflores 100 years ago, connect us to an historic event in Tenochtitlan that occurred 500 years ago and is marked on August 13, 1521. The fall of Tenochtitlan was the pivotal, defining moment in the history of México, when Spain overtook the Valley of Mexico. Mexico City is this weekend observing its commemoration. By placing these objects in the garden, Urrutia goes beyond commemoration by pushing the relevance of Mexico’s history del pasado al futuro. The fall of Tenochtitlan is at the root of many aspects of Mexico’s culture; and its presence at a restored Miraflores could give San Antonians and visitors to our city many ways to discuss San Antonio’s connection to its Mexican cultural heritage.

Anne Elise Urrutia’s book, Miraflores: San Antonio’s Mexican Garden of Memory, is available for pre-order from your favorite bookstore.

Posted on August 14, 2021.