Yenni or Paola?” I ask. She says she likes either name, but when I press a little further, she settles on Yenni. Yenni is Adela’s daughter. At first glance it’s hard to tell them apart—both carry a kind of youthful energy and laugh constantly. Their easy complicity is obvious; they know they make a good team. It’s simply pleasant to be around them. Although they are originally from Choachí, they spent many years living in Bogotá for work and study. Yenni worked as a purchasing and sales analyst for a pharmaceutical laboratory, while Adela spent more than twenty years working as a retail merchandiser. But when Adela’s father—Yenni’s grandfather—fell ill, they returned to their hometown to care for him. That difficult time, which ended with his passing, was soon followed by the pandemic. In the end, they were left without jobs and uncertain about what their future might hold. Without much hesitation, Choachí became the best—or perhaps the only—place to start again. And start again they did.

Yenni recalls that during the long months of lockdown in 2020, when the world seemed to change overnight, being able to walk through the countryside gave them room to breathe. Not only did it help them escape the fear of a virus no one fully understood, but it also allowed them to begin imagining new possibilities for their lives. The landscape offered the perfect setting for that kind of reflection, and like so many others during that time, they allowed themselves to dream about doing something completely different from what they had always done. Little by little, those walks began to reveal a path. The beauty of the scenery around them was impossible to ignore. Yet while the vast horizon stretched endlessly before them, their attention settled on something much smaller—eucalyptus seeds, for instance. With them they began crafting tiny figures, combining the seeds with pieces of jute, which they later sold at the town’s small local markets. Soon they started experimenting with papaya and pumpkin seeds as well, which led them to name their workshop Kuspkwa, a word from the Muisca language that means seed.

What neither of them imagined was that they would eventually dedicate themselves to a craft made from a completely different material: corn husks. It was Jairo Daza who first introduced them to it. He taught them how to handle the material, how to work with it without injuring their hands—because the husk that wraps the corn can be quite rough, and for many people it even causes skin irritation. Without realizing it, Yenni and Adela had already stepped onto the path of the artisan whose fascination awakens, along with the desire to explore them and transform them into objects of beauty.

That path eventually led them to the workshops of master artisan Miryam Barbosa, a neighbor in town who was already well known for her mastery of corn-husk craft. Yenni—who had never shown much interest in handmade crafts before all these life changes—turned out to have a natural artistic talent. In many ways, she became Miryam’s natural heir. Today, Yenni and Adela run their own workshop overlooking the mountains of Choachí’s stunning valley. At the same time, they are part of the group of artisans who work alongside Miryam. Under her guidance they have refined their skills and built a workshop whose products are known for their quality—pieces that are quickly becoming a hallmark of Choachí’s local identity. Stop by and meet this mother and daughter who chose to leap headfirst into the world of craftsmanship. It has been their greatest remedy after the hardships they endured—almost as if the corn husk itself had become the long-awaited embrace they both needed. Perhaps that is why they laugh so easily. And why they remain so grateful.