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| The man on this photo is not related to this story |
Walking through a small Asturian village. A man and a woman are harvesting their potatoes on a large field next to their house. I ask them where the next bar is. "Not here. No people here!"And the man starts telling about his village, his wife standing silently next to him. Wide arm gestures confirming how empty the landscape is. Nobody to work the fields. The people go to the cities, he says. And talks with pain in his eyes about his six children, all living far away in Madrid, Valencia. Of course they come over every summer. Of course he and his wife live in a beautiful region. In an old village with a monumental house. His garden gives a fertile harvest. But nothing can take the daily pain away of the changes they had to face. That loss of not seeing your grandchildren growing up every day. He looks at his wife. They acquiesce in it, but with dignity and strength. Life goes on, the harvest goes on.
I walk on, and keep wondering for a long time why he was harvesting potatoes in his best suit.
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