Today the smell of old diesel buses and the yammer of loudspeakers mounted on liquid propane gas delivery trucks blaring a cavalry bugle charge followed by an elongated cry of "G-a-a-a-a-sss, el gas..." is the more common scenario. Canvas covered stake bed trucks from larger towns and cities crowd the "portales" on the plaza, selling cut rate "pan dulce" off the backend. The old morning baker, Ramon, died many years ago but there’s still one fresh bakery which runs out of bread by 8 o’clock.

By that hour, mfa/eronga workers can be seen along all the streets leading to the plaza. They are hurrying to "punch in" before the 10 minute late allowance expires which can cost them a half hour of labor. Some of them walk, some ride bikes; the ones who are running are usually young mothers who have lost a few minutes too many getting kids off to school and husband’s mid morning lunches (almuerzos) prepared.

The scene still looks romantic to visitors. The lakeside village has grown into a town, but the 16th century church still dominates the landscape when seen from a distance. Uniformed school children walk to local primary, middle and high schools while others board buses to other schools in other cities.

Music, often sounding like a Fellini movie marching band on steroids, is pumped into mfa’s carpentry, carving department and sanding room. Tuba oompahs mark the pace as sanding tools and saws buzz and whine in the background. Laughter erupts. Jokes are repeated and laughed at all over again.

The carvers come from nearby Indian villages and find it hard to resist drumming out a refrain or two on their workbenches with their chisels. MFA special orders have begun to take shape once again. This wing of the factory remains a man’s world: soccer posters, pin up models and La Virgen de Guadalupe side by side on the adobe and wood walls.

In the finishing department the sounds are different. Men and women work together here, uncovering pieces of furniture which have been tarped the evening before to protect the various delicate phases in which the furniture moves on its way through the labor intensive processes. The sound of hissing and air hoses being connected and disconnected in the lacquering area is soon lost to the drone of the air filter system.

Different music from the wet sanders and polishers blends with the music from the quality control area and the finishers have started listening to radio talk shows. It is not too loud to prevent workers calling out to each other to get to work and some of the slang-laden banter is taken up from the day before.

The first hours of the painting departments get underway in a more private manner. Some of them have their own studios or share an alcove where they control the sound. In these areas the crooning ballads and romantic appeals of Mexican music fill the air.

By 10:30 it all grinds to a half hour halt as workers pour out of the factory to sit with family members who have brought them hot "almuerzos".

And so it goes, day after day, all year long: carpenters, finishers, carvers, and painters, usually 80 and often as many as 100, coming together to produce a product that still rings of the sounds and speaks of the skills with which they were manufactured.

Maureen Rosenthal conducts the orchestra of activity. She doesn’t hear the music as she makes her way through the factory all day long. Wherever she appears questions arise and work in progress is shown to her. She nods her approval or stops to explain what’s missing. Sometimes she exclaims at a carving or painting which exceeds expectations. The products are produced by truckloads and Maureen’s careful eye assesses the progress.

"What kind of furniture is this?" people ask in stores and galleries throughout Mexico and the U.S. The company name means Fine Crafted Furniture from Erongaricuaro. And that about says it all.