It's In The Blood

“Why do farmers farm, given their economic adversities on top of the many frustrations and difficulties normal to farming? And always the answer is: "Love. They must do it for love." Farmers farm for the love of farming.” 
― Wendell Berry

My maternal grandparents were farmers. They knew everything about the earth and very little of the world.   ( click Family Beginnings)

Nothing came easy as they worked the land.  From dawn until dusk, they worked as they tried their best to give their children an education that would lead to better lives. 

But the land called out to my uncles and aunts.  Some heeded the call very early in life.  With very little or interrupted formal education, they became farmers themselves. The others that did manage to get their diplomas eventually returned to working the land inherited from my grandparents at different stages of their lives. (click  Good Morning Katagbakan )

My mother, on the other hand, listened to the call of the city.  Shortly after graduating from a secretarial course, she married my father—a certified city boy.(click  My Dad and Dean Martin )

But the farmer in her would not be denied-- especially when it offered lucrative ways to augment my father’s company pay.  In between raising seven children, she managed to plant ground orchids and sold the blooms to a local florist. I recall him paying ten-centavos per orchid.  I also remember grapes on short trellis at the side of the house but they turned out to be sour.  But none the least, lovely to look at.

My father, inspired by my mother, got into the farming spirit and went ahead with planting coconuts, mangoes and an assortment of trees around our house.  ( click Mango Mango So Good to Me) I also remember the two poultry houses with two levels of white leghorns.  After work, in the early evening, my father would deliver the eggs to sari-sari stores.  

There were two huge sows in a pen that from time to time would give birth to cute piglets.  What a ruckus they would make every time a buyer would come.  He placed them in sacks to be hauled off to market.

As we grew up, there was never a lack of farm animals freely roaming outside our house.  We had ducks, goats, geese, dogs, cats and even a barrel of turtles.  I distinctly remembered a cow but it did not stay too long before it was taken away for slaughter. It’s a good thing we did not have any neighbors for a long time.  Imagine the trouble my parents would have faced from complaints about farm noises and odors. 

Time flew. We grew up and out of the house.  Soon after my mother and younger siblings migrated to the States, several commercial establishments took over the residential area and we sold our property.

As my siblings and I took on different professions, none of us have taken a serious interest in farming as a means of livelihood.  But over the years, we too could not deny the call to sow, to nurture, to farm.  Now-a-days, we are proud about our lemon grasses or citronella bushes; a bay leaf tree; a groove of bamboo; cherry tomatoes and herbs in pots placed on kitchen window sills; and a fruitful avocado or papaya tree.   

A brother has gone so far as to raise exotic chickens and turkeys on a property he hopes to retire to in the near future.

As they say, “you can take the person out of the farm but you can’t take the farm out of the person”—‘cause it’s in the blood.

---xoxoxox---

I have a continuing love affair with gardening. I would like to think that this is an offshoot of the farming genes I got from my mother. Throughout this blog, you will find entries about my adventures with the soil.

Since I moved to Cebu to be with my mother, I have resumed this love affair with the onset of the rainy season.  It is a challenge as Cebu’s soil is general rocky (lime stones).  But somehow, with adequate rainfall, cow manure and several sacks of purchased garden soil, I have managed to coaxed some of these hardy plants into taking root.

Lemon grass-  still in it’s infancy stage.

Turmeric- The roots are boiled to make a tea that is thought to be a cure for arthritis and prevention of Alzheimer’s disease. The flowers, I am told, give off a pleasant scent.

Basil—  The seeds came from an Italian priest. A week more and I will probably have enough for some pesto. (click Green Magic )

Alugbati- the leaves of which go to our vegetable stew and the stems I plant instead of discard.

A variety of ornamental plants- bought from nurseries or sourced from relatives

Giant Aloe Vera- I have increased their numbers to five. I cut off one stem for the purpose of rubbing on my scalp but I got turned off by the scent.  I will just admire it.

Avocadoes – I popped some seeds in tin cans two months ago and they are waking up now.  They are more for giving away than planting in my mom’s garden.

Does the "farming gene" extend to my children? 

My daughter, while living in an apartment, potted some easy-to-maintain cacti.  That’s a sign. 

While my son shows no inclination to get his hands dirty, I know sooner or later, he will come around to the idea of planting.  I would like to think he’s a late bloomer.