agricultura en catrico: un refugio verdadero wwoofers

i'm short on words these days with difficulty contemplating every morning as i walk towards the kitchen of Illani and Guayo's adobe house how i will sum up each week that i'm here. How typical that i have spent the majority of my time pondering up the next food creation for the following day, to have the savory and sweet flavors of food jump off a fork or spoon, diving into the palate of 10 maybe 20, perhaps 30 people. All from various parts of the world representing there time here as wwoofers, as families just visiting, poets, or men recovering from deep, dark troubling pasts fighting with addiction looking for forgiveness in the country hills of there home land and on and on and on.

Although after sitting down with all of these crazy individuals(who probably think the same of me), watching them give praise and thanks for a big meal, i wish i had more time to be outside. I have enjoyed my time in the garden, tending to weeds, searching under the prickly leaves of cucumbers of which none are trellised, but still happily green and loving life. Pulling beets with the reminder of doing so all not that long ago for Josh and Jean this summer, my mouth watering just looking at the golden yellow and blood stained red sweet treats. Feeling impatient as the peppers may have been planted too late as summer nears to an end. Tomatoes mostly green still, i watch them slowly turn a shade less each day. Raspberries invading the remaining sectors of an area i so wish to increase in size by double. I keep a sharp, precise eye on the red and blue potatoes that have had very good luck here. Sadly, i question how long this garden will last with honest care and consideration. Alas, my never ending battle of where to plant myself(no pun intended) each day. It's just finding a balance between cooking and cultivating i guess...

Long time friend and neighbor, Juan, usually watches over things as Illani, Guayo, and co. typically depart to their California residence in June or July. I imagine it's a good break for them after a busy spring and summer in Catrico each year. Also, because flights are cheaper than heating there house in the winter. I still get this funny feeling, like there is a need for me to be around longer to make sure things are tended to peacefully. Not to dissaprove of the caretakers here when they are gone but so much more could be obtained, i think, from this land. Illani and Guayo hold  hectares just in Catrico, another property much further north near a penguin community shared with whales and other marine life. Seeing this land gets me more and more excited about having my own farm.

Today, Erika, the german wwoofer who holds her respect more for cabios than humans, unfortunately departs today. She has spent the last few months in Chile looking for a rightful place to care for horses. As i have spent a lot of time with my grandparent's horses when i was much younger, i feel very content and comfortable with the horses here. They're all so different from eachother, but they share a strong companionship with each other. Erika has been great about reestablishing a connection with them individually and between human and horse. At times, it's been tough to get on the horse because of the close memories i had with my own two, Sheba and lacy. But all is well after the feet set in, and the butt is perched in the saddle. Nothing can take away the time invested riding horseback. Erika...I will miss her energy and perseverance to be a stronger person most of all. Others come and go as the wind is slow to move here, maybe once a week, i watch it strike the apple and plum trees, whizzing by the sun dial garden that i transplanted chives, mint and oregano in. Fellow friends, you will be missed, but i won't forget you when the wind returns again.

I watch the worker's craftiness, there way with saws and lumber. Erecting a new bathroom in the main house with a view that encapsulates all the surrounding pasture land, and utilizing the chilean chestnut: castellano for door handles, towel racks, etc. The tarnish really puts an exclamation point on the wood. They continue to finish steps outside, a rustic metal rack for holding tea mugs in the kitchen, and so much more. I think i will immerse myself in a carpentry course or two when i get back to the states, perhaps right after my first year at FoodCorps if i'm accepted in. After seeing them master these projects, it inspires me to get involved with carpentry work. I want to build my own house, a cottage style with two floors influenced by lake houses in the new england region. But then i'm so into adobe and how i would want to incorporate that. And if i can't build my own house, i at least want to take part in the construction of it. The barn that holds the sheep and Llama's is a neat design. It's a figure 8. One section is meant for the Llama's and the other for the sheep, but it appears they all enjoy eachothers company so much, they just end up wherever, together. Illani enjoys the concept of circles and morphing or twisting similar shapes when building so is the reason behind the barn.

Several days now have passed. I've had to put this down to contemplate more. I had a fun opportunity to slow cook a leg of wild boar or  today, contending with making mozzarella and queso fresco. Outside projects include clearing the bog that contain arandanos(blueberries) and hopefully next year cranberries. The vegetable garden is being overwhelmingly taken over by the frambuesas(raspberries) so we will transplant the roots to the bog also. In between those tasks: tieing up loose ends with the spring up on the mountain by fixing the decanting tank so it actually works, cleaning the barns out for winter, weeding out the garden for the following year, winterizing the house and tidying up before we head north, where even more tasks will be laid out until our brief stint in Peru.

I will end with some poetry:

The straps, fastened in
pull them tighter, you'll bleed the horse
we drift onto the rocky roads of catrico
gates await our toggle to unlock the secrets
further yonder, green and yellow pastures bristle our hands
at last we reach the firey heavens of the disco
salivating the pig
breaking for the cool river as i sit pondering about life and death
lets go back before the dark is too dark for our eyes
trot, canter, gallop onward home
volcano, volcano, volcano smoke
the others desire for more helados like children begging for candy
while the smell of brassicas in the field tempt my slithering tongue
stars turn themselves on, replacing the bulbs of dead ones filling the sky
tints of red, orange
hues of yellow and blue
smiling, knowing all will be okay in the end
Orion's belt, big and little dippers, Jupiter
and on and on, i dream with the horse...

Berry pickin'

Raspberries are shy...
Afraid to be seen from a distance. Or perhaps they are just playful. Always hiding and seeking beneath leaves or behind their dried up older siblings.

Blackberries are vicious...
With their destructive thorns lashing out from every direction, leaving my arms bearing witness to their wrath.

Blueberries are patient...
And content to sit out in plain view without thorns or leaves they sun themselves and tap their toes to reggae beats. Maybe they are just super chill. Que bueno!

And I pick them all

Dulce Sueños

After week one, we said goodbye to six members of our farm family as two of the permanent workers escorted their sons and nephew to Santiago, about 10 hours north by bus.  In the morning, we welcomed seven more as participants in a drug and alcohol rehab program arrived for their retreat. There is never lack of excitement and each day holds plenty of interesting adventures without ever leaving the property.

A few days later we set lunch for 34. Eleven poets participating in a Mapuche arts and cultural festival in Villarica, the closest large town, joined us for lamb from the farm and course after course of fresh deliciousness. Ameen was up at 6am to start preparations with everyone jumping in to help with some aspect.

Illani, an American biologist, and her husband Guayo, a Chilean biologist and professor, bought the land in Catrica a decade ago to have a place to escape the city (Santiago).
Language is an ongoing barrier for me, although I learn and understand more everyday. It is easy to get away with speaking only English to those who speak it here, so I have to push myself to practice with those who don't. I'm constantly surrounded by it but it becomes easy to tune out and get lost on my own thoughts.

I'm working with Erica, a German WWOOFer, with the horses everyday. There are 11 grown horses and one fowl. Erica has taught me how to work with and train the young ones, and to ride the older ones. I'm finally comfortable going into a gallop on the miles of gorgeous trails that surround the farm. Riding through farmland that overlooks Catrico and where on clear days you can see the active volcano has been beyond serene.

I have had the time to strengthen my yoga practice in the evenings, and have led groups at the farm, even the three children of the French family participated a few times. I'm learning by trial and error about how to effectively teach since I've never gone through any formal training, plus I'm trying to translate as I go when possible.

I have loved all of the unique interactions that this experience has brought: meeting travelers from Austria, Germany, France, Panama, and Chile and all living together as family. We plan to stay here for another 3 weeks before traveling with Illani and Guayo to Santiago. From there we head to Peru at the end of March to meet back up with the Scottons.

Lmyr,
B

Espíritu de Argentina

"...then we dance with chains..."

One does not need to travel far, or to a large capital city to experience what makes this country great. From Saturday night pizza gatherings, where all are welcome (just bring some toppings to share), to markets in the park that turn into night time concerts, the sense of community is in the air. It is not forced or false. Open invitations and true hospitality are the norm.
This past Wednesday, we received an invitation for "Argentine folk dancing. Bring chorizo, bread, and wine." The location was outside of our friend Alejandro's house where speakers sat in front of the house and a laptop pumped out Samba and other traditional beats. Across the street was the protest camp, where 13 former employees of a construction company and 2 current employees (in solidarity) had locked themselves inside of the area where the equipment was kept and chained that up as well. Women and children of the workers pitched tents, made food, shared stories, and kept maté cups filled.
Friends of Alejandro and Elsa's, as well as supporters of the strike gathered to feed, feast, and dance. A spry, middle aged stoutly built man with a passion for hiking and climbing every mountain in this area (and there are numerous!) kicked up his heels in a sort of jig and waived a silk scarf romantically in the direction of his dance partner and wife. Such spark for life! It was mostly women besides him that were dancing, each with their own flair. Noelani and I even got pulled into one dance, but the large gravel/ rock road and my flip-flops didn't exactly make me a graceful dancer, not that I might have been anyway.
A police vehicle with it's swirling lights drove down the road...just to check on the festivities. Luckily, no brutal action had been taken, yet. Although a scare occurred a few nights earlier when 15 officers, one for every person inside, arrived with guns drawn. No exact explanations were provided as to why, mostly an intimidation tactic, we surmised. We asked Alejandro if the police would shut it down. He  didn't seem concerned by this. "But what happens if they come," I pressed on.
"Then we dance with chains," he said with gleaming eyes.

A couple days later, while resting up my recently fattened foot, due to an unfortunate run-in with some sort of stinging creature, I was summoned from the house by the sound of drums and chanting. I hobbled down the road to watch nearly 100 people gathered outside the compound. Police cars were all around, but so far, the trend of protest had been peaceful. "Like Gandhi," Noelani noted. "On some much smaller scale," Alejandro replied. But my thought is that the point is the same. Noelani's thoughts for a blog post are, "Small town, Big Politics." Precisely.
I feel extremely humbled by the connections we have made in this small town in Chubut, Argentina. A spark of activism that at times lies dormant outwardly is reignited.

-Briana

Lago Puelo- Chakra y Lago

 Family day at Lago Puelo. The mountain water is icy cold, but it is a beautiful contrast when the temperature reaches the 90s.

 Pastorcita, the sheep guard dog, getting ready for her break.

Ameen venturing out into the bone chilling waters

Amazing sunsets

Gabriel eating some of his findings

Framboises- the main crop on Olga´s chakra

A Day in the Life

For the past two weeks, we have reported to Olga's farm to volunteer, but today I played hookie to take care of some shopping business.  Plus, it's market day so Olga, and recently, Noelani will be there until the evening.

Today, I loaded up on local, raw milk and yogurt, mostly local and organic frutas y verduras, and some snack items while in the larger neighboring town. I stopped by to see Noelani, working Olga's frambuesa stand at the feria, market (literally carnival or fair, but that's how it's referred) to say hello and fetch her a quick snack of empanada frita con cebolla y carne. And munch on some delectable raspberries...

Afterwards, I took the bus from El Bolson back to Lago Puelo, crossing state lines from Rio Negro to Chubut. I noticed the bus doesn't continue on the regular route but turns down a side road to avoid people carrying a large banner down the street. I can't quite make out what it says but I vaguely remember it being painted a few days earlier in the park. I think I catch a glimpse of Elsa, the mother of a family we have become acquainted with around the corner from our house. Her husband, Alejandro, is the cousin of the director of Gabriel's school back in New Jersey. I wonder if the banner and group of people are demonstrating. Our small town seems to have a bit of political action going on. I only caught part of the story at our weekly pizza gathering at Elsa and Alejandro's this past Saturday night, but it seems a few families are upset about being displaced so they have set up a camp outside of a construction area with tents and shade structures. I will have to attempt to find out more information this week.

January, with it's blustery cold winds and piles of snow, often makes me want to hibernate in the kitchen with the oven and stove constantly on full blast. I relish in finding recipes hidden in cookbooks and food magazines, or experimenting with creating dishes I've sampled in restaurants. Such a North American centric idea of what January means from the other side of the equator!! I find myself longing for the creativity of cooking hot foods! Bags sprawled around me in our compact kitchen as I wash, prep, and imagine what I can do with this leftover chicken carcass...
Ameen is the true professional in this department, of course, but I enjoy my hobby cooking just as much, I suspect. He spends at least an hour a day creating tasty treats of all sorts for the family to enjoy. (We had a great time meal planning on the farm in Ecuador where our creativity was further challenged by lack of refrigeration, the nearest store existing no less than an hours journey, and a makeshift kitchen that left much to the imagination.)
Currently, even in 90 degree heat, I am listening to the sizzle of confit potatoes in the oven, and smelling the savory chicken noodle soup on the stove...

I am appreciating the little nuances of my unconventional life for the month. To save money, I wash my clothes by hand in the sink. I think my first load took me nearly an hour. But now that I have it down, a small load is only fifteen minutes or so, except for the time our water was shut off and I had to continuously run to the spring tap to refill. The tap is in the backyard and crisp, mountain cold water runs right to it. Drinking water has never been so good!! There are plenty of reasons I try not to drink bottled water, but this tops them all... Although I suppose that's exactly why some people want bottled water to begin with... Not all water from the ground or a tap could be this Damn good.

Reading Barbara Kingsolver's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" and wondering why I haven't read it sooner, and will everyone of my Facebook friends become annoyed with my constant quoting of it, and do I really care??

-Briana

Market Days

One of the most splendid memories I have of New Hampshire is making my way to the Seacoast Farmer's Market. The food alone is enough to set my senses spiraling, but the amazing community vibes that warm the air, even on the most brutal of New England winter mornings is what sticks with me while I'm away.
There is not a proper Farmer's Market here in Chubut/ Rio Negro, Argentina, or in many of the places we have traveled thus far, but farmers are selling their goods everywhere!! With all of the tourism, I can't help but wonder if a more organized effort would be worthwhile. Three evenings a week there are vendors in the small park in Lago Puelo that mostly sell crafts, but some alfajores cookies, and jams are sold too. The larger market in nearby El Bolson is packed with tourists and locals and consists of probably 100 vendors. Here you will find more fruits and vegetables for sale. There are dozens of farms in this area, but we still encountered difficulty when trying to find one to volunteer on in exchange for room and board.
Serendipitously, as often happens for us, we made a connection in an unlikely place. While getting her haircut, Mary learned that Vilma, her stylist, lived on a farm. We setup a date to pay her mother a visit. The main cash crop on the farm this time of year are frambuesas, raspberries. Many farms utilize volunteers through programs like WWOOF, but Vilma's mother, Olga, usually just worked with neighbors who assisted in picking. Olga's mother, whom we only know as Abuela, grandmother, is 90 and although she does not have to work the land, continues to do so everyday. We could sense Olga's uncertainty about having us there the first day. Honestly, why would these Americans travel so far, and for so long to work for free?? Good question! Ameen and I generally would look for a farm with a work exchange option, but since we are staying with my family, it opened up our options. After showing Olga that we would work hard doing anything she asked us to, and explaining that we had the desire to learn her techniques, she warmed up and began expanding our duties outside of raspberrry picking.
My favorite part of this experience is working with Gabriel, my nephew, who just turned six on January 6th. The lessons he is learning on the farm and the work ethic that is being instilled are priceless. There is plenty to keep his little mind busy, and when he tires, there are plenty of animals to watch.
Hot days, into the 90s this week, make lake and river trips very appealing after work and on weekends. Yesterday, we rented kayaks and went across part of Lago Puelo (the lake itself) to a presumably uninhabited island where we discovered between the rocks instead of sand, the earth was clay. We rolled it around in our hands for awhile and then I made stripes on my face with it which led to Ameen covering his entire face....and of course once Gabriel noticed that he wanted in on the fun and we all were practically covered in greenish clay. Ameen was the only one who left it on the entire day, all dried and crumbly, he looked like a zombie Frankenstein. There were plenty of strange looks coming from people at supermarkets. Unfortunately, none of us had a camera handy to capture that debauchery.

Photos of farms and lake attached separately :)