Monday, 2 July 2012

Shem ze Mekazeret

Wheelbarrow (Mekazerett): a frame or box for conveying a load, supported at one end by a wheel  or wheels,  and lifted and pushed at the other by two horizontal shafts.

I watched the sun move from the one side of the mismatched couch to the other as the time ticked away. In the distance I could see an old man hauling pipes off the back of a truck and laying them in the field for irrigation. He wore a dark brown cowboy hat and had sweat patches under his arms as he made his way from the field to where I sat drinking a mug full of lukewarm water. His leather-y face broke into a smile, the wrinkles already embedded in his skin deepening as he revealed his teeth, yellowed over many years. I helped him fix the water pipes and he left me to water the plants in the greenhouse. I like the greenhouse. I like the way it smells like summer rain and damp soil, I like the water from the hose pipe when it runs down my wrist and elbow, dripping on to my shoes, soaking them through. I love the sudden jump of a grasshopper as it tries to escape the droplets of water cascading from the end of the pipe. I could hear him calling me again, this time for a mid morning snack of bread and hummus, with a dash of Zatar. He left me once more to eat in peace and I used the cupit (Spoon) to smear the hummus on my bread. "Amen" we said together over the bread.
I could hear his crusty voice calling to me over the sound of my thoughts as I pulled weeds from the ground with a satisfying crunch as the roots left the earth and ended up in my bucket. He shook me a little and slapped my back, becoming to me to join him for some Nescafe in the cool office. I cleaned my nails as I drank and listened to the banter between the Mazkirah and Motie. The sweet taste made me smile and I felt like I had found my feet again.
I raked together some of the leaves that looked as though they had been left there since Jake had worked there all the way back in Winter, into three neat(ish) piles. I then put them into the Mekazeret and wheeled them to the compost pile.

Motie told me while we worked in the field, that he has put so much of his life into the Farm and he gets little to no respect for it. He loves the farm, and most of it goes to a good cause, and something about Ethiopia and he wants me to speak more Hebrew to him, and I'm really going to try. I think he needs me, just as much as I need him. He's an admirable man, with so much to give to the world and unfortunately he isn't as appreciated as he should be.