LIFE IN THE FAST LANE
I was living life in the fast lane, working hard and playing harder.
I tried a series of jobs. I was a hot shot. In between jobs, I became a beach bum.
We were in deep water; gunmetal blue. Huge, rolling ocean swells pushed us farther from shore. April Amihan winds whipped whitecaps all around us. The wind was coming from shore. We were beginner windsurfers, left alone by tired or distracted instructors. We had been trying from morning to raise our sails; unsuccessfully.
The wet and the cold were taking their toll; we could not even close our hands. Our arms, legs and backs ached. Our knees shook.
I turned to Eddie Boy Ochangco, who was falling all over the water with me, "what can we do to increase our stamina?" He said, "Next time, we take honey. I know someone who cultures bees."
This led to Ian Aranza, who it turned out, lived about 2 kilometres from me in Mandaluyong. He was a long lost godson of my father. His mother was the high school classmate and dancing partner of my father.
Serendipity, I learned, is one of God's ways of speaking to us. He led, I followed. I have been following Him ever since that April day in Anilao in the late 1970s.
I quickly started to learn to keep bees, devouring all available written materials. My search for everything about bees took me to the University of the Philppines at Los Baños. I acquired copies of all their bee books. An expert apiarist from Cornell University, who attempted, during the course of about two years, to keep bees here said, "Commercial beekeeping is impossible in the Philippines."
He came from a place of frigid winters. We live in perpetual summertime here. Something did not fit. I felt that there was some kind of a future for beekeeping here.
Ian and I put up a wood shop. We built our own table saw. We bought surplus ammunition crates from Clark Air Base; pulled all the nails and staples out; joined planks with glue, making all our bee equipment. We did this for a very long time. We scrounged around junkyards for the rest of our needs. St. Joseph and St. John were my inspirations; carpenter and beekeeper.
I was stung. I was infected with bee fever; incurable.
I started experimenting in Mandaluyong.
I knew that eventually all the vegetation would be gone together with the fresh air. Events led me to Tagaytay.
Beekeeping in Tagaytay with Ian
It was a nameless stream, tucked away amidst dense vegetation, far from any houses or roads amidst the pineapple, papaya and coffee plantations of Silang. My mom and I chanced upon it, after years of searching, in the dying days of the dictator. As I touched the cool water, I said, "dito na."
At last, we had found a refuge in case chaos would ensue after his death.
Marian & Ilog Maria
I built a small 10 x 10 foot hut with materials donated from the old house of my Tita Glo and started to plant vegetables and fruit trees; the essentials. Then came black pepper, coffee, bananas, papayas, root crops, peanuts, mahogany, narra, bamboo and gmelina.
We had only a horse trail then, so we had to carry everything more than 700 meters in.
As my plants grew, I felt a deep sense of security; of being connected to the land…and the stream. I had found my spot, a place I would grow old in.
After some years of living off the land, I met Violaine. She was building a large fishpond in Quezon. She loved living in the countryside. She was a beekeeper too. We were inseparable.
We went to her fishpond in Calauag, Quezon. Then we stopped by our farm in Silang, Cavite. We helped each other with farm chores. During a visit to our farm in Silang, she told me, "dito ako tatanda (I will grow old here)." She was not even my girlfriend then.
It was February 1987, it had not rained for 5 months, it was called El Niño. I called my mother long distance telling her the situation. All the black pepper, coffee and other crops that I had planted, were dying.
She said, "sunduin mo ako, aakyat ako dyan sa farm, magdadasal ako, uulan." (Fetch me, I will go up to the farm, I will pray, it will rain). My mother is a woman of few words and very strong faith.
She started praying the Holy Rosary at about 9:30 am. The three of us did not have lunch. I was with my girlfriend, Violaine.
At about 3 pm, it became very dark. Then we heard a clattering. Ice was falling as big as marbles on our tin roof and the ground. Then came the thunderstorm with the downpour - a deluge. It lasted for about 30 to 45 minutes.
We heard my mother crying above it all. She had asked for, and was granted, a miracle.
At about 430 pm she said, "iuwi mo na ako, sasabihin ko sa Papa mo." (bring me home, I'll tell your Papa").
We had to engage the four wheel drive of my old Land Cruiser as we left. The muddy ground was very slippery. When we reached the highway, 700 meters away, it was dry. It was dry up to Manila.
Violaine and I had gotten married the month after that miraculous downpour.
Fast forward to 1994. I had gone to town to the local office of the Department of Trade and Industry. We were applying for a trade name for our little livelihood.
They asked me what name to give. I said I would ask my wife.
We agreed that it was to be "Ilog Maria Honeybee Farm" in honour of the Blessed Virgin Mary with whom my mother, Lilia, had prayed for rain.
It was to be an auspicious name for us.
It was to be the start of our journey to the Lord. A journey marked with many signs as wondrous as this first one. A continuing journey….
But I am getting ahead of my story, Violaine and I married the next month.
Ian Aranza, my beekeeping mentor who was migrating to the USA, gave us all his bees as our wedding present. We put them on our old homemade bee trailer. We had a real honeymoon.
Joel & Violaine with Bee Trailer
Violaine & Joel amidst newly planted coffee trees
We welcomed Jonathan about a year and a half afterwards.