A Little Paradise: Bosques de San Isidro, Guadalajara, 1973–1978 ( Now Las Cañadas Country Club).

In 1973, when Guadalajara still had spacious edges and room for dreams, we discovered a little paradise taking shape just beyond its northern limits. Bosques de San Isidro was not yet the sprawling suburb it would eventually become. Back then, it was a family-guided vision — the work of the gracious and imaginative Ramírez family — and those of us who joined it felt as though we had stepped inside a small, private world.


My husband was Mexican, and through our circle of friends we came to know the Ramírez family well. They were warm, cultured people who welcomed everyone with a natural ease. Señora Ramírez herself shaped much of the landscape of the golf course — eighteen beautifully sculpted holes that followed the natural lay of the land, woven into the hills and creeks. She created something more like a garden than a golf course: elegant, quiet, and profoundly human.


When our daughter was born in 1973, we often drove out to San Isidro with her — a tiny baby nestled beside us — and each time the place felt a little more alive. A modest house for Bing Crosby was being built then: simple, tasteful, nothing ostentatious. Behind it, an amphitheater was taking shape, intended for the music of Pablo Casals. It sounds almost mythic now, but at the time it fit perfectly with the spirit of the place — a community where art, friendship, and landscape all intertwined.


Crosby’s involvement, I later came to understand, may have helped secure the financing that allowed the early years to flourish. After his death in 1977, the strain on the bank loan created troubles that eventually pushed the Ramírez family to relocate to Tijuana. But during those bright early years, none of us knew that. We were simply living our days in a joyful rhythm.


And what days they were.


The men often disappeared onto the golf course for hours, following the curves of those eighteen lovingly designed holes. The clay tennis courts were always alive with motion, the soft sound of play punctuated by young boys darting across the surface to chase down stray balls. The moms and children gathered around the pretty round pool encircled by bougainvillea and bright flowers — a ring of color that seemed to glow in the warm Guadalajara light. It was a safe, happy world where children were free and laughter came easily.


After long afternoons of sun, play, and visiting, we all drifted toward the little clubhouse. It was not grand — just comfortable and full of charm — and it became our evening gathering place. Meals were shared, music flowed, and sometimes someone would start dancing. It didn’t need planning; it was simply how the evenings unfolded, naturally and warmly, among friends who felt like family.


We continued to visit Crosby’s house even after he passed away, because a member of the Ramírez family lived there. It remained exactly what it had been planned to be: a simple, graceful place that fit the land and the spirit of San Isidro.


By 1978, our time at Bosques de San Isidro was coming to a close. Many things had changed — the Ramírez family was relocating, and the wider world was encroaching on the quiet paradise we had loved.


But in my heart — and in the memories of all who lived it — Bosques de San Isidro remains what it once was: a brief, shimmering paradise. A place shaped by good people, good will, beauty, and possibility. A place where families gathered, children thrived, music played, and friendships deepened under the bougainvillea and the warm evening lights.


And perhaps what shines brightest now, all these years later, are the evenings we spent with our Mexican friends — the warmth of their welcome, the easy humor, the tacos passed around with laughter, and the music that always found its way into the night. Sometimes a small band would appear, and often our architect friend brought out his guitar. He would coax us to sing, and I, who was not inclined to put myself forward, somehow found my courage there. I would sing Yesterday — the one song I trusted myself to remember and I guess an appropriate one for my memories — and they received it with such affection and delight that I felt not like a visitor, but like one of their own.


That is the heart I carry from those years: not only the beauty of the place, but the generosity of the people who opened their circle to us. For five unforgettable years, it was our refuge, our joy, and our little paradise on the edge of a changing city — made luminous by landscape, friendship, and the gentle gift of belonging.