Some Holiday Thoughts on Simple Things

NEWS, the day following our meeting with the medecin, on the condition of the sick woman is that she is recovering and back in her own home! It was not cholera! While other cases have been reported to our North, in the town of Ganthier, the village has been spared. There is raging debate in the Haitian press about making the UN take responsibility for releasing this scurge upon the island. A report in the New England Journal of Medicine backs up the assertion that the strain is of a particular type (extremely deadly) and had to have been introduced. Some of the post primary election protests clearly are venting anger at the death toll, response and continuation of the epidemic. How easily the good intentions of the international community can go awry. I remember that in the 80's Haiti was often thought to be a potential source for the spread of the HIV virus because of its prevalence among Haitian men. (My sister, a Nurse at the time often cited the 3H risk factor for blood donors and sexual partners: Homosexuals, Hemophiliacs, Haitians.) This was later disproven but not before wreaking havoc with the fledgling tourism industry. Now they are victims again, and once again the source is external. And once again they suffer almost stoically.

Its is a few days later and Jacob, a hard worker is getting almost nothing done. I ask if he needs an invitation to do some work today. He smiles weakly and says he feels 'faible' weak, and sick in the stomach., he wants to leave to go to the hospital in Fond Parisienne, a few hundred kilometers towards the border crossing at Malpasse. I give him some funds to get there, Two others had the same complaints of stomach pains, cramping and diarhea. I ask if they think it may be cholera, but they assure me they are using plenty of soap and no one else in the village has been sick with cholera.

We have had three days of pretty heavy rains and as we work ankle deep in mud to channel surplus water, I see that the groundwater here is very high. Shoes are useless and the mud, while slippery, feels like the clay slip I have used in pottery classes, silky and thick. It is almost cool working barefoot in it. The channel that was dug to contain the water supply conduit from the well source is also filled to the brim and is draining into our fields. I assume from runoff although since the sole tap at its end has no shut off and continually drains into the same trench. In the area of the center of the town it is about three feet wide and at least fifty yards long, containing thousands of gallons. To my great relief, there are small minnow like fish swimming in it – wonderful at controlling mosquito larvae which could cause even more problems since Malaria and Dengue Fever are also endemic here. While I make the assumption that this is groundwater accumulation and will subside soon. I ask if this has happened in the past?

Although I cannot understand their Creole completely, from the ensuing argument I can tell this has been a source of some contention. After interrupting to ask for calm and for people to allow one person at a time to speak so that I can understand, the problem is clear. The trench was dug because a breach in the conduit was noticed almost a year ago. When water pressure in the filling trench was low, the conduit was unaffected. Now that the water table is high, water pressure in the trench is forcing water into the conduit through the breach, and explains the recent outbreak of stomach and lower intestine symptoms. They shut the water supply off at the source (a well head and mile and a half of conduit supplied to the town by a missionary group, about ten years ago), which terminates in the shower and water supply installation. Thousands of gallons of water in the trench will need to be pumped out of the trench before the pipe can be resealed. They will need a generator, a very high flow rate pump and replacement pipe. There will be seven thousand people without water for several days at best. I cannot solve this problem, for them, because our budget and duties are clearly defined. I attempt to configure some steps to the solution. Tempers are still flaring. I am glad I am witnessing this, because it becomes clearer that the people dont think things are running well. I am also glad they feel comfortable enough with me to let me see this public disagreement.

Although this small enclave of homes has been spared the epidemic of Cholera, on several passes through town I see there are new and separate tents set up at the Cuban Medical Facility nearby where recovering victims lay sweltering a short distance away. Another group of white tents and surgical-masked medical personnel springs up like Holiday lighting, on the road heading for Port Au Prince outside of Croix Des Bouquets. While the election protests rage in the big cities of Port Au Prince and the former colonial capital of Cap Haitienne, Here a small town struggles with the dyfunction of a post-earthquake, helpless national government in the grip of the loss of thousands of its employees, ministries and office buildings. And among the results, a simple thing like water, that the entire world takes for granted everyday, becomes an urgent necessity that this small village of Hatte Cottin cannot ignore.

Best wishes for all of you this holiday season.

Farming in a Time of Cholera Part II

On this work day in the Village, I see well dressed women walking from the center of the village towards an outlaying area, and there is a great hue and cry off in the distance. I ask a few of the teenagers what is going on? There is a woman very sick and they are here to pray for her and watch her die. How do they know she will die? Because it is Cholera. Who told them it was Cholera? We dont know. I inhale sharply.

I ask Willie and Milos (who speaks French) to talk with me a moment. I ask about the woman. Well Milos says, she has many of the symptoms. Has she been seen by a medecin (doctor)? Oh yes but he is not sure. Where is the medecin now? He is with the woman but will leave soon. Can I speak with him? Yes of course.

Since I had made it a point to read up on the disease only a short while ago, my mind reels at the potential for it to devastate this community. As we walk the short distance to a village gathering place where the woman is being kept comfortable, I start sharing what I know. I tell Willie and Milos how the disease spreads, and why the communal bathing pool can make matters worse IF it is Cholera. I also explain the role the animals can play in helping it to spread as well. I dont even bother to discuss the implications for the farm project since we would be using the same water source. I tell them it would be better to have everyone use buckets in the old shower stalls rather than continue to use the river, but that would only be mandatory if it were Cholera.

We meet the medecin outside the covered gathering place where the crying and praying is fervent. The young Doctor introduces himself and seems a little surprised and worried. I ask if it is known what the woman's illness is. He says it may have been caused by something else and that tomorrow she will either get better or not. I ask if there have been tests of the water supply. I explain the communal water supply and bathing situation, the animal traffic etc. He says he can test for it if we can give him a sample. I take his sampling tube and tell him I will give him the sample to take with him. Milos and I go to the pool and I reach in the test tube and take the sample. I cap it and as if to make sure he feels included hand him the sample to give to the doctor. He seems a little reluctant to take it from me, but does.

WE return to the nursery and farm site. Today, while we await soil test results, we are preparing the area. In spite of the distance from factories, distribution centers and storefronts, there is a surprising amount of trash that has collected around the perimeter. Since this had been a soccer field, and since plastic takes decades to degrade, we are facing several containers of wrappers, discarded tin cans, obiquitous plastic bottles (there is no recycling program which is surprising on an island that produces none of its own plastic), old dish pans, plastic buckets, sandals, shoes and assorted items of cast off clothing. This is not a critical component of farming but helping them to take pride in the beauty of their own community would go a long way to improving their idea that Haiti is broken, diseased, helpless and a place God has forgotten. Among the teenagers especially (who are all eager to be my friend because they think I can help bring them to the US with me, and I often wish I could!) they see the pretty homes and easy lives of the american television series and think that all they need to do is leave Haiti to find a better life. It is hard not to agree with them. But I frequently stop to look at the surrounding mountains as clouds form and disperse, as their color changes from chalky to verdant, from beige to ochre to chartreuse with the changing vegetation and wonder why they don't also see the beauty here. When I stop to admire the view from this plateau surrounded by mountains, I tell whoever is nearby how great it is and they are not much impressed. I suppose it is the same with us, an ocean view house becomes stale after a time too. I ask Willie about the attitude of the young people who all hate their country, his response surprises me. “Perhaps when this project is built, they will have a reason to want to stay.”

We dig down two feet and berm soil in a large rectangle and use it to temporarily hold all the debris we have raked and cleaned from the field and bordering vegetation. There is a man who is responsible for health in the village who hands out dust masks and a two pairs of gloves. A very thin teenager, (and there are several hanging out because again schools are closed for potential election problems) asks me repeatedly if he can have a job. Since there are only limited tools and almost no materials have yet arrived, I tell him for the fourth time that our priority is for adults who have children. He is persistent. And that he is hungry. I tell him I would very much like to see his home and meet his family. He takes me to a very small building and shows me his room. But where do your parents sleep? We are all here in this room. There are no screens, no curtains on the doors, no doors only openings. He shows me a small bowl of vegetables and greens (barely a soup bowl) that they will have for dinner for four. I ask him if he will take me on a tour of the fields, I would like to see what else is growing here and how it is being cultivated. I tell him I do have a small job for him and that I will pay him for his time in taking me around. He smiles like a cheshire cat and, and we start off.

Immediately, upon crossing the log/bridge of the river we are in fields of waving green sugar cane grown on raised mounds. In between in no particular order are small holdings of vegetables, a few fields of rice, the occasional coconut palm, mango, and even a few tropical oak trees. With an older farmer who owns one of these 'jardins' a few days later I repeat this tour to ask why there are not more trees since they are doing well, and if the cane makes as much money as the other crops the land could be used for. He thinks there had been many more mangos but that after many had been felled in storms that they were never replaced. He does not know why. He thinks that the vegetables can be planted more frequently and that they produce more but he is not sure. Considering the allottments of land I am seeing, it could only be more efficient to have a combination of both. Particularly if the trees can shade more heat sensitive plants from afternoon sun. This small farm concept has recently found favor among those proposing sustainable and organic methods for the decreasing amount of arable soils in underdeveloped nations. The downside of the chemical agriculture used in the states is the contamination of the water supply and degradation of soils. Neither of these are acceptable options, nor is the cost of chemical fertilisers and pesticides affordable here, where the average Haitian earns just five dollars (US) per day.

The fact that there are mangos growing here s very encouraging as our plan is to grow 10,000 trees of which 2,500 will be mango trees for replanting. I ask about other species of trees that he knows of in the area. There are not many, mostly coconut palm, mango, a few citrus, some papaya. He takes his craft seriously and is delighted to talk about how the plants are grown, planted, cared for what problems they have, what season rains arrive, what the summer heat is like. I look admiringly at several varieties of vegetables. They seem underproductive, and a little stunted. But he tells me this is their normal size and productivity. Although there are many vegetables, there is surprisingly little diversity. Lots of potatoes, some small cherry type tomatoes, some habanero peppers, some eggplants, not much more. We find a squash that has seeded itself along a path. He says it is very good eating but does not always grow well. I cant wait to see the results of the soils test to be able to see what is causing these issues. I ask about the use of compost and manures. He says that some know to use it and other don't. Clearly we have seen soils that are richer, darker, containing more humous that others which are light and powdery looking. I say a silent prayer that what I have taken on can really make a difference, even as I begin to realise how daunting a task it may be.

Chemicals are almost non existant because of their cost. The Haitian farmer is ahead of the curve was organic for centuries before the term was popularised to sell produce in developed markets. In fact Haitian Coffee is marketed under the trade name Haitian Bleu, as one of the best organic coffee varieties available.

I'm always complaining about New England's short growing season as such a limiting factor in harvest and productivity. And how unpredictable the weather is! We can have a killing or severely stunting frost well into late May in Foster. A wet and cold season can ruin the warm season crops with a blighted disdain for the best of my efforts as easily as a drought can delay when crops can finally be brought to market. The season at our altitude (one of the highest in Rhode Island) crashes to a close on a clear moonlit night usually in early October. Stealing my crops like a thief in the night. I have spent many a windy October night harvesting hard green tomatoes for Aunt Alice's famous green tomato pickle recipe, well after midnight, until my fingers were numb. I have gotten up after midnight at other times and wearily pulled houseplants indoors by flashlight, always trying to remember all of them, or finding the forgotten covered in white frost the following morning. I always dreamed that farming closer to the equator and removing temperature swings would make for a paradise for farming!

And now here in Hatte Cottin, I see that the tropics has its own set of limitations. Here warm seasonality is replaced by rain seasonality. Temperature swings replaced by searing summer heat of one hundred degrees. Rich, New England mildly acidic soils of 12- 18” of depth are more than adequate to grow crops whose roots only need 6 inches. Here the soils barely cover and inch, are more alkaline than I have ever encountered and are overlaid on porous coral aggregate. These conditions can make for their own extremes. And yet there are plenty of plants thriving here. I rarely see an infestation of pests. In spite of the seasonal dryness in the soils, there is no drought stress, no wilting in high noon, no yellowing or chlorosis in the leaves. Strangely there are few weeds in evidence. Among the corps I have seen, the phenomenon of adaptation for decades must have already acclimated them to local conditions. Whatever new varieties I introduce may take a time to adapt themselves. And possibly will benefit from hybridising with the local varieties as time permits. I wonder whether they will do even as well?

Farming in a Time of Cholera Part II

ON this work day in the Village, I see well dressed women walking from the center of the village towards an outlaying area, and there is a great hue and cry off in the distance. I ask a few of the teenagers what is going on? There is a woman very sick and they are here to pray for her and watch her die. How do they know she will die? Because it is Cholera. Who told them it was Cholera? We dont know. I inhale sharply.

I ask Willie and Milos (who speaks French) to talk with me a moment. I ask about the woman. Well Milos says, she has many of the symptoms. Has she been seen by a medecin (doctor)? Oh yes but he is not sure. Where is the medecin now? He is with the woman but will leave soon. Can I speak with him? Yes of course.

Since I had made it a point to read up on the disease only a short while ago, my mind reels at the potential for it to devastate this community. As we walk the short distance to a village gathering place where the woman is being kept comfortable, I start sharing what I know. I tell Willie and Milos how the disease spreads, and why the communal bathing pool can make matters worse IF it is Cholera. I also explain the role the animals can play in helping it to spread as well. I dont even bother to discuss the implications for the farm project since we would be using the same water source. I tell them it would be better to have everyone use buckets in the old shower stalls rather than continue to use the river, but that would only be mandatory if it were Cholera.

We meet the medecin outside the covered gathering place where the crying and praying is fervent. The young Doctor introduces himself and seems a little surprised and worried. I ask if it is known what the woman's illness is. He says it may have been caused by something else and that tomorrow she will either get better or not. I ask if there have been tests of the water supply. I explain the communal water supply and bathing situation, the animal traffic etc. He says he can test for it if we can give him a sample. I take his sampling tube and tell him I will give him the sample to take with him. Milos and I go to the pool and I reach in the test tube and take the sample. I cap it and as if to make sure he feels included hand him the sample to give to the doctor. He seems a little reluctant to take it from me, but does.

WE return to the nursery and farm site. Today, while we await soil test results, we are preparing the area. In spite of the distance from factories, distribution centers and storefronts, there is a surprising amount of trash that has collected around the perimeter. Since this had been a soccer field, and since plastic takes decades to degrade, we are facing several containers of wrappers, discarded tin cans, obiquitous plastic bottles (there is no recycling program which is surprising on an island that produces none of its own plastic), old dish pans, plastic buckets, sandals, shoes and assorted items of cast off clothing. This is not a critical component of farming but helping them to take pride in the beauty of their own community would go a long way to improving their idea that Haiti is broken, diseased, helpless and a place God has forgotten. Among the teenagers especially (who are all eager to be my friend because they think I can help bring them to the US with me, and I often wish I could!) they see the pretty homes and easy lives of the american television series and think that all they need to do is leave Haiti to find a better life. It is hard not to agree with them. But I frequently stop to look at the surrounding mountains as clouds form and disperse, as their color changes from chalky to verdant, from beige to ochre to chartreuse with the changing vegetation and wonder why they don't also see the beauty here. When I stop to admire the view from this plateau surrounded by mountains, I tell whoever is nearby how great it is and they are not much impressed. I suppose it is the same with us, an ocean view house becomes stale after a time too. I ask Willie about the attitude of the young people who all hate their country, his response surprises me. “Perhaps when this project is built, they will have a reason to want to stay.”

We dig down two feet and berm soil in a large rectangle and use it to temporarily hold all the debris we have raked and cleaned from the field and bordering vegetation. There is a man who is responsible for health in the village who hands out dust masks and a two pairs of gloves. A very thin teenager, (and there are several hanging out because again schools are closed for potential election problems) asks me repeatedly if he can have a job. Since there are only limited tools and almost no materials have yet arrived, I tell him for the fourth time that our priority is for adults who have children. He is persistent. And that he is hungry. I tell him I would very much like to see his home and meet his family. He takes me to a very small building and shows me his room. But where do your parents sleep? We are all here in this room. There are no screens, no curtains on the doors, no doors only openings. He shows me a small bowl of vegetables and greens (barely a soup bowl) that they will have for dinner for four. I ask him if he will take me on a tour of the fields, I would like to see what else is growing here and how it is being cultivated. I tell him I do have a small job for him and that I will pay him for his time in taking me around. He smiles like a cheshire cat and, and we start off.

Immediately, upon crossing the log/bridge of the river we are in fields of waving green sugar cane grown on raised mounds. In between in no particular order are small holdings of vegetables, a few fields of rice, the occasional coconut palm, mango, and even a few tropical oak trees. With an older farmer who owns one of these 'jardins' a few days later I repeat this tour to ask why there are not more trees since they are doing well, and if the cane makes as much money as the other crops the land could be used for. He thinks there had been many more mangos but that after many had been felled in storms that they were never replaced. He does not know why. He thinks that the vegetables can be planted more frequently and that they produce more but he is not sure. Considering the allottments of land I am seeing, it could only be more efficient to have a combination of both. Particularly if the trees can shade more heat sensitive plants from afternoon sun. This small farm concept has recently found favor among those proposing sustainable and organic methods for the decreasing amount of arable soils in underdeveloped nations. The downside of the chemical agriculture used in the states is the contamination of the water supply and degradation of soils. Neither of these are acceptable options, nor is the cost of chemical fertilisers and pesticides affordable here, where the average Haitian earns just five dollars (US) per day.

The fact that there are mangos growing here s very encouraging as our plan is to grow 10,000 trees of which 2,500 will be mango trees for replanting. I ask about other species of trees that he knows of in the area. There are not many, mostly coconut palm, mango, a few citrus, some papaya. He takes his craft seriously and is delighted to talk about how the plants are grown, planted, cared for what problems they have, what season rains arrive, what the summer heat is like. I look admiringly at several varieties of vegetables. They seem underproductive, and a little stunted. But he tells me this is their normal size and productivity. Although there are many vegetables, there is surprisingly little diversity. Lots of potatoes, some small cherry type tomatoes, some habanero peppers, some eggplants, not much more. We find a squash that has seeded itself along a path. He says it is very good eating but does not always grow well. I cant wait to see the results of the soils test to be able to see what is causing these issues. I ask about the use of compost and manures. He says that some know to use it and other don't. Clearly we have seen soils that are richer, darker, containing more humous that others which are light and powdery looking.

Farming in a Time of Cholera

Outside the village of Ganthier, (a town seat of five communities including the one I am working in) two hours on a poor but standard Haitian road from the Capital of Port Au Prince, lies the little village of Hatte Cottin. Dont bother to try to mapquest it, nor will it appear on Google Earth. It is apparently too small to be bothered with for commerce and development have left it behind. Nor do the seven thousand people who call it home feel their loss! The area splays out north and south of the Rue Nacional which leads to the border town of Malpasse/Jimani on a shockingly level area surrounded by distant mountain ranges. Not close but not far (because time and distance for Haitians is relative to whether you have something to do or not) from the village is a large salt lake. There is no official explanation why an inland lake should be salty but there are egrets that dot the landscape because of its proximity. In addition of course to the usual warnings about Malaria, Dengue Fever and now Cholera, the travel clinic in Boston had advised against swimming in it knowing that several snail born diseases can still be transmitted through it. Nonetheless it is a popular place for the Hatte Cottin locals to go swimming and fishing.

As rural under developed villages go, it is like many. The homes are wattle stakes woven into uprights covered with mud in a simple adobe style. Roofs are layered palm fronds. No windows, no screens. I recall staying in very ultra chic versions of 'palapas' like these at high end club med type resorts. Here the rents are cheaper but check out is not optional There is running water, in the form of a very tame river of almost three feet width and two feet depth through its entire course. Bathing is a communal affair for women and children in a large shallow source at one side of the village. There laundry is also done. A smaller area for men 'of age' serves the same purpose hidden back in a less open spot nearer the farm fields. Drinkable running water is free flowing from an untended pipe supply at the base of a no longer used shower and fountain shed that some missionaries had installed a decade earlier. It is the only supply for the entire village and is always busy. The original shower stalls and multiple taps had been rendered useless ever since either the water table dropped or the cement slab building housing them had been placed too high. At any rate the pressure to supply the taps decreased until it became necessary to break the pipe at a lower level, where the pressure was still adequate. Animals come and go drinking from all of these sources. Since cholera is water born I wonder about what could occur if there was an outbreak.

There is however no electricity, hence there is blissful quiet. Ice for the small stores to cool drinks mostly comes delivered as it did through most of the US up until the fifties, by mule and horse. Television and computers are concepts that can be used elsewhere. Cell phones are very much in demand, and because they require little infrastructure, nor monthly payments, all but the very poorest are without them. Here around seven thousand people make their homes and something of a livelihood selling farm crops to larger town markets such as the friday market in Croix des Bouquets. This is a bustling market and the largest market between the capital and the border. They can eke out a small living selling vegetables. There used to be fruit trees, but now very few are left apart from some very old specimens. What land they own that isnt planted to vegetables. is planted to sugar cane syrup for the rum companies, which brings in cash once a year at harvest. The rest of the year it is the snack of choice for all ages and you have never seen such healthy white teeth in your life, as apparently it does not cause the type of decay that refined sugar candy can.

The approach to the town weaves through some very parched scrub dotted with a species of Acaccia known as Bayonda: thorny, small leaflets – so often cut for making charcoal, that it is always a small shrub instead of the thirty foot shade making specimen that it would be. Fortunately it is drought tolerant, salt tolerant, prolific and can also fix nitrogen in the soil This last seems its most important attribute as I dodge its flesh ripping branches on the back of my kamikasi moto chauffeur. There are several species of Cactus, including a large euphorbia often used in the tropics as a hedge barrier for herd animals since they cannot eat it (toxic) and wont brave its spines. A pot in the US is a pretty architectural patterned chunky novelty. A mature plant here is a tree with a two foot trunk and a twenty foot crown like a green candelablra. We pass sheep and goats grazing at will, we fly by mules and cows tethered to branches, the occasional pedestrian, barefoot, walking to Ganthier (who either stares or gives a happy wave) anachronistic school children, uniformed heading for school. There are no other vehicles on this twenty minute joy ride, the road barely level in most spots.

Although we havent yet received our budget for this project from its sponsors, we need to begin preparation of the site for our new pepiniere (greenhouse, but in the tropics typically a shade house – which is what ours will be) and adjacent communal farm, and ultimately orchards. My thought is that if we dont start soon, we will loose the season for grafting orchard tree varieties we have chosen, and possibly lose the start of the growing season as well. Through the communal leader, a man named Willie, we announce a need for workers and on our first work day we have more than twenty people clamoring for their names to be added. When I make it clear to the few women present that they too will be needed, we are inundated through the day with applicants. I find one person who can write and give him my yellow legal pad to begin making a list. Willie would like to close the list (there is apparently a little political system at work I neither understand nor want to acceed to). I tell the transcriber to take as many names possible. He runs out of paper.

I make a small announcement and ask someone fluent in French and Creole, the former generally only used by the educated, the latter by everyone, to translate for me. Sentence by sentence to the gathered group, I explain the purpose of the project, the benefit for all involved and our need for their support and patience as we begin to get it underway. Before I had begun it was a happy raucous crowd (all the more so because it was the week immediately following the primary elections and schools were closed to avoid potential casualties among students in case of riots). There are many students wanting to be included. There are questions, some surprise me with their insight many are clearly happy and continue to hang out while our small initial group gets underway. I am amazed at how healthy and ripped the men are. I feel like a fat colonialist next to them. Everywhere most small children are running around almost naked. The site of a blanc (white man) here is an event seldom seen. I makes them smile and giggle when I say bon jour. Some try out their english 'gut moning sir!' My heart aches.

Another local poll, by the name of Milos, introduces himself, it is clear he intends to insert himself in some of the decision making. I greet him and for the moment give him the impression that the director, Madame Henryka, is making all the decisions but I am happy to refer questions to her (an easy dodge since she cannot easily be reached in Miami) . Part of our intent is to employ some of the people who are now in Ganthier, who had been displaced due to the tremblement de terre (earthquake) of last January. Because jobs of any kind are scarce we anticipate some resistance. The project's presence in their village was a compromise worked out with the village leaders to give us this leeway. Nonetheless some of the first chosen to work, clearly are part of the local political system.

We have already chosen this site on a previous tour of the village, a level piece of land that lays between the small meandering (but never dry) river and the village homes at a higher level. Since water will have to be carried, or hand pumped, it seems a logical choice. I had Henryka hand carry soil and water samples to the US for testing at a Florida Laboratory on her return. There is a large Acaccia for shade and some old twisted lateral trunks that have served as a wonderful driftwood sculpture and grandstand seating for years. This will continue to serve as a break room and social focal point. I hand out the tools and begin explaining the layout and measurement for the shade house. Others begin clearing some stumps and raking debris. One of the men shows me a tropical version of a praying mantis (I am immediately homesick having always made the time to admire these elegant insects). I try to explain how necessary they are to the ecosystem. This pattern will repeat itself many times in the next few days, as there are only the edible or useful and the 'inutile' or useless to them. Some older farmers understand the relationship of plants and animals, soil and water. Some have never had the chance to work the land having always been itinerant. We cannot seem to get a handle on who owns land and who doesnt. Nor can I make any assumptions about how to be fair in the apportioning of work. I realise quickly that we dont really understand this culture we have inserted our good intentions into, and make a note to tread lightly.