Patagonia, The Horseman, Part 11

patriarch of rural chilean valley

 

At the lodge there was the Gaucho and the Horseman. The Gaucho was a middle aged gentleman solidly built and dark in complexion. To an outsider like me, he looked like the quintessential Chilean, if there is such a thing. He managed the farm, lassoed and slayed animals for the lodge, and operated the smoke house and barbecued all of the meat we ate. The Horseman, his assistant, was much younger. His complexion was fairer and he had a slight build. He looked like a Jockey. Maybe a little too tall for one. He had one front tooth that was slightly crooked. The Gaucho was good at many farm tasks but the Horseman was the much better rider. He was a magician in the saddle. He could turn his horse on spot 360 degrees, get it to kneel, and make it go backwards. He negotiated the many wooden farm gates with ease without ever having to get off of his horse to open and close them. No other rider could do that. There is no way I could describe the complexity of this task. His most remarkable riding skill however was not manoeuvrability or horse tricks. His prowess in my eyes, a non-rider, was his ability to deliver eggs. Every once in awhile the farm chickens weren't cooperative and the lodge ran short of eggs. The horseman would be summoned to travel to the next valley where he had relatives to get extra eggs. He'd be gone for a good part of the day but always returned with a least two dozen. None, and I emphasis none, were ever broken. These weren't supermarket eggs packaged in a cardboard or Styrofoam for protection. He'd collect the eggs and very carefully stack them in a a round can about the size of a large coffee or for reference sake about the size of a gallon paint can. One day when he returned with eggs I asked to look inside the can. The bottom eggs were place on their ends for strength, not on their sides. They were neatly packed in this way tight to the sides of the can. The next layer was placed once again end first in the space between the bottom eggs. This way there was little wasted space. And so it went, stacked layer on layer, until eggs reached the top of the can. He could pack what looked like two dozen in a can that way. Then he would ride 2 to 3 hours with them through the Andes, up and down, across arroyos, through numerous gates and arrive with all intact. I remember looking into the the can to see how he did it and smiling. In response a big smile grew on his face. He knew I recognised the specialness of what he could do.

the horseman