Abuela always said, "Un plato compartido es un cielo en la tierra." — now imagine that sky under a colony dome. Cilantro pots from my backyard find their way into every table, binding neighbors the way our woven fabrics once warmed Honduran kitchens.
These 14-week cycles become living recipes: one pot of beans passed from station to station, each family adding their own touch. Harmony measured not in numbers but in the laughter echoing off curved walls.
