The snow arrives late in December and stays until the end of February. It does not stop the work. It is the work.
January and February are for pruning — the most important job of the year. Ten to fifteen days of climbing into the trees with shears and a saw, in the cold, cutting away what is dead or crossing, so that light can reach the inner branches when spring comes. It is done by the family. Nanu and Nani are seventy-five, and they are up there too.
The trunks are painted white — a lime and copper-sulphate wash — so the frost cannot crack the bark and nothing burrows in beneath it. Before the heavy snow, a ring is dug around the base of every single tree and packed with cow dung and compost. When the snow melts in spring, it carries all of that down into the roots.
Winter is not an empty season here. It is the season of weddings, of Dham — the village feast — and of Nati danced around a bonfire.
It is also when people look after themselves properly: eating well through the cold, so the body can carry the rest of the year.
The birthday of our devta, Devta Sahib Chattarkhand Panchveer. The festival is named after the date itself — 18 Posh — and it falls around the new year. Thousands of people come.
The snow goes in late February. Then comes Shivratri, and the kitchens do not stop.
At the heart of it is Rott, prepared over days. Around it: Poldu, Babru, Vada, and Sanse. Days of frying, in every house.
And then, in the middle of April, the whole valley turns white with apple blossom, and stays that way into May.
From here until the harvest, the thing everyone quietly fears is hail. A hailstorm can take a full year of work in twenty minutes. The devta does not decide the farming — nobody waits for permission to prune — but people pray anyway: for a good harvest, and for the hail to pass over. When the heavy rain comes, they pray to Nag Devta to keep everyone safe.
Picking begins in July, in the monsoon. But not immediately, and not casually.
First, halwa is made.Dhoopis lit. A pooja is done — for the apples. Only then does anyone walk into the orchard.
The orchard owners and the farming families climb and pick. The families help each other, house to house.
The carrying is done by workers from Nepal, who come every year for the apple season. They take crates of fifteen to twenty kilos on their backs — four or five at a time — down the hillside.
The packing is done by local farmers, and by packers who come from the Mandi and Kullu side for the season. It is skilled work, and it is rozgar for them too. A good packer is respected as an expert.
And the orchard owner’s family cooks. For everyone.
Apples are the reason people know this valley. They are not the only thing growing on it.
Rohru grows pears and cherries — the sweet cherries are prized. Rampur’s warmer mid-belt produces plums in quantity, and peaches and apricots. There are walnuts and almonds higher up, and berries in the moist soil of the Pabbar Valley.
Peas and beans are planted between the rows of apple trees — it uses the ground twice, and the beans put nitrogen back into the soil. Upper Rohru is known across India for its disease-free seed potatoes. And the rajma from the Pabbar Valley is asked for by name in kitchens far from here.
Then, before the harvest ends, the hillsides change colour. Ogla — buckwheat — and chulai come into flower, and whole slopes turn pink and red.
Siddu, ghee badi, Patrodu, Poldu and Babru — and the local rajma, with rice.
People spun sheep’s wool into thread by hand, and from that thread they wove the cloth, and from the cloth they made the coat. It took the whole year. Everyone gathered indoors, and they talked, and they ate together. That was the winter.
The cloth is called Patti — hand-loomed sheep-wool tweed, heavy and windproof, made with wooden tools and skills passed down. The coat made from it is a Loiya.
The snow is less now. There is electricity. Nani wears a sadri and a suit, with a thatu on her head; Nanu wears the Bushahri topi with a Kinnauri phool on it, a kurta pyjama, and the coat in winter. On a festival day, nothing changes. The clothes stay the same.
The January pruning. The pooja before the first pick. The families who have done it this way for fifty years, and the very few who still make their own cloth.
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