In a distance I see the tractor. It is one of those tractors that the Portuguese farmers use around here, the Portuguese farmers that grow fruit that is. Around here it is mainly apples and pears. There is another kind of tractor around these areas, a much slimmer variety which is used between the rows of grapes.
The tractor is getting closer. It is hard to see it now because of the sun in my face and in my eyes. I am walking my dogs on this gravel road along the Rio Tornada, Tornada river, which isn´t a river but more of a stream, at least here.
Around me there are fields with apples and pears and some super food as they call it in Sweden, the ever present Portuguese kale. The thing is the Portuguese don´t even know it is fashionable to eat it. A trendy thing people pay a lot for in Sweden or USA or England. Here they don´t care. They eat it because they like it, it´s cheap and they can grow it year round.
The sound of the tractor is getting stronger and it is almost impossible to hear all the birds. The flowers are visible still. Poppy and a pretty little yellow type of clover which are growing in abundance.Soon enough they will be smothered in all fumes and smoke from diesel from that tractor.
|View from a farm.|
This time I can see that he had spotted me, this strange foreign lady, clearly crazy. Why would a sane woman walk big dogs in the middle of the day and not growing...kale for instance if she wasn´t complete nuts?
I smile my biggest smile and shout Bom Dia, again. He slows the tractor down, lifts his cap, and well doesn´t exactly smile but...
Then as he passes I can clearly hear a vague Bom dia!
It only took almost two years.