Hermana Heywood

Kaitlynn in the Chile Puerto Montt Mission

A Day of Calls With You: Coyhaique / Aysén Blitz, June 15, 2026

June 15, 2026 · Coyhaique and Puerto Aysén, Aysén Region, Chile (Kaitlynn); Herriman, Utah (family)

We talked four separate times today while you traveled as Hermana Líder Viajera on an exchange blitz to Coyhaique and Puerto Aysén: two quick connections on your way to the airport in the morning, a longer one from the airport restaurant, an afternoon catch-up, and a long call late at night from the mission house, the night before Natalie goes through the temple. This is the whole day pulled together.

Morning, on your way to the airport

Your video and audio were rough because you were on a bus out in the countryside, out in the boonies, and you said it would stay bad until you got to the airport and then get better. I showed you the concrete crew working in our backyard and figured they might be Spanish-speaking. You said your weekend had been crazy but good, that you'd been traveling all week, and that you were about to travel again, back to Coyhaique. You were excited to go back because there'd be snow on the mountains.

I asked you about your homecoming, whether you'd rather share it with someone else or have it a week later by yourself. The connection kept breaking up, you said the problem was on your end, you asked if I should turn off my video to help, and then you said you needed to focus and would call me back in a minute.

When you called back, I confirmed the plan: Coyhaique first, then on to Aysén for a blitz. I asked if you were on a bus, and you said you were in a car right then.

You told me you had less than a hundred days left in your mission, ninety-eight, which you said was fourteen weeks. I told you it was coming close and would go by fast. I asked whether you'd ever been down to that few days before you extended, and you said if you hadn't extended you'd be coming home in about fifty-eight days, or eight weeks.

You said you had about two weeks left in this transfer. You'll stay with your current companion through the upcoming transfer, but for your final transfer you'll have a different companion, and you don't know who yet. They gave you a list of sisters it could be and you have to pick one, which you said was terrifying. I teased you not to mess it up because you'd "ruin someone's life," and then I told you, "Everything's gonna be just fine. The Lord has not left you alone this entire time, and he's certainly not going to at the end," before joking that the exception was if you made the wrong decision. You told me I was very helpful.

I asked whether you wanted your homecoming on September 27th or on Halloween. You said you did not want it on Halloween.

You told me you'd driven from Puerto Montt to Osorno yourself, which you're not normally allowed to do, and how you talked your way into it: the leaders texted you sisters in the morning, said they'd pick you up at a set time, and asked what you were going to drive. You told them they'd better not be kidding, because if they were you were going to hate one of them, and they said it was real. You said it was really cool and weird. We said love you and goodbye.

Morning, from the airport

You called from a restaurant in the airport, very busy and very expensive, and you sounded muffled because of your AirPods. You brought up the idea of us coming to Chile to visit. I asked if you meant us coming to pick you up at the end of your mission. You weighed two options: flying home and then coming back, which would cost more because we'd pay for your return flight, versus us visiting before you come home. You said a visit could actually be cheaper because you have connections with members all over the south of the mission, so we could stay with members instead of paying for a hotel. You set our expectations: the members' houses are small, two-bedroom, not like houses in the US, but you promised they're safe and we'd be fine; it would be mostly cold; there'd be a lot of walking and a lot of buses; and you'd be doing all the talking and translating. You warned that if locals saw us and heard English they'd come up and try to talk to us in English we wouldn't be able to understand. I said it sounded fun, to keep talking about it, and we'd see what we could plan.

You explained your assignment in Coyhaique. As a traveling sister leader you go to all the areas of the mission and do exchanges with the sister leaders, and this time the sisters live about an hour outside Coyhaique, so you have to go into Coyhaique first to reach them. We traded a joke about Elder Bednar: you described a five-minute clip from a Face to Face where a question in Spanish got answered in English with a couple of Spanish words mixed in, and you named "Gracias" and "Thank you," and the speaker had joked about not wanting to be stupid like that.

You walked me through the day's travel. You'd land at Balmaceda around 2:00 p.m., drive about an hour into Coyhaique to get there around 3:00, get lunch (another hour), and then go on to Puerto Aysén in the late afternoon or early evening. You confirmed Aysén is further south than Coyhaique. You said there's actually a closer local airport, but the locals don't use it because of a bad accident there years ago; you said people in that part of Chile are big about luck and vibes, so they treat it as bad luck and fly into Balmaceda instead, which you thought was inefficient but funny. You mentioned a place called Ten Bajos with very random food, and said the landscape looks like Hawaii but cold.

You said that at this point you've been in every part of the mission, which you thought was cool, and I called you a traveling Hermana Viajera. We looked at photos together, sheep and dogs and scenery, and you pointed out the area is mostly little farms and that the region produces a lot of wool, so much of the land grows hay and crops for the sheep.

Mom told you the sourdough story: Paul brought us dinner the previous Saturday night because he knew we had a full Sunday. Mom told him afterward that everyone really liked the sourdough, he said it wasn't sourdough, and Mom realized she'd assumed it was because it tasted sour. She said she felt embarrassed once the truth came out, that the bread just wasn't very good, not that it was sour. You asked whether Melanie still gives us a sourdough starter. We also talked about a little girl who was baptized the previous Saturday; you'd seen the pictures and called her a cute little girl.

Mom told you the Bonnie story: Bonnie had a Relief Society presidency meeting after church and couldn't come over until afterward, then drove in and brought Amy, Krisp, and Erin Davis. Because we'd been eating outside, the kitchen table was pushed against the wall and the chairs were gone, so when Bonnie came in she looked at the tall barstool, said she'd make herself at home, climbed up, and ate her food at the counter. You and Mom agreed it was cute. You asked whether Bonnie will like you when you get home and whether she even remembers who you are, and Mom told you Bonnie really likes you and remembers you.

I brought up your burp from church. You said you think you manifested it: the day before, at lunch, you burped very loudly and not on purpose. It snuck up on you in the middle of lunch while you were sitting with people, and it scared you and scared them; you said you'd never burped so loud in your life and were very embarrassed, everyone started giggling, and the people said "compliments to the chef." You also mentioned the egg toast Mom was making. Near the end you said the others were talking about how they needed to start recording soon, and that you'd probably have to call us back later because you hadn't been paying attention very well. We said love you and thanks for talking.

Afternoon

We covered food, home news, and photos. You and Mom went back and forth on South American foods while she looked up names: empanadas, tequeños, shawarma, and a Venezuelan hot dog called a "completo." You mentioned a Chilean drink you called a "chilemoto," Sprite with cherry flavoring and ice cream, sometimes made with alcohol, and said it'd be easy to make at home. We talked about the big Chilean independence celebration in Spanish Fork every year and whether there are many Chileans in Utah. You wanted to show how long your hair has gotten.

Mom was lying on the floor charging her phone because her bed was covered with laundry, and she said her head hurt. You asked whether she'd ever found out why she gets bad headaches; she said she never has, but a doctor told her peanut butter is a trigger food, and she thinks she had extra stress as a kid. There was a running bit with the cat, Belle, who keeps flipping over and clawing during the game where you pat her other side.

Mom muted herself to tell Mason to vacuum. She asked whether you'd read in her email that the grandparents went to Deacons quorum; you hadn't caught that part. She explained they went to watch Mason teach in Deacons quorum, said it was the best part of the week, and was disappointed it hadn't made it into the email. Natalie was home too; you caught her leg on camera.

We went through photos of Bryson's friend group: Mom named Bethany, Rex, Valerie (standing with Tyler and Bryson), and Jackson, who she said is just in the group and is nice but whose family isn't active and lives over in Desert Sage in our stake. She talked about Bryson and his boys, two in the band and the other two roommates. There was a young woman in the group who comes home Wednesday, July 15th, and has been crying every day. Aunt Kathi took some of the pictures and I zoomed in. You said you had the same pictures and had taken screenshots.

For lunch we had pulled pork with a pasta salad, and we talked about leftovers. Mom said she'd shown Bonnie your location on Google Maps and that they'd mapped how long it would take to fly and to walk there. You asked whether Mom had a picture of the two elders you work with; neither of us did, and we talked about finding the zone or district photo on Facebook to zoom in, noting one of the elders is very tall, probably six foot four or six foot five.

There was also a mozzarella-stick fried food; naps (Mom said she'd almost asked Bonnie if she could lie down on her floor for five minutes); a joke about how in Chile a favorite thing is to do wallpaper badly so it only looks real for a second; and that it was Grandma Gardner's birthday, so you said you should email her, though your phone was about to die in your backpack with nowhere to charge it. We ended by confirming we'd talk again that night because you didn't have a meeting, and said I love you.

Night, from the mission house

You called late from the house where you were staying, after the day's exchanges. It was cold because the heater hadn't been turned on, though better than outside, and you explained the house used to belong to a senior missionary couple, so it's big and nice; they finished their mission years ago and it's been a missionary house since. You were eating a Venezuelan plantain sandwich, a "patacón": they fry the hard green plantains a certain way and use the plantain itself as the bread. You explained plantains aren't sweet unless they're yellow; fried green, they're savory and can be salty.

You told me about the day's work. You met a man on the street, Cristián, an English teacher who speaks excellent English, and you joked his English is better than yours. You taught him, got his contact information to follow up, and he wants to learn more about Jesus. You're doing splits with the local sisters and will do more tomorrow; a dog followed you all day, and you named it "Bear" and then "Bare Bottom." You showed me the Chilean window blinds you can pull up to see out and pull down so no one can see in. You demonstrated that you now point with your lips, the Chilean way, and said you do it without noticing.

You recognized one of the sisters there, Hermana Garcia, who's from Punta Arenas. You noted the time change in that part of Chile, an hour ahead, and that you had about forty-five minutes before your ten o'clock bedtime, with a six o'clock wake-up. Tomorrow you'll be on splits with Hermana Thomas instead of Hermana Garcia. You described your role on these exchanges: the local sisters plan the day, and you and your companion come in as guests to teach them how to work. You told a long, funny riff about a convert nicknamed "Jerko" the doctor.

You showed me photos from the day: flying over Argentina; Carlos and Victoria's home; an aerial of Coyhaique with the surrounding farmland; and the shadow of your plane inside a ring of rainbow, which I liked. You told me about a "pancito," a little box of papers each printed with a scripture, like a daily-bread devotional. A member named Lorena has one, and the man she lives with isn't a member. After you taught him the plan of salvation, he understood he needs to be baptized to be saved and wants to, but doesn't feel it's the right moment yet. He pulled out his pancito after the lesson, and the scripture on it was a direct chastisement, roughly that if we say we have fellowship with Him and walk in darkness, we lie and don't practice the truth. You read it as a pointed warning not to claim salvation you don't have.

You showed me a video Presidente Mackay made about exercising, because a lot of the missionaries in this mission don't exercise; he showed his own running and weightlifting. You said his accent in the video is generic, like yours.

You went on at length about how Presidente Mackay has been opening new areas across the mission, a lot of them places that hadn't seen missionaries in years. You listed Coyhaique opening for sisters; elders sent to towns like Chile Chico; Chaitén, a tiny town opened after about thirty years, where one of the elders is now the branch president; Futaleufú; Palena; and Hornopirén, where the missionaries have to divide their time between towns. You described the Falkland Islands, opened after about thirty years, where the people speak English (you called them British), so one of the senior couples is being sent; the Falklands only get a plane about every ten days, and there's a penguin colony. We joked about the islands actually named "Steeple Jason" and "Grand Jason" out there. You mentioned Puerto Williams as another newly opened place.

You framed all of it as seeing how God is hastening His work. You said yours isn't the most baptizing mission, one of the lower baptism rates in Latin America, but it has a higher retention rate, with converts staying active and coming to church. You said even if you're not baptizing many people now, opening so many new sectors makes it possible to baptize far more in a few years, especially once a temple is there, and you think they may even split the mission because it's so large. You described the travel as insane: getting from the far north (Panguipulli) to the far south can take around eleven hours of straight travel, buses from Panguipulli to Valdivia (about three hours) and on to Puerto Montt (about four), a flight from Puerto Montt to Punta Arenas, then a bus or boat down toward Puerto Natales or Puerto Williams, not counting waiting or lunch.

On food and health: you said you didn't have to adjust as much as you expected, but something about the potatoes there upsets your stomach, and every time you eat potatoes you have to run to the bathroom. For lunches with potatoes, you go straight home afterward and hope and pray. You said Chilean food is otherwise fairly flavorless, with few seasonings; some don't even use salt, putting it on the table only if you ask. You described the standard salad: lettuce, onion, tomato, oil, the juice of a whole lemon, and salt, sometimes with avocado, which you love and plan to keep eating at home. Asked what you'll keep, you named the patacón and pointing with your lips. We had a long run of jokes about whether you'll keep drinking mate (Mom joked she wouldn't allow it), riffing on Teancum and Hagoth and the fat man Shiz.

I brought up that Natalie goes through the temple tomorrow for the first time, at the Oquirrh Mountain Temple, for her endowment; the session's at 5:00 and she needs to be there by 4:30. You said it's crazy and gave advice for her: remind her everything in the temple is sacred for a reason and that Satan mocks what is sacred and tries to make it look bad; help her recognize and focus on her feelings, because that's what helped you, since you didn't understand everything your first time but felt the Spirit. Your strongest advice was, if we can arrange it, to have Natalie go last so that when she walks into the celestial room she sees all of us waiting and smiling; you said walking in and seeing your family was the crowning moment of your own endowment.

You told the story of your own endowment, when you were confused to see Aunt Kathi keep coming further into the temple; you hadn't realized she could come in that far, and you eventually learned she'd received her own endowment a couple of weeks earlier. You also remembered the grandparents getting emotional about it. Mom said the grandfather won't be coming this time and joked there'd be no surprise guests. Mom thought she'd seen Carter at the temple recently, maybe going through for the first time with his parents. You said Carter emailed you a couple of weeks ago, friendly and warm, saying he'd been traveling and was doing well; you thought it possible he'd gone through the temple, which might be part of why he wrote. Mom wanted you to reply and ask.

On home and ward news: I asked how many from the stake had been at a recent meeting; Mom said both of Steve W Haney's counselors were there but not President Haney himself, and named Brother Cannon. There was a thread about George Silva, a ward member, giving Bryson a thumbs up after Bryson checked the tuning of his guitar on Sunday. Mom developed a running joke about using a "universal" thumbs-up gesture in public. You also explained that each week in your email the missionaries pick one mission rule to follow better, and this week you chose 4.3, stress management, because you manage your stress badly. We joked about a skin doctor and a "witch doctor."

Mom shared "bad news" as a joke, that Owen now has a crush on Alexa and may have moved on from you to her. I said when I heard "Owen" I first pictured Porter, who's serving in Australia, and reacted that it'd be disgusting for someone on a mission to like my youngest daughter; we sorted out it was Owen Fusano, the younger one. Mom joked the Fusanos want Alexa to marry one of their sons, which would make you a sister-in-law, and you declined the offer. You said you needed to go because it was technically eleven o'clock where you were. We said love you, I'm proud of you, and I love you.

Cleanup Notes