Popa Ioan, Master with the Scythe

Popa Ioan, Master with the Scythe

On the very first day of our residence in Cluj, our landlord took us up to their retreat on the family farm in a village 60 km. west of the city. Now, with two weeks remaining in our stay in our apartment we were invited back for a weekend. The village is called Vale Draganului, which means, roughly, pleasant or dearest valley. It is an appropriate name.

The old farmstead has electric current now, although the road that leads to it is barely passable in a normal vehicle. The indoor plumbing hasn’t been installed yet, but the view out the open out house door almost makes up for the discomfort of using the Johnny house.

It was first of July and the middle of hay making season. The wonderful smell of fresh cut and drying hay scented the air. Romanians still make hay the old fashioned way, by hand with scythe, rake and fork. It is a slow, arduous job, but the family attacks the task together, and during breaks and after the long day is over, much discussing and tasting of the tuica makes the job a little easier. The familiar hay mounds are a symbol of the Romanian countryside. After drying the hay, it is hand raked and forked into grand piles with a sturdy wooden rod to center it. No guidebook is complete without at least one picture of the countryside and hay stack.

The picture which I hope to accompany this article is of Popa Ioan, a master of the village in the art of swinging the scythe. One of the secrets to good mowing, and it is amazing how straight and clear these folks can make the cut, is a sharp and balanced blade. We never see hand scything in the United States now, and years ago, when it was still occasionally used, the handle of the tool had an ‘S’ shaped curve. Here, the handle is straight. I wonder if it wouldn’t be more efficient to have a curved handle, but then I wonder why they don’t rig up the horse to a reaper – John McCormack invented it nearly 200 years ago – and mow the larger fields with horsepower rather than sweat power.

While the neighbors made the hay our host, Teo, and I walked up to the highest point overlooking the valley. It was a steep ascent through fields of wildflowers. The smell of the brushed flowers was almost exactly that of the honey that we had used to flavor our morning tea. The butterflies appreciated the windbreak that the few trees offered, but as the day was warm, we liked to feel the breeze as it blew from the plains of Hungary to our vantage point high above the valley.

I thought that it marked a circle, a near completion of our time here in Romania. We have a few duties to wrap up and then we’ll take a slow journey home through parts of Europe unexplored by us. Standing on the mountain top, amongst the flowers and the hay I wonder about this changing country of Romania. It won’t be long before the old men content to mow the hay with a blade will all be replaced by speedy drivers in their BMWs and Toyotas driving swiftly between job, home and vacation house. This country is in economic unstoppable development. Gradually the inefficiencies will be left behind, but what will replace them?

The sheep herder with his flock and the cow herder with his herd, answering our whistle from the top of the peak, will be gone. The mountain will sleep, unless it’s turned into a ski resort. Few will walk its steep grass except the rare hiker.