To consider a name is to summon a world.

Vivian Suter’s, née Wild’s¹, conjures even by its sound alone; the three consecutive vees — a vibrant, orange tempo— pulse bright in the heart of fresh, untamed greens; she is the true Daughter of Fire.²

Her mother is Elisabeth.

She is behind her now.³

She crossed the ocean three times to find a home.

V crossed it twice.

Upon sight of the stranglers fig’s aerial roots she decided to stay.

She now lives among three volcanoes and a large body of water pooling in an ancient crater.

Further out is a golden hill; an adventurous pilot once crashed nearby.

By the time he recovered, the hill had turned into an elephant swallowed by a boa.⁴

V’s garden is a jungle.

She grows it every day.

In its centre is her house.

Her son Panchito and his son Maxsi live nearby.

Here they are, all together with the dogs:

Mango tree, Coral tree, Pino, Cipres, Limon criollo, Limon persa, Lima limon, Limela, Mandarina, Bananas tallo mordo y tallo blanco, Gigante palmas diversas, King…