29 Mayo 2012

Blanket weaving has been put on hold because it is barley harvest.

Last year, my host father was fulfilling the job of the father and eldest son; He was bringing in the bushels that were cut this weekend, and whacking the heads off with a large, heavy eucalyptus trunk.

Then my host mother and I were breaking the heads apart with smaller, but thick branches of eucalyptus, and brushing the shells away with the perfect tool, a thorn bush branch, before winnowing.

This year, it was just the tree of us again, so my host mom asked a neighbor to come and help in exchange for a bushel of barley. I was proud to become “la hija macha” the daughter doing the eldest son’s work. Exhausting.

My host father carried over a bushel that weighed more than he does. Threw it in front of me. I kneel on it to press it more flat to the ground. Stand. Lift the trunk, throw it down to slap off the barley heads –wuacta, is the verb in quechua-. Rotate the bushel and hit –wuacta- repeatedly until all the heads are broken off. Carry the bushel to the women to do the detail work and catch what I miss and sort. I then whack the heads apart that survived, and receive my next bushel.

*please note the relationship that the sound of a verb has with the verb itself in quechua. what we would call onoponopeia, they just call a verb. whack-wuacta*

Because my throat is still a bit sore, and my cough haggard, my host mother insisted I wear a scarf all day and brought me boiled water with herbs to drink instead of chicha. “demasiado calor” my host father said whipping his sweaty brow, I pointed to my sweaty scarf and rolled my eyes. “like I said, so cold out today!” he joked, and we all laughed. While it gets down to below freezing at night, because of the altitude, it is toasty in the middle of the day, mid 70sF.

While my energy is low because my body is still fighting, my spirits are high. I have let go of the fight, passed it into able hands, and am living limpid.

My evenings at the library are more rewarding than ever because I can observe. The kids just come. The little ones know where their favorite art supply resides. The big ones know how to look up their homework questions in the books now.  I exist to smile, open the door and fix the stapler.