The goddess didn’t know how to answer their prayers.
They called themselves ‘urban farmers’, yet they did not have soil to till.
Their ‘farms’ were something she did not expect.
But time waits for no one and she had an eternity to learn.
She disguised herself as a student, finding the most cutting-edge technologies. The references and resume were taken cared of as a favor by one of the earthworld gods of subterfuge, the night heron.
Idiyanale descended as Ali Ani. A bit on the nose but it would have to do.
There were categories and she started with the basics.
What was most strange was the lack of soil.
In the times before she would send a piece of her to inspect the farms, seeing what the stewards of the land lacked and providing assistance where she could. But now there were no harvests that she could bloom nor rain that would sate the thirsty plants.
There was the ‘farm’, the soulless, alien, ‘farm’.
Today’s lesson was on tomatoes and water.
The mortals measured the water used in agriculture. One kilo of tomatoes needed 214 liters of water using traditional farming methods while hydroponics only needed 70 liters.
This was enlightening to the goddess, it was something she never thought of before.
When she answered prayers, she would let the rain pour without thinking about the waste.
There was a tinge of regret when she thought of the land. The earth cried, all to line the pockets of rich mortals.
Even she of the earthworld could see what the signs would portend.
Enough was too much.
Vegetables and fruits were consigned to rot in their fields, being bled by middlemen who only cared about profits.
The world was getting hotter and the storms stronger, traditional farmers were powerless against the strength of economy as well.
A problem created artificially, yet felt by those who work with organics the most.
The goddess, as the student, listened intently to the scientists and their crop.
She could feel it, of course, the silent scream of the earth as it buckled under the pressure of the human’s thoughtless deeds. All the pollution reaching even to the core of man. Microplastics is what they called them, Idiyanale used the word ‘trash’ to show her disgust.
Today her seniors would be talking about Deep Water Culture, a method she knew nothing about.
The way it worked was there was what was called a reservoir, a container in layman’s terms, that was filled with oxygenated water and nutrients. There was an air pump and an air stone to ensure the aeration of the solution. Next the plants, which were grown in specialized cups, were suspended in the mixture. This was so that the roots absorb the nutrient rich and oxygenated solution, giving them a rapid rate of growth.
Ali asked the professor why they used this technique and he said that it produced higher yields and faster growth.
The goddess asked to stay through the night. The plants needed monitoring and she wanted to see the process first hand.
She missed the smells most of all. During harvest, the freshly cut leaves left an almost intoxicating scent. Even the manure from the animals in the farms was something she yearned for.
They were simple times, but time needs to move forward and she needed to know how to give these new farmers a boon.
She touched the leafy plants and poked at the roots. There was a tinge of familiarity, the carrier was new but the basics were not. The nutrient solution was just concentrated efforts of what was found in the plants.
She breathed on the water, without the need of the air pump and the harvest almost tripled in size.
The next day the professor and his scientists were amazed at the growth of their crop.
They asked Ali what she observed and the goddess said there was nothing out of the ordinary. She said she took a quick nap and it was suddenly there after she had awakened.
They checked their instruments, amazed at the yield.
The goddess managed to slip away, content with what she had learned.
She did not ascend to the skyworld to join the other gods, the earthworld was the only place where she felt like she could do something that mattered.
She, more than any other god, loved her mortal worshippers. Every harvest time, she would spend among mortals, learning about their hops and dreams, of their trials and failures.
Idiyanale flittered through the animals as well, giving them strength and making them healthy.
There was one farmer that she wanted to visit. His family worshipped the goddess even in modern times.
She was not prepared for what she found.
The fields were left abandoned. The goddess entered the small shack that the farmer called home and was enraged.
The dead body of the farmer hung by the kitchen.
The goddess could tell it was self-inflicted and looked to the past. The god, Bangun-bangun, taught her how to see what came before.
She saw that the farmer suffered. No one would buy his crop and he lived in extreme poverty.
He tried to ask help from the god of the cross, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.
If only he had called upon the goddess, maybe things would have been different.
Farmers deserved respect, but they were left behind while others ‘progressed’.
The goddess lowered the farmer’s body and gave him a proper burial.
It was what he deserved.
She was still not finished with her business in the earthworld.
There were new crops that were brought by ones foreign to this land, but embraced by farmers from all over the archipelago.
From the Cordilleras to Cotabato, the beans reigned supreme.
In the concrete maze of the city, she clothed herself in mortal garb and attended what mortals called an ‘expo’, a congregation for farmers and others to partake in coffee and all things coffee related.
The goddess was overwhelmed, there were things there that she could not even think of in her wildest dreams, farmers from all over the islands were present.
She sampled many things. What was most surprising to her were the plant milks.
Leave it to the humans to create something full of imagination.
She was offered a coconut milk latte and was transported by the transcendent flavot.
The goddess learned how to differentiate nuance in the offerings of the expo. Notes of nuts, fruits and deep earthiness were added to her vocabulary.
There was one specific place that she returned to. What the humans called ‘cupping’, a glorified tasting process.
It started with preparing the beans by grinding them and pouring hot water (90 degrees) to make a brew. Then the tasting could begin.
Stir gently.
Partake of its aroma.
Scoop a spoonful.
Roll it in your palate.
The goddess learned much from the mortals. Some of the more experienced ones could even ascertain the origins of the beans from taste alone.
The farmers still used traditional techniques, thank Bathala.
She could see that the south was well represented. Idiyanale was a god of the Tagalogs, but her reach was vast. She did not want to evangelize her message, preferring to go personally to the mortals she would help.
There was a particular farmer that approached her through the crowd.
He said that he was from Sultan Kudarat and gave her a sample of his beans.
The farmer was an avid talker and his passion spilled forward.
The pour over was very earthy. It was like drinking dirt but in a way that was pleasant.
The goddess took his calling card and told him that he would have a bountiful harvest.
He thanked her and even gave her a free bag of beans.
She would visit him again at his farm and in his dreams.
She fell into deep contemplation about the multifaceted nature of humans.
They were full of innovation from what she learned from the scientists.
Cruelty was also easy for them, thinking back to the dead farmer.
But there was room to grow.
The crop taught her much about the current state of those who she chose to be her people.
There were still things the goddess didn’t understand, but she was willing to learn. Eternity was different for gods.
To hell with the passive gods of the skyworld.
Her people were her home.
And she would continue her journey, never looking back.
==———————————–==
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Inspired by Relation of the Worship of the Tagalogs, Their Gods, and Their Burials and Superstitions by Juan de Plasencia. 1589. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13701?msg=welcome_stranger
Illustration by Frances Alcaraz
Website: http://francesalcaraz.com/
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