Working the soil for a living

My late father was making $20 a month as a construction worker. He’d come home dead tired from working under the sun all day. He’d drink his coffee then we’d hop on his truck to feed farm animals at the family ranch at As Perdido.

Initially, he had the land cleared with a bulldozer followed by a huge tractor. The rest of the cleaning (uprooting tañgantañgan with picks) was done manually. That was after school chores for the troops. Before dark, we’d gather the uproots for fire wood at home in our traditional island stove.

After clearing the land, it was plowed once more to turn new growths into compose. Two weeks later, we started planing sweet corn, sweet potatoes, pumpkin, assorted taro, vegetables, water melon, bananas and tapioca. I didn’t resent the hard work for it really wasn’t a matter of choice for any of us, but the bone tired muscles when we head home after dark. It’s hard studying or getting homework done in the evening so I’d do it before morning mass.

We’d cook the family breakfast and complete all chores before mass. By the time we get home, dad’s off to ferry the crew to As Lito to start another day building the old hospital (former Dr. Torres or NMC today). Everything went well throughout class until around 2 p.m. when I know that I’d be heading to the farm when my father gets home from work. We feed farm animals, pull more grass along sweet corn rows and gather fire wood before returning home.

My father’s meager salary couldn’t pay for our monthly utility bills. So our electricity was disconnected and must endure doing homework next to kerosene light. It’s kerosene light whether you’re taking shower, cooking or studying. Then we gently blow it off before calling it a night. It was really a humble setting where you learn to appreciate what abject poverty and sheer hard work were all about. At around 10 p.m., either mom or dad would check to ensure that everybody’s home and fast asleep.

Some of my brothers would go land crab hunting between Hopwood, Chalan Laulau and even as far away as the swamp land south of Tanapag. They’d come home and put their catch in a 50 gallon drum can then feed them with coconut to cleanse their system. Some three days later, we’d cook them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I’ve had so much land crab not by choice but by necessity. It’s the best meal there is other than sugar and coffee, salt and animal fat dumped on top of hot rice.

Some kids would join their fathers fishing in the lagoon. Others would go coconut crab hunting in ravines and pristine jungle. Still others would use sling shots hunting birds in the woods. Essentially, it’s all food gathering where the young members of the family help supplement what meager salary dad brings home from work.
They were the good old days when life was simple in the old village.

A sense of community among villagers was a forte then. People got together and help build social buildings (kamalin) made of island trees, wild marshland grass or coconut fronds. Large amounts of food for novenas or village fiestas are cooked the old way in traditional underground oven. Food is wrapped in taro, banana or breadfruit leaves. For some reason, the aroma of food cooked in traditional ways tasted better.

I don’t know if a sense of community is still a forte among the indigenous people today. At least I find this tradition still strong in the Carolinian Community. Perhaps it still is strong among Chamorros. Be that as it may, it is no longer the same when most of our people used to live in the old village. Perhaps it disappeared when we started migrating to new homestead subdivisions. If anything, most young boys then had their share of working the soil to help mom and dad meet filial dietary needs. What about kids today?