RICE FARMERS

RICE FARMERS
Harry Bissoon 2/27/2023


In a previous blog I talked about the Cane Cutter, imbued with inspiration from my mother's family. My father's family presents a different picture. 

I was born in Whim Village on the Corentyne in Guyana. My grandfather from my father's family, Buck, came from North India and was of Mongolian stock. His sons were mostly rice farmers, including my father. When my father got married to an adventurous Sardar's daughter from the Skeldon Sugar Plantation, he moved to the sugar estate in Skeldon. I was just one year old!

My parents took me to Whim on regular visits, and I got a close look at their industrious involvement in the rice industry. I made several trips to the rice fields with my uncles and cousins, and was actively involved in the cultivation, harvesting, and processing of rice! 

My uncles and cousins were up early in the morning before the sun rose, gathering whatever was needed to spend the day in the backdam. My aunts were up before them to prepare sumptuous meals for them to take with them. 

I watched them planting seedlings, or, throwing(shying) seeds, in muddy waters, with the help of my aunts. And when they took a break for lunch on the Karyan, I rejoiced at their happiness and contentment at what they did.

While the paddy fields bloomed in golden splendor, my uncles would sit in any convenient spot in the fields and sip rum and black water, in celebration of the bountiful harvest.

It was not easy though! They had to be in the fields everyday, watching, spraying for pests, and ensuring that the crop stayed healthy. 

They also did cash crop farming on whatever land was available in the fields, and also planted coconut and mango trees, or, other fruit trees that they liked. 

Harvesting was backbreaking! In those days machinery 
,with the exception of the tractor, was unheard of. Rice stalks had to be cut with grass knives, bundled and loaded unto sleds which were pulled by horses, bulls, tractors, or carried on head to the central area where it was thrashed by bulls which walked on them. The stalk and chaff were then separated from the grain by rakes and sifter, and then the paddy seeds were bagged. 

Rice farming for my uncles was never easy. They had to contend with the vagaries of the weather and the constant attack by pests and bugs. They also had to ensure that proper fertilization was maintained so that the harvest would be bountiful. 

Transportation of the paddy was done by horses, bulls, or tractor drawn trailers or boats, to the mill on the Main road that ran through the Village, for processing into rice. I loved being on those rides and had several misadventures while doing those trips.

In the end, getting the right grades at the point of sale was all that matters. Nevertheless, the end of harvest was always a moment for celebration, before making preparations for the next crop.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

OUR CHANGING TIMES: DOOM OR GLORY

OUR CHANGING TIMES: DOOM OR GLORY Two particularly useful and significant lessons of human behavior that I have learnt in my social progression on the ladder of upward mobility, still habitually gnaws at my intricate psychological constructs. During my early years in the upper echelon of management, I was told by my management mentor, in simple terms, that in any social engineering of humanity, it is the living thing that has the capacity to deceive and lie, and not the inanimate objects that I will be dealing with.  Intricately connected to this observation, is the remarkable ability of  living things to decieve, and celebrate a dance of intrigue and camouflage.  We have developed this art form into means of survival, deception, treachery, vengeance,  jealousy, and unmitigated tragedy. It is amazing how this web of deceipt has embedded itself in the socio-political milieu of our existential behavior. It has become an intrinsic part of our lives, and for many it's a ...
Read more

FIRERASS

FIRERASS  Harry Bissoon 2/13/2026 Mabel, up before sunrise, long before the cock, Natty, crows.  In haste, amidst hazy and foggy mist, she pushes herself to limits anew, to meet deadline, daily vows,   The light shines through neighba Aunty Breto's windows, in an eerie brightness.  It flashes,dances,and speeds into the still darkness,  Look! Mabel laments! She gone again! To roam and suck blood, before light approaches! Firerass she is! Firerass, oh god, is Breto, a never-ending nighttime seeker of gourmet secrets.  Nay,she cannot be. She laughs and talks,day after day, with a face of neighborly goodness.  But yet,  flies and seeps through cracks, in hungry nighttime flurries of wanton, thirsty adventures of mysterious gourmet madness.  Let her go, Mabel sighs. Make your way, Breto! Make your way! You are the village night walker! @highlight
Read more

THE PANGS OF DEATH

Death is ever present, and  like a dark specter of doom, it hovers above and around us, waiting in the shadows to attack and devastate. It is envious of birth, which brings joy and happiness to us. Envious of our struggles down paths of thorns and roses.It follows us, breaching our defenses when and where we least expect it. Maybe this is why some of us celebrate death and mourn the coming of new life. Maybe this is why some of us glorify death and its painful throes of the unfettered release of our souls to be free of the agonizing clutches of life. Maybe, this why birth and new life are lamented by some, knowing of the trials, tribulations, and bumpy paths that lead us into the hands of Death Itself. Nonetheless, whatever views and opinions we hold close to our bosoms, we still ponder upon this dilemma, trying to reconcile the beatitudes of life and death,being fully aware that death is always filled with agony and sadness.  We are children of promises and faith. We are chil...
Read more