CULTURAL NOTES
Richard KinnudLA TRINIDAD, benguet -- A usual morning groove of jogging brought me lately down the road here from Town to Bineng. The terrain featured rocky mountainsides with the gushing of the Balili River and some of its tributaries at the background.
Houses rose along the narrow road, an all-weather so to say but obviously very much in need of paving on some parts. The scenery though is cool to the eyes especially at this time that the chayote farms, thriving on the slopes, are lushly green.
Incidentally, I reached a flat where some farmers were operating a cable line. I was mesmerized at how a carrier was moving slowly from about two hundred meters down then up to the level of the road. It carried chayote fruits apparently harvested from the bottom of the mount packed in some plastic bags. I watched the carrier go up and down about a couple of times, its load transferred to a truck waiting by the roadside. When the truck left, I struck conversation with those who were left behind whom I later knew to be a mother and her two sons who just came to help their household head who was the one who brought their chayote to the trading post.
“The carrier can be loaded with utmost ten bags,” the lady explained. “Each bag is about twenty-five kilos.”
“How much would that be sold in the market,” I asked.
“If we’re lucky, the best price is at seven pesos per kilo for first class” she said. “Otherwise, traders may buy it at two pesos per kilo.”
They have loaded to the truck fifty bags. That would translate to about one thousand two hundred fifty kilos. If they get the best price, that would translate to about nine thousand pesos.
“If we don’t get the best price, it’s sorry to be a farmer,” she laments.
Noticing that they were not speaking Ibaloi, the native language of the place, I asked how long have they been farming in the area. The boys said they have already seen at least two generations of their ascendants to include their parents planting and harvesting chayote. There was a lull and the boys were soon conversing about an invitation from their friend to play basketball later.
I soon bade them good bye to continue with my jogging. In my mind, those boys are innately farmers. They are so lucky as even as such, they are able to think about a hobby of say basketball. Are they pursuing or has plans to pursue an agricultural degree in college? I wish I would have asked them.
My mind went back to an old adage I heard in my native language. “Hay adal ya hiya di balun habal.” (An education is the new way to farm.) Figuratively, this means that education would be the new source of livelihood. This I think has been and is being preached everywhere. It reinforced the belief that the best bequest parents can give their children is education. But on retrospection, sometimes, this kind of belief can contribute to the youth leaving farming.
As I write this, some friend gave the information that here in the university we’re working where agriculture is a flagship course, the ratio of first year enrollees to the number of slots opened for the course is barely above fifty percent while slots are already full even as many are in the waiting list for the non-agriculture courses. This may indicate a waning interest in agriculture as professional course.
Was it because many are considering themselves as naturally farmers that they need not go to school for it? Or was it because trading prices of farm produce are not an enticing prize? Whether it is the first, the second or both, this corner believes that it is time to repackage “hay adal ya hiya di balun habal.” This means that farming is science as with other more enticing courses in college. This is about learning and searching for new knowledge and technologies and thus going to school for it is a must. And just like any other college course, this leads to rewarding opportunities. So if there are still students out there who have not yet decided on what course to college, ask the state university near you. There’s “balu an habal” waiting for you.
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