I’m standing on a farm in the hills of northwestern Jamaica, and I take a minute to pause and look around. Behind me is thick bush and undoubtedly hundreds of ants waiting to eat my feet should I cross their path. To my left there is a marl road that will, with some patience and a little bit of skill on the part of the driver, take me back to the coast and the landscape I’ve become accustomed to. In front of me is a small, small farm brimming with dasheen and callaloo that look too fresh for words. I look to my right, and there is an old woman walking down the path towards us. Her back is hunched and her clothes hang loose on her body, but she walks with an air of grace and confidence that defies her age.
When she reaches us, she stops to chat. The farm we are looking at is her sister’s, and she has a farm about the same size further down the path. We ask her how long she has been farming, and she replies enthusiastically:
“I’m 83 years old, and I’ve been farming since I was a girl. I love farming, I love it. I just love farming.”
She tells us she works in her farm every day, and the well-used machete in her hands can attest to that. She repeats what seems to be her mantra, I just love farming over and over again. She says that she takes joy in her work and is proud of what she does, “without us farmers, what would we all eat?” she asks us.
Her sister is in her late 60’s, and also still farming. Her mother is over 100 years old, and although she doesn’t farm so much anymore, she’s still alive and alive and well.
We were only able to spend a few minutes with this 83 year old woman and her sister, but it was an experience that has stayed with me since. Seeing these women was truly inspiring and humbling. I can only imagine the things they have seen in their time – the joys, the hardships, the hellos and goodbyes. But they are still here, still happy, and still doing what they love.
