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)

Part 2: A July Marian Pilgrimage

“Do we still have time?”, my Tita J asked.

“Yes, Tita.”  I answered. “We still have two hours. The mass does not start until 6PM and we are close by.”

“Then let’s proceed to Q Park.” Tita J requested.

Reversal of Roles

My mother was opening cabinets in the kitchen.  It was still early in the morning and she was looking forward to her morning cup of coffee. But she needed to find the kettle to boil water in. There is a microwave oven that could easily heat up some water but my mother was afraid she might set my sister’s house on fire. Lately, it takes so little to make her anxious. And being in a kitchen that is not hers made her uneasy.

If not for the need to seek a second medical opinion in the States, my mother would be puttering around her kitchen in Cebu. She would have easily prepared her coffee by then.

For the duration of the visit, I was her companion. While my sister, M, and her husband, J, went off to work each day, having someone to spend the days with in a house not her own made the visit bearable for my mother.

Luckily, another sister, V, was available to drive for my mother during the days of her medical appointments.

Going to the Doctor

It also was a relief for her that she had someone to fill out the forms required before a medical examination can be conducted to validate results on tests she had done in Cebu. Lately, questionnaires, forms, and interviews intimidate my mother.

As we sat at the waiting room of the laboratory and at the doctor’s office, I could not help remembering the many times my mother accompanied me to the doctor’s office. I was and still am such a scaredy cat. There were countless times she held my hand when I had to be given a vaccine shot. There was also the time she flew in from Cebu to arrive at my bedside a few minutes before they wheeled me into the operating room. And how could I ever forget the scandalous time I screamed for her as I was in labor with my first child. Demanding “I want my mommy”.

Calmly my mother waited and when her name was called, she confidently walked into the doctor’s office knowing that she had two daughters who would be with her when the doctor explained her condition to her.

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The visit to the doctor happened almost a month ago. The doctor is optimistic that all will be well but there is need to monitor my mother’s health. Meanwhile, my mother is happily back in Cebu in familiar surroundings doing the things she loves.

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My mother may be getting more forgetful as the years go by. But there are some things she will never forget: the names of the people who owe her money; and, her skill at whipping up delicious dishes with the simplest of ingredients.

While in the States, I was her kitchen assistant. My task was to put out the chopping board, the knife, the ingredients and the pans. Once these were ready, she would begin and would rather I stayed a short distance away so as not to crowd her. I would only be called in when she needed for me to increase or decrease the heat of my sister’s range.

My mother allowing a sister to help her

Of the many dishes she prepared while we visited, the following soup is one that my siblings and I enjoy for the comfort and satisfaction it brought us --- not to mention the large amount of rice we end up consuming. Best paired with crispy fried budburon (Visayan) or galonggong (Tagalog) or scad (English).

Mother’s Pork Sinigang

1 kilo pork (preferably with bone—ribs would do fine) or 1 kilo chicken ( i prefer drumsticks and thighs)
1 lemon grass bulb
2 thumb-size ginger, sliced
1 onion, sliced
3 cloves garlic, sliced
2 jalapeno or sili pahaba or espada
2 bunches of spinach, washed
1-2 t Knorr sinigang mix (amount will depend on how sour you want your soup to be)
Salt and pepper

Place the meat, the lemon grass and ginger in a pot and add water to cover. After bringing to a quick boil, lower the fire to allow the water to simmer. Continue to cook until meat is tender. Remove and place in a bowl.

In the same pot, add a tablespoon of cooking oil and sauté the onion and garlic. Once done, return back the meat and the resulting broth. Add the jalapeno, some knorr sinigang mix and simmer for about 10 minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Add the spinach and cover the pot to allow the steam to wilt the spinach for another 5-10 minutes. Adjust the seasoning and once to your liking, transfer to a soup bowl.

Serve piping hot.

Pork Sinigang

Chicken Sinigang

To Listen to the Quiet

When a neighbor brought up the idea of attending a retreat in a monastery in Digos, Davao. I immediately told her to count me in. I figured it would be hitting two birds with one stone:
• I was itching to visit Mindanao so Digos would be a good start
• it was high time to join a live-in retreat as the last one I attended was in high school.

On a cloudy Tuesday, we landed in Davao and motored to Digos. The Monastery was everything I expected it to be--- very quiet.



We were going to be a group of 16 women. And being the advance party of 3, we had the retreat house and grounds to ourselves from late afternoon until bedtime (at 8PM!). We were each given our own room-- very basic with a washbasin. Toilets and showers were outside-- just like a dormitory. The rest of the party arrived shortly after we had gone to bed but I was out like a light. Surprisingly for someone who usually takes at least two nights in a strange bed to fall asleep easily.

At 4:30AM, there was a sudden buzz of activity outside my door. The monks had morning prayers at 5AM and followed by mass at 6AM. I peeked out my door and saw some of these ladies rushing back and forth in the corridors. I quickly got dressed and quietly left the dormitory and headed for the church.



My two friends were not up so since there was no time for introductions, I kept to myself as I stole glances at the women who would be my retreat companions for the next three full days.

By breakfast time the necessary introductions were made. It will take another day to get the names and the faces in sync. Meanwhile, to help me remember, I jotted down things that struck me for each of their names I wrote down in my notebook. So-and-so was the one with the tight curls; this other one was the spunky leader of the group, and so on and so forth. By the end of the morning, we were friends. Maybe not close, but the smiles were given out more freely.

The retreat in itself was far from what I had expected. For the next three days, our retreat master, Fr Pat, would meet with us promptly at 9AM. He would speak to us for about an hour. After which, he would advise us to go and find a cozy nook and reflect on what he had said. Guide questions were also given out to help in the reflection. He would meet with us at 3PM for the next session and after a short time, send us off for solitary reflections.

At first, in all the silence, I probably thought about what Fr Pat said for about 30 minutes and then do other things to occupy the rest of the time. I got a chance to steal some time to talk to the staff and the sisters that ran the house. I took solitary walks around the retreat grounds--



checking out the cows



and the chickens



and took pictures of the gardens.



I also took morning naps, afternoon naps, prayed the rosary with my two other friends, and most of the time sang myself silly in one of the garden huts. That was how I was reflecting.

So one afternoon, after singing a medley of Carpenters songs, I happened to look up to see what I thought at first were two golden brown butterflies twirling up in the air. I never took my eyes off them and watch as these "butterflies" finally came to the hard ground. On closer examination, the twirling butterflies turned out to be seed pods of the mahogany tree. I picked them up and then it hit me. The sessions of Fr Pat could be likening to the seeds in the parable of the sowing of the seeds. These "seeds" will not grow without the benefit of a fertile soil or a reflective spirit.



I had come to the retreat hoping to be spoon-fed the answers I was seeking the way it was done during my high school days. Fortunately for me, there was that tiny bit of quiet time when a message got through. Thankful, I stopped singing to listen to the quiet.

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Delicious meals and snacks at the retreat house were available at the dining house. Meals were made out of the fresh produce from the market. And since Davao is the fruit bowl of the Philippines, there were a variety of fruits served during our stay: tangy pomelos, sugary sweet chicos, mangoes and pineapples, slices of red watermelon, caimito (sugar apple), the (in)famous durian, creamy papayas and golden bananas. Definitely my stomach was always quiet with contentment.

Many of the vegetable stews were familiar to me as Davao share similar Visayan fare—like utan (veggie stew). And utan will not be complete without the tanglad or lemon grass fashioned into a distinctive knot. Follow the steps below and add the knotted tanglad to your meat dishes or veggie soups for a new taste dimension.
Step 1


Step 2


Step 3


Step 4


Step 5