Baby Formula

But something threw a kink into those plans. Rosa's fourth set of foster parents, Christopher and Dawne Gomez, who took her into their home in September 1999, hired an attorney. On December 14, 1999, they requested to be named as third parties, or intervenors, in the case and to be granted sole parental responsibilities.

They claimed to be Rosa's "psychological parents" and said that removing her from the only stable home she's known in her short life would be detrimental.

Ever since then, Ponciano has been fighting the foster parents who want to adopt Rosa and the court-appointed guardian ad litem who has been arguing not only that Ponciano is unfit to care for Rosa but that the baby will have a better life if she is raised in the United States. The guardian ad litem will try to convince a judge this month to terminate Ponciano's parental rights and to permanently place Rosa with Christopher and Dawne Gomez.

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Rancho el Mezquitillo, in the central Mexican state of Guanajuato, is a place where time moves slowly, little girls skip down the road instead of walk, family is the most important thing and mi casa, su casa is not only a saying, it's a way of life.

Rancho el Mezquitillo can't really be called a town, however; with only 300 people, it has none of the services towns offer -- no police, no fire department and no hospital. It doesn't even have a full-service grocery; the two shops that are there sell only ice cream, popsicles, assorted snacks, soft drinks and beer. But it's a happy place. Almost every family lives in its own small, flat-roofed brick-and-concrete home, tends its own crops and raises its own animals.

On the far edge of the village is a hacienda surrounded by hundreds of acres of farmland. Some of the men, like Ponciano's father, Francisco Lazaro, work in the fields planting onions, potatoes, cabbage and corn or picking peaches, pears and limes from the large orchard.

The local girls like to tell the story of el charro, the wealthy Mexican cowboy who is reputed to have lived at the hacienda long ago; legend has it that if someone sees his ghost, he'll tell him where his fortune is buried. Then there's the tale of the serpent that has coins for eyes; when it appears in the back acres of the farm, you're supposed to touch the serpent and become rich. The only woman in the village who claims to have seen the serpent was apparently so frightened that she turned and ran away.

Most of the men take a bus each day to San Francisco del Rincón, a 67,000-person city ten miles away, where they work in shoe factories. After work they sit outside late into the night drinking Coronas while the kids run along the deserted roads or play stickball. The women work at home, cooking, cleaning and washing clothes all day. Outside every house, ranchero or Tex-Mex music plays while mothers and daughters, sisters and cousins hang clothes out to dry. Huge agave plants dot the landscape. Livestock roam the village freely. Sparring dogs bark throughout the night, and crickets that hide under furniture in the houses keep up their song until sunrise.

On Sunday mornings the entire village rises with the roosters to attend mass. At 7 a.m., with the sky still dark, the neon cross atop the church stands out like a beacon. It's here that baptisms, first communions, quinceañeras, weddings and funerals take place. The church pews are usually so filled -- women on one side, men on the other -- that about a quarter of the people have to stand in back. The building lacks the ornamentation typical of Catholic churches: Simple wooden crosses hang on the sides of the walls, and fake flowers adorn the altar. In the center, a doll-sized replica of the Virgin Mary is encased in glass.

After mass, it's time for most families to return home and prepare menudo -- the traditional Sunday-morning breakfast of tripe served in a salty broth. Later in the day, the young men of Rancho el Mezquitillo play soccer against the nearby town of Santa Rita. On a recent Sunday, the game ended in a tie: 2 to 2.

By American standards, it's a land of want. But to the people who live here, it's a land of plenty.

It's where Ponciano was born and raised. It's where his parents were born and raised. And it's where Ponciano would like to return someday soon with his daughter.

The Lazaro-Avina home, where six of Ponciano's ten siblings still live, is clean and tidy. The only running water comes from the shower head or a spigot outside. When the well is dry, Ponciano's mother, Maria Guadalupe Avina, heats water on the stove and the family members rinse themselves off by scooping the water out of buckets. The eight of them share one bathroom and three bedrooms, but Francisco plans to add an extra bedroom onto the house if -- and when -- his son returns with Rosa.