Five hundred miles
Jiminy Da Cricket and I traveled a total of 1,020 kilometers or 633.79861 miles the past four days. I just got back this afternoon (and immediately wanted to be away again). *Sigh*
Anyway, on to more important things...
One of the pleasures of a vacation like this is the opportunity to talk and listen to people from all walks of life, and learn from them. Minus the pressure of beating a deadline, of course, which makes it more leisurely.
I forget his name. But he says he is old, very old, "72 or 73?." I smiled and said he doesn't look old, and definitely does not move old. He says he was born in 1932. Then he turns to me again and asks me how old that makes him. I didn't know what to say so I thought honesty would be fine. I said that makes him 75. He bit his lip for a while then chuckled, as if summoning back his cheerful ways.
"Why do you travel alone?" he asks me. I said most of my friends are not on break yet. "Settle down, it's fun to be married," he said. I smiled and changed the subject.
He doesn't know how many kids he has anymore. All he remembers is that he has buried a few of them.
He's been to Manila, he proudly tells me. It was when his sister left for Hawaii to get married. It must have been five decades ago, give or take a few years. The Manila he saw then was not as ghastly as the one we have now. It must have been a major operation for the whole family, for they all went to the airport to see the sister off.
"It's tough to farm," he says. The old farming song about planting rice is still true. The farmer says their mayor allows them to plant rice just once a year, because the water used for irrigation has to be diverted for the city's requirements. "Sometimes we're lucky, sometimes we're not," he says. This year the harvest is lean, as some portions of the irrigation canal were erased by tons of mud and rocks after two recent storms battered the region. Luck has nothing to do with a lot of the process, though. Most of the time it requires brute force, the willingness to just sleep off the exhaustion and physical pain, and a strong will to survive.
"We can't afford to rent the town's harvest equipment," says this man. That would mean almost two sacks as payment, plus money for diesel. They have resorted to a gentleman's agreement instead: neighbors will take turns helping neighbors until all the grains are harvested. It takes weeks for the whole community to finish the harvest. Then the harvest has to be spread out under the sun twice, before it is ready for milling.
Then they will have to pay the lenders for the money they used to buy fertilizer. Set aside some amount for the next planting season, which they said they often end up using for other needs. Which takes them back in front of the lender. It's a cycle that never ends.
The earth is draining these men's youth, blood and sweat. It has, for generations now.
Unless our farmers are able to benefit from a more modern way of farming, it will remain that way.
Anyway, on to more important things...
One of the pleasures of a vacation like this is the opportunity to talk and listen to people from all walks of life, and learn from them. Minus the pressure of beating a deadline, of course, which makes it more leisurely.
I forget his name. But he says he is old, very old, "72 or 73?." I smiled and said he doesn't look old, and definitely does not move old. He says he was born in 1932. Then he turns to me again and asks me how old that makes him. I didn't know what to say so I thought honesty would be fine. I said that makes him 75. He bit his lip for a while then chuckled, as if summoning back his cheerful ways.
"Why do you travel alone?" he asks me. I said most of my friends are not on break yet. "Settle down, it's fun to be married," he said. I smiled and changed the subject.
He doesn't know how many kids he has anymore. All he remembers is that he has buried a few of them.
He's been to Manila, he proudly tells me. It was when his sister left for Hawaii to get married. It must have been five decades ago, give or take a few years. The Manila he saw then was not as ghastly as the one we have now. It must have been a major operation for the whole family, for they all went to the airport to see the sister off.
"It's tough to farm," he says. The old farming song about planting rice is still true. The farmer says their mayor allows them to plant rice just once a year, because the water used for irrigation has to be diverted for the city's requirements. "Sometimes we're lucky, sometimes we're not," he says. This year the harvest is lean, as some portions of the irrigation canal were erased by tons of mud and rocks after two recent storms battered the region. Luck has nothing to do with a lot of the process, though. Most of the time it requires brute force, the willingness to just sleep off the exhaustion and physical pain, and a strong will to survive.
"We can't afford to rent the town's harvest equipment," says this man. That would mean almost two sacks as payment, plus money for diesel. They have resorted to a gentleman's agreement instead: neighbors will take turns helping neighbors until all the grains are harvested. It takes weeks for the whole community to finish the harvest. Then the harvest has to be spread out under the sun twice, before it is ready for milling.
Then they will have to pay the lenders for the money they used to buy fertilizer. Set aside some amount for the next planting season, which they said they often end up using for other needs. Which takes them back in front of the lender. It's a cycle that never ends.
The earth is draining these men's youth, blood and sweat. It has, for generations now.
Unless our farmers are able to benefit from a more modern way of farming, it will remain that way.
posted by atticus at
7:09 PM
4 Comments:
Kawawa talaga ang mga farmers natin. They are always at the mercy of the rice cartel and land owners. Whateve happened to "Land for the Landless" program of the government anyway?
So yan pala ang ginawa mo these past few days. Hay, at ako naman, stuck in the city...
oh, they do have land, these farmers i talked to. however, they have very little government support and fall victim to the low price offered by middlemen.
too bad you were stuck in the city. i braved it out because good friends warned me i'll regret it if i don't go out again.
my dad is a farmer too. hmm. i'd better write something about his being a farmer. soon.
duke, sige nga. i want to know more. does he still farm?
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home