Memoirs of a rice field

As I stepped into the paddy, I was captivated by the alluring beauty of a single rice stalk. This miracle of life seemed at once fragile and strong. I was out of my depth physically (I clumsily fell on several stalks) and intellectually since even though I ate rice regularly, I had no idea how this staple grew. Makoo instructed me to remove weeds that, not by some fluke of nature, had adapted themselves to look identical to rice stalks. He told me he loved working under the sun, as if the idea of sitting inside a stuffy office was the definition of madness. Growing up in Sydney, I took for granted being surrounded by magnificent eucalypts, rowdy possums and cheeky bluetongues. Now in Tokyo’s concrete jungle, I craved respite from the 36 million-throng and decided to stay at Konohana eco-village. Located under Mt. Fuji’s imposing gaze, this sustainable community grows 250 organic grain, vegetable and fruit varieties. Far from a sterile monoculture grown in perfect rows, the rice field was alive with sights, sounds and smells of a thousand critters; jumping frogs, buzzing birds, leaping ladybugs. Just as I got the hang of removing weeds with a sickle, we took a well-earned break to slurp on fresh watermelon and barley tea. I asked naïve questions about a natural world foreign to an urbanite like me. “What’s with the frogs?”,“Why don’t you guys spray the weeds?” Weeds, the enemy of backyard gardeners and industrial farmers, are not simply dispensable, in the same way that productive crops like rice are seen only as extractable from nature. Makoo told me that weeds were rice stalks’ samurai protectors against unforgiving typhoons. Weeds, like soil, water and farmers, could toil and prosper in harmony. The Japanese have an ancient saying: “Experience the beauties of nature, and in doing so learn about yourself.” I realized in the rice field I knew little about either. But I did learn that being inside nature opens up a whole new world of knowledge that cannot be taught.