My Island Life - The Old Kano

I came across some photos of my dad I took home w/ me the year he passed away.  Most of the pictures were of him in his garden (what we called the farm).  But before I go into the photos let me go into the etymology of "The Old Kano".

"Kano" is the shortened form of the word "Amerikano", which is what the Filipinos use to refer to Americans, specifically men (the Tagalog dialect [the predominant dialect in the Philippines] is heavily influenced by Spanish, thus most words take on a feminine and masculine form).  I believe my dad picked up this moniker - Kano - when we were still living in Manila, before my parents moved us to the province.  The "Old" part was appended not too long after.  Therefore, our farm was called "The Old Kano's Farm".

Now the Philippine public transportation system is mostly made up of private enterprises and there are really no city owned buses in the provinces.  So there are no designated bus stops and really no standards.  So when people want to get off their bus or jeepney (I'll post on the jeepney separately) people would just yell "Para" (Spanish for stop) where they want to get off and the vehicle pulls slightly off the side of the road and the passenger disemabrks.  I'm bringing this train home, don't worry.  This sounds a little self serving and that's not my intention at all, I just want to show you how a simple name can be a part of local living, but since the farm is right on the highway and is very visible, when people pay for their bus/jeepney fare they say they're getting of at Old Kano's, or when the bus conductor asks them where they would like to get off, they say at Old Kano's.  Everyone in our little barrio used it as a landmark.

Okay, now to the farm.

Since it rains so much in the PI (short for Philippine Islands, and I will use it from here on out) - 7 feet in one year one time my dad measured it w/ a very inaccurate rain gauge - we built green houses.  It looked like it housed some pole beans in the middle, some hibiscus, some begonias, and whatever else he had in there.

My dad loved flowers (he even used to talk to them.  As a matter of fact he talked to all his plants), and he especially favored gumamelas - the Tagalog word for hibiscus.  He would graft on different colors in one bush and he prided himself in this.  He sold it like it was hot potatoes.  I never really did like hibiscus, maybe because we had them everywhere.

My dad and a bag of red radishes.  If you notice in these pictures he's always walking around w/ his garden hoe.  It doubles as his walking stick.  His shoes, he used to call them bunny hoppers, were never really grippy and it can get muddy like it's nobody's business, so his garden hoe would help him trudge around the garden.

Ah!  And his beautiful peppers.  There must have been 20-30 lbs worth on this round table.  They were part of his show stopper and the chefs could not get enough of them.  He had yellow, red, purple, green, orange, bananas, habaneros, jalapenos - you name it he had it. 

Oh!  The things he could grow.  No one, for the longest time, could get fresh rosemary - it all had to be imported from Australia or New Zealand.  He did it!  And the herbs.  It was herb nirvana: basil (Italian and Thai), marjoram (my favorite of all), thyme (English & creeping), mint, tarragon, coriander, dill, chervil, parsley (curly & flat), chives, and oregano (Italian and the local kind) just to name a few. I had the most unfortunate job during the summer to tend to the basil rows (we're talking about a dozen or sow rows that are 15 feet long per row - at least I think they were) - I had to trim the flowers off or they would all mature and seed, or we would not be able to harvest the leaves.  But one thing I did love is at the end of the tropical day, I smelled of basil.