Hands that Harvest

no. 15

We piled into the four-door Toyota Corolla hatchback, all ten of us: Mamita up front with Javier driving, Leifer, the boys, and me in the back seat, and Ideaa, Trini, and Julia in the hatchback. We had tomatoes, chicken, cake, strawberries, water, and hats. I couldn’t believe how we fit into this car. Leif and Enzo rolled down the window with the hand crank and stuck their heads out as we started to climb toward Huascarán and away from Mancos. Clouds were scattered around the black mountains behind us. After driving for 30 minutes, we stopped at a fish hatchery to see the trucha (trout).

Leifer tried to help everyone out of the trunk, but he couldn’t get it open. I got out of the car and squeezed the handle; the back opened, and everyone was glad because Javier had taken off when we arrived. We climbed over the mud from the rain and walked across planks to the trucha. They were dark in color and had spots; they were slimy. The boys wanted to catch one, but the fish easily wiggled away. We were so happy to see all the fish. A woman walked over with a net, started to pull fish out and place them in a bucket. Some she put back. It dawned on me that we were going to eat fish for lunch, and we weren’t just here to see them. She put the fish in a bag and weighed them, and we ended up with two bags of fish. I could still see movement in the bags. Lucca got onto his belly and tried to touch the water, but he was too slow to touch a fish. We piled back into the car and continued heading up toward Huascarán.

We went to Encayoc, the area where Abuelito grew up. He still has land there, which they use to grow potatoes. We had been there once before, but this trip was much different because all the potatoes needed to be harvested.

In the same area is Javier’s house—he is Leifer’s cousin on Abuelito’s side of the family. When we arrived at Javier’s in Encayoc, his wife and two daughters, who are in their early twenties, were waiting for us. We all piled out of the car and began walking down the muddy road, staying on the grassy patches to avoid puddles. With us was a mama pig, four piglets, and five sheep. The mama pig got ahold of a bar of soap a woman was using to wash clothes near the road. Leifer and Javier’s daughter chased the pig and managed to pull half of it out of her mouth. Leifer gave the woman 2 solis for her soap. Javier later tried to pay him back, but Leifer turned him down.

We walked about a quarter of a mile down the road. The women filled buckets with water and started gutting and cleaning the fish. Enzo came over and told me he touched a fish, and it didn’t bite him. The guts were saved and given to the pigs scavenging nearby. Others started building a fire. I headed up the road to help dig up the potatoes. Pulling out the stalks revealed many potatoes of all sizes; some were purple, and some were brown. Leifer took off his shoes as he worked, connecting with the earth.

On our drive up, I asked Leifer if he ever wavered in his desire to be in the U.S. He said yes, suggesting he had thought about continuing his life here. “It’s all about my family,” he told me, meaning me and the kids. “It’s different here,” I replied. “It’s hard to compare to the U.S.” “You can be here,” he said, “as long as you are healthy.” “But there are good doctors here; you just have to travel for them.” “Yes,” he said, “or pay for private care.” At what point do we stop waiting, and what if Leifer’s papers never come? He has been at it for over 20 years, and worse, he has now been barred from his home. I don’t want to face returning to California without him, that’s my home because he is there. Every dream we have starts with “when you have your papers.” Before I left, I had heard a sermon about the necessity of doubt for a strong faith- you cannot have one without the other. My doubt compels me to make a life here, no matter how temporary it may be. Where do I begin? I have picked up and moved my life to a new city many times, yet this time feels so different.

Then my mind wandered to my dad on a motorcycle navigating these mountainous roads. I think he would enjoy it. The roads are not paved, but people drive much slower because of that. Oftentimes it's a single lane, so you stop to let oncoming traffic through.

Even at a picnic, hot food is served—soup and a main dish. The fish is fried over the fire, while potatoes and soup are boiled. It’s a hot day with little shade. After lunch, cups of Inka Cola are passed around.

At the end of meals, Peruvians say thank you. Leifer has always done this, even when he cooks. I’ve grown to understand it as gratitude for the food, for each other, and maybe even for life in that moment.

After resting and talking, Leifer got up and said there were two more hours of work ahead of them. I hadn’t realized until now that Abuelita intended to harvest the whole field. There were no tractors to turn the dirt, only pickaxes and their hands. I took a deep breath and wondered what I would do with my kids for the next couple of hours. Enzo had already been complaining about wanting to go home, and Leif was tired and whining too. I pulled his head against my chest and lay back against the side of the hill. Leif fell asleep. Tia Julia took Lucca, and Enzo went to find Leifer. I covered Leif with his sweater to keep the flies away. I felt itchy in the grass but didn’t want to move; I hoped Leif would stay asleep for a while. I prayed for time to pass.

Around 3 o'clock, Leif woke up, and we gathered our things to head back up the hill to the field. Tia Julia gave the boys her phone to watch Paw Patrol while we entertained Lucca. The boys sat on the doorstep of a small house that looked like it mostly stored tools.

Tia Julia went back up to help with the potatoes. Two more hours came and went. The boys had already eaten the snacks we had packed much earlier, and I hoped Paw Patrol would keep them occupied. I could see dark clouds rolling in, and the temperature began to drop. My ankles were itchy, and I wished I had covered them.

At about 5 o'clock, the rain started. We scooted under the eave of the little house to stay dry. I could see Leifer and his family hurry to put on sweaters and hats, and they started working quickly. I had walked up a bit earlier with Lucca, thinking I should help. There were piles of potatoes that, if I had to guess, were sorted by size. I didn’t understand the system and felt like the “gringa” that Peruvians often called me. I couldn’t grasp what was being said and worried about how I would appear to them. Mothers here often work even when their children are with them. I felt uncomfortable, and just like the boys, I wanted to return to the casita. It had been such a long day already. But it became clear that they weren’t going to leave the potatoes out in the rain.

They continued to dump potatoes into large bags, bringing the bags to the edge of the field and stacking them next to one another. They placed a tarp over the bags and worked for about another half hour in the rain.

On this day, I grew to better appreciate Peruvian clothing. Their skin is fully covered, protecting them from the sun and bugs. The women wear thick wool tights and at least two layers of skirts. The fabric is thick and unlikely to tear, and the skirt can also be used to carry various items. Long sleeves and layers are worn on top, and the hats are completely brilliant. Their wide brims keep their entire heads and necks in the shade. The hats repel water when it rains and can hold water if you need a drink from the river. Each item of clothing serves multiple purposes.

After they finished putting all the potatoes in sacks, ten in all, they made their way down the hill, grabbing herbs as they came, including star anise. We then all piled back into the car to make our way down the mountain. I was cold, wet, tired, and my lips were chapped. I didn’t say anything, having sat around most of the day. The boys were happy to be back in the car. Leif stuck his head out the window even though it was raining, while Lucca fell asleep.

When we got home, we boiled water for tea and ate peanut butter on bread. I changed out of my wet clothes to warm up. I wondered how I could contribute more. Where do I fit in? Is this my new life or merely a short stint in Peru?

The next day, we celebrated Enzo’s fourth birthday with red, white, and blue balloons—so many that my fingers were dry and cracking from blowing them up and tying them off. We had a piñata, cake, flan, popcorn, animal crackers, cookies, and orange and green jello. We danced and ate. The boys have their scooters, and the other kids were so happy to ride around on them. Enzo was given a globo rifa, a board with 144 numbers on it. You pick a number, and that’s the balloon you get for the day. The balloons were all different sizes and colors. Thankfully, Enzo’s tias hosted the party because I would have been clueless about throwing a birthday party in Peru. We spent the entire day together making preparations. They called the kids in the neighborhood and made sure the theme was Paw Patrol, Enzo’s favorite. When I thanked Tia Julia for organizing the party, she said she wanted Enzo to always remember Peru.