No, it is not easy at all — and the story proves it twice over: once through Arenla’s complaint, and once through Sentila’s year of failure.
Arenla lists the labour step by step: “The riverbank, where the grey and red clay required for making pots is found, is sixteen kilometres from here. I need to climb down a sheer drop to the riverbank and my back aches from carrying the heavy load uphill all the way to the village. Pounding the stubborn clay inside bamboo cylinders to soften it, is also tedious. So many times, I’ve dropped the mould out of sheer exhaustion and have had to start all over again.”
The difficulty is not only physical. It is also a matter of fine judgement: the pots need “a final touch up to retain the required shape and to test the consistency”, and at the kiln “one had to tend the fire carefully as over firing or under firing would ruin the entire batch”. Months of work can be lost in one bad firing.
And it cannot be picked up quickly. Sentila trains under her own mother for “almost a year” and is “unable to learn anything” — she cannot even hold the lump of dough properly.