Welcome to Chiloe, Chile through Cyril Christensen's eyes...

 

Life goes on, on this magical island of Chiloe, but time seems to have stopped.  Using traditional methods from simpler times past, the Chilote people base their livelihood  on fishing, farming, and clamming.  The rhythm of Life here is not controlled by the pages of the calendar nor by the ticks of the clock, but by the changes and the forces of Nature:

A full moon signifies that it's a time to dig for clams

    . . . a new moon, a time to plant

        . . . a storm at sea, a time to fish, and

. . . a calm anew, a  time to gather seaweed thrown on the beach by wind and waves, which will later be used by the farmers to return nutrients to the soil

           


a time to dig for clams . . .
The sea-ground harvest will begin and everyone hopes that Mother Nature will again be generous. Nobody is really concerned about what time it is, it is time to go down to the beach.. the tide is going down.  Later at home it will be time for cooking what the sea has provided. Eat what you can, save for a couple of days, and smoke the rest for winter time when tides are not always generous and weather permits it not.

This festive ritual has gone for ages. The low tided beach receives and welcomes everybody. Farmers and fishermen, women and men, young and old come along with their families.  Ritual? Festivity? Just a task, a harvest? An informal unconscious community gathering? Another chance for the family to be together.

 

 

Roads come and go,
why two, don't know.
The rainbow between grays and blues
will shed all this land with all colors and dews.

 

 

 

Dawn is here.
It is time for woodstoves to be lit.

 

 

A time for clam digging.
Out to the pastures he has gone
to fetch the oxen to pull the cart.

 

 

 

 

children clamdigging.jpg (25118 bytes)

 

 

 

 

 

The tide is low, the carriages,
into the damp sea they go.
The small ones take a break and give a hand.
clamdiggers and cart.JPG (53895 bytes)

 

 

 

 

 

Two to three hours the low tide will last,
To dig the grey harvest, work must be fast.

 

 

Some youngsters skip away, to look and chat with their loved ones.
Gray skies protect all the colors of their feelings,
but these colors are present in their souls.

 

 

 

 

 

The battered straw basket sits by the old man in brown, who still  has the energy to provide for his own.

 

 

 

 

 

 

returning from clamming.jpg (20287 bytes)

Men and women carry baskets in their hands
and bags on their backs.
It is time to go home.

 

 

Others carrry children, bags and baskets on their cart.

 

 

Some will go on their own,
but most will share a hand with each other.


The bending and kneeling, the weight carried on their shoulders is a sign of a generous sacrifice. And life goes on in Chiloe, no rush, no sense of a particular time except for house chores. Chop wood for the stove, feed the animals, get what is needed from the green garden and share by the woodstove with its scented smoke the happenings of the day. Many and very simple. The house is warm now. Dusk is here.  A time to rest.

 

a time to plant . . .
Not very long ago, walking and horses were the main means of transportation. But, oxen have always been present.

Oxen are used to go to the main road to get what the bus from the city brings. To dig the ground to plant. To go into the forests for wood and in winter time, wooden sleds or hollow trees are used. Wheels will not make it. Mud is thick, it rains and rains.

Wood, for building and cooking. Wooden tiles in silent brotherhood will stand next to each other for a life time. The scent and taste of whatever cooked on the woodstove is not the same.

Frost, windstorms, and the rainy rainy season, has left the earth green green. And longer and not so cool days send their message that the soil can be prepared to be seeded.

 

Green into brown. Even pastures into crumbled chunks of earth.

 

 

 

 

 

chilote fields.JPG (45835 bytes) 

    

Up hill, down hill,the plow following the oxen slides and jumps,

 

 

 

Man and oxen need a break, so along the dusty road home they go for a well deserved rest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The skies water the crops, and families watch them grow, hoping, wishing that there will be enough for the family and animals for the year to come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Somehow, somehow they know that it will not rain for some days. Grass, wheat and barley are cut from dawn till dusk. Nights and resting time at this time are short. The lands givings need to be stored before the next rain. And it works, almost always...

 

 

 

Some neighbor will postpone his harvest to help at the other side of the fence. They will do the same. Not a question asked, just an offer.

 

 

Time comes to store what manīs work and nature has provided. There is always enough, just enough, for the family, for the older neighbors if needed and for the animals who roam closely as distant-close relatives.....


 

a time to fish . . .
Wind determines how weather will be like in Chiloe .   Southerly wind, the weather will be good, but cold. Northerly wind...Rain, wind and storm. A time to stay in for the family and for fishermen to set nets. Take their boats and defy waves and tides, wait and see what they may catch...

The drowned arm, uplifting,
carries only the kiss of salt in a droplet. From the torsos of men,
a humid perfume on the beaches,
the soaked flower, retained;
your power in a semblance of squandering force,
undiminished, returned in a semblance of calm


From "Open Sea", Pablo Neruda

 

 

 

White spindrift, March on the Island, I see
Wave work against wave and splinter the whiteness,
The ungratified cup of the ocean brimming over,
The immovable sky slowly
Lengthen and part with the flight of pontifical birds.
We come upon yellow,
The month changes its color, the beard
Of the watery autumn grows long,
But my name remains Pablo.

From "Open Sea", Pablo Neruda

 

 

And shallow waters generate long and low waves that fill the nets with fish. These will be a daily meal, some shared among neighbors, taken to the city market or smoked for them to last for some days.

 

 



grey waves.jpg (24191 bytes)

 

 


 

a time to gather seaweed . . .
And time has come for the wind to change. It begins to move Westward, or it may suddenly stop. Deep blue skies, the whitest of clouds and the beach is green...

 

Children return  home from school, seaweed is there and probably they are unaware.

 

 

 

 

 

 

algae picking.jpg (50176 bytes)

 

Farmers will put on their sleds the seaweed that has piled up in the low sea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Each family will take enough to enrich the soil they are planting. Into the sea they have gone by boat or foot and the shallow waters they have raked. The sled is full.

 

 

 

 

Oxen pulled sleds have taken their cargo up hill. It is time for lunch and rest. Later they will take care of spreading their natural fertilizer on the ground. There is no rush for that, and the animals can wait....

 

 


 

 

The day is about to end. The golden sun touches the skies, the land and the sea.

lighthouse.jpg (44561 bytes)

 

Nature is present everywhere, and the Chilote people live with it and by it. The extremes, the calmness of the air and the stormy weather has made of my neighbors rugged people...

We do not know exactly what tomorrow will bring, but we do now that there will be a time to enjoy the simple in life, to share family experiences, happiness and sorrow, to be close to the earth to be exposed to a serene environment that very many would like to know that it does exist, where, you can have time to...and a time to...


 Visit Cyril Christensen's Virtual Art Gallery Paintings Available for Sale Contact Cyril Christensen Sign Cyril Christensen's Guestbook