We Once Welcomed Floods

FOR A TOWN that rarely gets killer floods the likes of those that have become "the new normal" in many parts of Metro Manila each time, the occurrence of a big one is certainly headline news in Dupax the highlights, side events, and variations of which would last for many days if not weeks.

One such big flood occurred August 12 as a result of the hours of torrential rains brought about by Typhoon Labuyo that hit Nueva Vizcaya. Apart from swaths of ricefield many of which have yet to grow grains, the swollen rivers and their rampaging waters reportedly carried in their path at least two carabaos, four cows, and an Isinay farmer named Mariano de la Cruz.

This is not to trivialize natural disasters like the water event that hit Dupax, Bambang, and Aritao. Yet there was a time when we welcomed the swelling of rivers.

Yes, welcome as in we were happy the river became big.

Why? Because, at least for us river-loving kids, the floods meant not only a cleaner river but also new swimming and fishing holes.

The angry river quite often brought out or surfaced a boulder, or took away the lumut (algae) from the stones and thus made them fit for use as bubbur (rubbing stone) once again.

As soon as the waters subside and the sun shines brightly again, we barrio kids would look for toppled down bamboo clumps or logs stranded in midstream. These flood collaterals often had deep portions beside them that we call pual in Ilocano. Pretty soon, you would see us use the elevated or protruding parts as diving board.

For our bolder elders in I-iyo, the floods meant a bonanza of logs and tree branches brought down from the hills, particularly the timber concessions and kaingin patches upstream.

I remember, for instance, the image of Uncle Karting "Manmanaas" Jasmin waiting on the river bank for a floating log with a coil of long rope. Once he sees a good one, he would wade or swim to meet it, lasso his catch with the rope, then pull it to the shallow part with the help of a carabao.

There was also once a bamboo structure on one side of the river called asar. It was meant to filter the eel and dalag carried downstream by the strong current.

Oh yes, that asar was the one and only such fishing gear I saw in my entire boyhood in Dupax. I guess it didn't catch enough fish for its builders/owners to share, or probably its foundations were no match to the strength of the river's current and soon got washed away.

When Typhoons Gave Us Plenty of Guavas

CHILDREN today welcome typhoons because they would mean vacation from school, transport money saved or used to buy junk food, and plenty of time to watch TV.

It is certainly a different "normal" compared to when I was growing up and was a pupil at the Dupax Central Elementary School.

Back then, strong typhoons made me and my sisters happy because they gave us time to play with younger siblings all day and to catch up on reading the Bannawag.

Particularly in my case as the eldest, typhoons also provided a good excuse from not doing such chores as sweeping the yard, splitting firewood, watering the plants, and taking the goats to pasture.

One thing about typhoons that I cherished most as a kid, however, was that it meant plenty of creamy and steaming pising on the dining table.

Pising is Isinay term for what Tagalogs call ginataang bayabas. It simply consists of peeled and thinly sliced ripe guavas that are boiled in coconut milk and brown sugar.

Served hot, the pising is certainly a filling and nutritious dish fit for cold, windy and rainy days.

I'm not sure if other mothers in the neighborhood cooked it as a viand for their brood, but I guess Mama saw the practicality of the pising as food during typhoons.

Among the probable reasons why she resorted to that was the fact that our backyard used to have plenty of guava trees and a few coconut palms.

So what's the connect?

Well, it so happens that typhoons coincide with the time when guavas plenty of fruits. And when the rain-reinforced winds blow, they do us the service of bringing down lots of fully ripe guavas including those that escaped my guava-eating climbs or my sisters' su-it (fruit-picking pole).

Not only that. The shaking and twisting of trees by the typhoon would send down the fully mature coconuts, including ones that have para in them, which would be prize for whoever would do the honors of husking, splitting, then grating the nuts preparatory for cooking the guava into pising.