Te gusta habas? Pedro wanted to know. I have no idea what Habas are, much less if I liked them. This wasn't one of those questions that I could bluff my way through - it would be dangerous territory to say I like something and not know what I was signing up for.
Pedro repeated the word, Habas, te gusta Habas? I still didn't know.
With a sigh he trudged back to his house, a one-room dwelling which had originally been a stone-built shepherd’s hut. Had I offended him? Had work ended for the morning? I stood and waited.
After a good few minutes, he trudged back, bless him, he was a bit out of breath. As he got close to me, he asked again - Te gusta habas - and opened his hand out show a little pile of broad beans in the palm of his hand.
Si si si!!!! I practically jumped up and down. Not only do I really love broad beans, especially being a vegetarian, but I now knew the secret meaning of habas. Pedro and I were connected once more. Let the sowing begin.
Despite having spent some of the morning weeding in between the potatoes on the lower field, Pedro straight away began working the sloping land nearer the house. As he dug the land and made straight channels, I was a little surprised to see that they were neither horizontal nor vertical to the path at the side, but at an angel. Maybe he read my mind, or did I ask?
Ah, he said. You do them like this so that the rain water doesn't run off to fast. Nor does it run off to slow. So always make them at a 90-degree angle. Luckily he gesticulated enough so that I could understand. It was interesting and I vowed to myself to remember it.
Half the little field was now sown with habas. That's it, he said, I'm tired. Puph! I'm going in.
Thank you so much Pedro, I said, thank you! And look how much you've planted! Hay mucho - there's a lot! This was an understatement.
Mañana, he said, mañana I will finish. OMG. This was going to be habas city.