When I was growing up, summers were about cousins, and while the specifics of Carolina’s life are emphatically fictional, the summers I have spent with my family in New York and in Puerto Rico shaped Carolina’s observations of the world around her. I shared with my Schwiep and González cousins Cuban parents, aunts, and uncles who were loud, fiercely tight-knit, and unrepentantly chismosos, while my Otheguy cousins and I shared summer camps, boat trips, countless hours playing in my grandmother’s yard, and sporadic drawing or sewing lessons from older relatives.
Our trips to my grandmother’s house in Puerto Rico awakened memories within my parents, and it was there amidst the coquís and the metal rocking chairs of her terraza that they told my siblings and me stories about their childhoods in Cuba, and about what it meant to leave. It was there that I felt closest to the Caribbean, this longed-for place at the heart of my family life. I am grateful to my aunts, uncles, and cousins for sharing this world with me, for teaching me everything from the names of the plants in El Yunque to where my grandmother kept her stash of chocolate Kisses. Children of exiles may be always searching for the lost place, but through my cousins I’ve at least known my parents’ sun and salt water, and above all, I’ve known family ties that transcend distance, culture, and language. In particular, I’d like to acknowledge Amaya Labrador for her careful reading of this manuscript. Amaya is one of those rare first-call kind of people, someone who can resolve whatever you throw her way, and I am beyond lucky to be her cousin.
I wanted to write a novel about a girl with the Caribbean in her blood, discovering her love of the Hudson Valley, as I did during the time I spent at Hawthorne Valley Farm. I deeply appreciate the welcome and community I was shown by everyone there, especially Safina Alessandra and Hilary Corsun. Thank you for the meals, hikes, crash pads, and, most of all, for answering my endless barrage of questions about farming, crafts, and conservation. Silver Meadows is an imaginary place, but I hope I have captured in these pages some of the wonder and love of the outdoors that you have imparted to me.
I’d also like to thank the brilliant editors who have worked with me on this manuscript. Harold Underdown’s suggestions helped me determine the trajectory of this project, but much more importantly, I learned from Harold about the patience and dedication that go into revision. My agent, Adriana Dominguez, has been relentless in her support and always pushes me to do my best work. Her faith in her authors is evident in her high standards, and I treasure our conversations about Latinx families and literature. I’d also like to thank Marisa DiNovis and Sylvia Al-Mateen for their detailed editorial feedback.
The first time I rode the subway with Jenny Brown, I knew she was my kind of person—someone with an encyclopedic knowledge of children’s literature and a voracious reader. When my stop came, I didn’t want to end our conversation about the past and future of children’s books. I am incredibly grateful for this opportunity to continue the ride.