Organic Farming in Acop, Benguet

Hello!

We are still behind, but tonight i will catch up (somewhat).

After leaving Puerto Galera, we headed north into the Cordilliara Mountains. At 1300 meters, the weather is pleasantly reminiscent of August in Seattle. The pine trees which dominate the flora also serve to remind one of the cascades, although with no fear of pine beetles! Due to our inability to communicate like adults with Mark (Ian's college friend from Manila), we were only able to give one day's notice. Marilyn Cosalan was waiting to pick us up from the bus station, and we were immediately treated as a part of the family. She brought us to her home, and cooked us dinner (they had already eaten). we were given a room, and informed that the next day would simply be spend touring the city of Baguio (pronounced Bag-ee-oh). We went to the 3 market locations where Enca farms and the 60 others in the cooperative sell their goods, the last of which was outside the most charming cafe we have come across so far: the Cafe near the Ruins. All organic, with tremendous coffee (which was the first real coffee of the trip), decorated with local art. my favorite were the lamps, one of which was shaped like a dragon) built from rice paper, bamboo, and rebar. In the afternoon, we went betting on cock fights, where Ian's bets were followed, he being deemed good luck (a result of the enduring colonialism based attitudes).

We went to two birthday parties before we even got to the farm, where we were able to sample some of the local specialties. There was chicken adobo (the national dish), a dog stew (delicous!), pork skewers, and agar noodles for dessert. The family was very shy until San Mig gin was applied liberally, tongues plyed and english spoken. There was general excitement over my cowboy hat, and many people asked for it as a souvineer! sorry to disapoint, but with a very real fear of sunburn, i had to refuse. turns out that the Ingarots (the local indigenous tribe) love cowboys and country music.

We hiked down the steep mountainside to the farm, little more than an hour, with marilyn's boyfriend Benny. We passed by the pool which had been built in the last few years, a miracle of stone work down by the river. The farm is incredible, and definately cannot be given justice by my crummy power of description. so try to imagine an organic farm, carved into steep mountains, on the site of former rice paddies. imagine it to be simple, with nipa huts and dry rock walls (yes, similar to those found in wales). place where ever you want a herd of 6 cows, and a bamboo grove. imagine a system of trails, with any elevation change made easy with stone stairs. and everything is green and lush. sprinkle about giant ferns, looking more like palm trees with huge and fearsome thorns. and take what you just imagined, and make it about twice as cool. that is Enca Farm.

We learned slowly about the many ways to use a hoe, including (but in no way limited to): weeding, digging, tilling, forming beds, defeating foes, creating grousome blisters, and relaxing on. We planted peas, bok choy, carrots, pen chai (spelled wrong), and more peas. the work was hard, and the noon sun made us sweat nominal waterfalls. fortunatly, one and half lunch breaks are the way of things, and the clouds tended to roll in around 2. There are trees covered in corn-kernal like seeds which falls under the tree and make a very nutrient rich compost, which we hauled in large sacks through the forest. And for every meal, Auntie Olive made wonderful food, in portions which could never be finished. Both Ian and I felt that we should be paying for the experience, and worked harder for the feeling. The farm hand spoke a great style of english, ending ever sentance in a question? to indicate tasks 10 minutes in the future, he would say 'by and by', and 'it's ok' became high praise.

On Sunday, we drove four hours into the mountains to attend a cousin's wedding. this was a huge affair, with several hundred people (the entire village, i believe) there to celebrate. although we were strangers, our whiteness propelled us to a seat of fair honour, sitting with the bridesmaids at the front. although we felt wary of the attention, and certainly undeserving, there was no way to decline. we were joined by a few of the councilmen of the region, as well as the mayor, who spoke extensively of the indigenous peoples, their traditions, and the current politics of the region. we drank two bottles of rice wine with them before being asked to please play and sing a song in front of everyone! having no songs in our repotoire that didn't make direct reference to the devil, and feeling quite nervous, we declined. surely, another bottle of rice wine would have loosened our lips, but it was not to be. there was traditional dancing, and many speaches and songs, and it was just super.

We then returned to Manila to visit with Mark.