I used to believe that I could do farm work. . .

 

After all, I was born to bale hay and milk cows.  Then I went to the Dextre farm in  Vicos outside Huaraz.  The land ownership is somewhat communal and thus is divided up not so much by location as by type of land, so I walk uphill to "git some taters", cross the creek and climb to another elevation to get some firewood (usually eucalyptus), or go round the bend (in this photo) to get some wheat.  

I had not seen scythes and sickles since the well rusted ones of my early childhood when my parents moved to and emptied out the back rooms of my paternal grandfathers' farmhouse, untouched since the 1950s.  

I thought I remembered how to do this.  Boy, was I wrong!  It takes tremendous skill to swing that thing at the proper angle, cut the sheaves of wheat in one smooth movement,  avoiding removing a hand in the process.