On Chasing Fantasies and Working the Land

Yesterday (November 3) we woke at 4:55 in order to go with Peter at 5:15. We drove in the dark to meet Mundo, the fellow working Peter's land. After exchanging greetings, we started walking up the road to El Pital, leading small, mildly ornery horses. Mundo gave one to me; it was my job to keep him walking despite his voracious appetite.

When we reached El Pital, we left the road and started up a footpath which took us high into the mountains. The path was so steep and badly eroded in places, I wondered at the ability of the horses to keep from falling off the mountain. As Mundo told it, they didn´t always.

We climbed and climbed and climbed deep into the ridges surrounding the river valley, walking alternately in the sunlight across exposed fields, and through brooks under dense jungle. We passed several houses in the first hour, but for a long stretch there were no visible settlements. Finally, after close to three hours of walking we reached our destination: a cluster of tin-roofed houses straddling a ridge high enough that we heard no river nor road. At one of the houses, Mundo's brother in law Juan sat on the porch in front of a beautiful pile of beans, dark red and shiny, as if he had just discovered a chest of jewels. We joined him on the porch and the air blowing across my sweaty back was enough to give me goosebumps.

Juan had neatly trimmed, slightly curly hair and sideburns, a long-toothed smile, and a way of expressing himself without actually speaking, only using eyebrows and hands. He seemed very glad to have us there. He brought us glasses of lemonade, four bananas each, and later had us inside for a delicious soup and tortillas his wife had made.

The six of us talked for some time, Peter and I mostly saying "si", repeating words we didn´t understand, and pointing and asking about family members, property, animals, and crops; and the others trying gallantly to explain things in a way we could understand. At some point Juan discovered that I played guitar and brought out his, capoed on the fifth fret on account of the strings that had been broken and tied together. I played the one Spanish song I know (Jehovah, Senor de los Cielos), and than later an African American spiritual that Peter said they seemed to like a lot. Juan played some of his own carefully crafted and executed with words like "pecadores" and "vive" and "corazon". Beautiful pieces, sung and played with the same gentleness that seemed to fill the whole place. It wasn't as if he just happened to be living there -- he felt the beauty, tranquillity and verdence (a word?) too. It was all very neat and well kept. In the kitchen there was a bucket overflowing with bright red peppers, various winter squashes piled beneath a table, and garlic braided together and hanging from the rafters. And I thought, these folks live well.

After some time they began cleaning the beans. They are stored in sacks along with the dirt with which they are harvested until it is time to sell or eat them. Then, they set up two tarps in an "L" shape and toss beans at it from about 20 feet away, which allows the chaff to blow away. I tried for about ten minutes to relieve Mundo, and found it was not as easy as it looked. Some beans fell with the chaff, and some missed the tarp altogether. I commented to Peter that it was just as he said: the help of North Americans can be both a blessing and a curse.

We delayed leaving for some time because of an intermittent afternoon rain, but finally decided to go because it was late. We removed some of the beans because, Mundo said, it would be dangerous for the horses in the rain. We departed during a break in the rain, but it overtook us about 100 yards from the door, and poured for at least half an hour. The ignorant nortamericano leading a heavy-laden horse down steep eroded, now slippery paths, sliding at times, running ahead of the sliding horse at others...

Every now and then I looked back to see Mundo, walking steadily and cheerfully as ever, sometimes calling out misunderstood pieces of advice, somtimes clucking or slapping his horses. All in a days work.

And this was just a trip to get some beans. We weren't planting or harvesting or doing much work, just walking. There were times, especially on the way up, when I felt a tiredness in my body I have only rarely experienced -- a heaviness in the chest that was overwhelming at times. I thought how in the US such a hike would only be taken for recreation, as a way to see some new things or top a mountain. In this case, it was just part of the job, something that had to be done for the sake of the beans. And then they told us that last year they made this trip every day for several weeks in order to plant beans on the heights.

Now is a good time to take my laziness for what it is, to learn from the people here for whom diligence and laziness really make a difference, just as Solomon promised. It is time to see daily activities as life, not something to get out of the way in order to live.