Terra da Carolina e As Laranjes

Until yesterday I hadn’t climbed a tree since I was invincible—somewhere between the ages of 7 and 20. 7 September marks the independence of Brazil from Portugal so there were many celebrations around the country this weekend; my host family decided to celebrate the three day weekend quietly by driving northwest up to the mountains near Bom Princìpio to the land that my host sister, Carolina, will eventually inherit. The pressure change only caused a minor headache, and it was worth it to see the hundreds of kilometres of fields of grapes and the tiny artisan wine factory. This region of Porto Alegre, just south of Farroupilha and Caxias do Sul, was settled by Italian immigrants in the 1920s, and German immigrants settled to the southeast of São Sebastião do Caì around the same time. Now you can see the cows and sheep smattered around the mountains on enormous square plots spiralling up toward the sun.

The little house on Carolina’s land is an original 3 bedroom, from the 20s with shuttered windows and orange trees. It is maintained by a woman and her daughter who live literally a holler away. When we arrived, the day before yesterday, we went for a walk, and Jacque, my host mother marvelled that before roads existed (at a point the pavement ends and the dirt roads end and what’s left is a path) immigrants walked up the steep slopes and planted and harvested and raised children and animals. I watched the ducks and looked closely at the local flowers and trees. When we walked back to the house I took a nap in the hammock. The rest of the night, while Carolina watched Aladdin and Jacqueline sorted through pictures and toys and bits from her past, I lazed about the house, reading and thinking--how refreshing it is to be disconnected for a day or two. And in the morning we took our time.

Instead of rushing to prepare for a day of scratching off tasks on a to-do list, I took Jacque’s suggestion to take some fruit to the children at my project; I set off to the tangerine tree in the field nearby with a basket big enough for 50 tangerines. 20 cows grazed 20 metres away, and after I figured out how to open the barbed wire fence and remembered that cows are scardy-cat herbivores I proceeded to shake the tree, and as I filled my basket I payed no attention to the fact that the cows were closing in.

I heard a moo just a little closer than I was prepared for and turned to stare in to the peripheral vision of a pregnant lady cow. I stood still for probably two full minutes while the cows ate all of the fallen tangerines that were not in my basket, and then I moved toward the tree, and all of the cows turned around to run away. Jacque and Carolina came to join me, and I climbed the tree and pulled off tangerines dropping them into the basket below as I did. Jacque shook the tree, the cows came back and grazed on the excess.

Nobody gets out of life without doing some work, and I’ve done a lot so far. Hell, picking fruit is a job for some people, and it isn’t an easy one, but when it is leisure, it is delightful. I’ve been working too hard for too long, but if that’s what I had to do for this pay off, then I would do it again.