Kyle Week 4.1: "Watch the gringo"

This is what I deserve for complaining about riding around in the car.

Don Porfilio. Age 90. Status: Jeffe (boss). Area of expertise: manual labor.

Comments: Don Porfilio has no teeth left. It has obviously come from chewing up gringos and spitting them out like watermelon seeds. The man is a dynamo and a slave driver. Kendra, Katie and I were given to him to work at planting king grass on Tuesday. We hiked two miles up a mountain to the field which needed to be trenched before planting. Upon realizing that we did not have enough tools to all work at the same time, Don Porfilio hiked back down the trail and returned with two more hoes and a pick-axe. In the hour that he was gone the gringos and Louis, had finished two rows. While the four of us were working on the third row, Don Porfilio finished a row and a half singlehandedly. At one point Don Porfilio chastized Louis for not trenching the right way. "Watch the gringo! Even he is doing better than you!" We were obviously outclassed. When we ran out of water at eleven a.m. and couldn´t raise our arms above our heads, he suggested we hike back down, get water and hike back up to work until four. That did not appeal to the girls who had other work that they had to do in the afternoon, but after the backhanded compliment from earlier, I felt the need to prove that I could do a days work of labor even if I was a gringo. After drinking a liter and a half without stopping, I hiked back up the mountain and worked until quitting time. In broken spanglish, I accidentally promiced to return the next day and help them finish the field.

Louis. Age 14. Status: Jeffito (little boss). Area of expertise: working and laughing with Don Porfilio about the gringos.

Comments: Louis is the size of one of David´s legs. He can out-trench, out-cut, and out-climb me on any given day and still bounce down the hill at quitting time. If he wasn´t so much fun, I don´t think I would like him very much. On day two of my ranch-labor experience, Louis taught me how to wield a huma (sp?), a machete-like blade used to clear brush and grass. We cleaned an entire hillside of brush so that coffee could be planted. By hill side, I mean almost a cliff. Everytime I stepped there was a definate chance of sending a boulder bounding pass Don Porfilio below. I missed twice. I believe with my whole being that the boulder would not have broken Don Porfilio; Don Porfilio would have broken the boulder.

p.s. Strait out the udder.
Walking down the mountain Tuesday after working in the field all day, I spotted Arle by the milking parlor and walked over to speak to him. It was 90 degrees in the shade and I was sweating and thirsty and when I saw Arle drinking milk, I almost gagged. The dairy cows were being milked and as I told him about working with Don Porfilio, he was drinking milk from a cup that had been filled with fresh milk. By fresh I mean that he stuck it under the udder and filled it right out of the cow. Fresh squeezed cow juice. Arle offered me the last of the cup and I had to pause. It was one of those moments when you have to weigh the pros and cons of each decision. On one hand I was hot, sweaty and thirsty for something cold and made of water; on the other I had to wonder how many chances would I have in life to drink milk like this.
It was thick, very warm, and frothy, which surprised me, but not as much as the flavor. It was almost as sweet as melted ice cream and just as creamy. I drank the last of Arle's glass, stuck the glass back under the cow and downed another cup without hesitation. Mind you that I am a skim milk with ice to water it down kind of guy. The real stuff is good. Gave me the boost I needed to walk back to the house. Now if I can just talk David into getting me some in the mornings for breakfast...