It's been a dry summer, which has meant less harvest than hoped for.
But still the relentless growth of their crops must be fought back by felling the grass, clover and weeds.
After a dozen or so swipes, a man stops to sharpen his blade. He keeps a stone in a holster filled with water.
The sound of sharpening scythes carries far over the rolling hillsides.
As they cut the crops, they cut other things as well. Hedgehog mounds, bee nests, and sometimes a bunny.
They treated this little fellow's wounds with tuica (100 proof) and now he's going to find a new home.
Now we see the color of fresh haystacks. The one on the right is over two years old.
They pick off the potato bugs by hand.
"What happens if there's too many to control by hand," we asked.
"We'll go buy chemicals," they said.
So much for sentimental Organic Gardening.
Haypoles on the move.
Typical burdens while in the 'cāmp.' (In the land, same root as the Latin 'campus.')
Bees are raking in their own harvest. Their bee hives are not the modular type we use in the west. A fixed size hive houses two colonies at once.
Kathleen visits with a man who is bringing a coffin to his neighbor who has just died.
At the end of the month is the religious holiday for Peter's death, "The End of Petru."
They take some of their icons out of their church and sing to them.
Then turn to the four points of the compass and pray.
On the second day of St. Peter's, there is a general pilgrimage to Bīrsana, the nearest monastery to our village.
The road below the monastery is crammed with vendors of everything from holy cross-shaped candy to pop-guns.
On the monastery grounds, however, only the sisters and the priests are selling, and only religious materials.
The bishops and archbishops were there in force. Over forty priests attended.
The service and sermon was amplified electrically and lasted for four hours.
Preparing communion for thousands.
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