Rice Planting: Thoughts from the Paddy

I looked at the muddy pool and then at my shoes. I was not sure how this was going to work. I wore my hiking boots in an effort to be prepare for outdoor adventures that day, but there was no way I would be able to move around very well with two heavy shoes dragging through the muck of the rice paddy. What to do?! We looked to Akihiro Asami, our wonderful friend who was showing us how to plant rice. Unlike him, he knew what he was doing and wore rubber boots. We asked if we could go in barefoot and he gave us a little nod. My excitement level doubled. This was going to be so cool. Asami-san started us out by taking a long rake like tool and marking the row lines in the surface of the slippery soil.

Each row becomes evenly spaced when you plant if you follow the guidelines you make ahead of time. He told us to be careful not to step on the lines or we could lost track of where the little seedlings need to go. As Asami-san painted lines across the entire area, I got my cute animal fix petting his two sweet fiery red dogs that were nestled under the belly of a tractor.

We were transplanting pre-germinated seedlings opposed to other methods of direct seeding. Once the lines were ready, we plunged into the mud and started planting bundles of 3-4 seedlings at a time.

The ground was rocky underneath the mud, and every time my feet rubbed against this, I felt like I was at some sort of rejuvenating alternative outdoor spa. My team cruised our way up and down the rows, bending and poking the bundles into the surface until the field was complete. I felt proud. We planted enough rice to feed about two people for an entire year, and we only worked for what seemed like an hour in the morning. I only could sigh at the (constant) reminders when we were told a machine could have completed our work in ten minutes.  My feet were caked in mud up to my calves, and it looked like I was wearing tall brown boots now.Our group walked down to the river and climbed down a rocky hill to get to the stream so we could wash up after our hard work.

I soaked my mud-splattered shirt in the pressurized flow of the little waterfall, and had a chance to looks around at the beautiful view. A tiny dragonfly was perched on a rock at the top of the waterfall like it was on its own island. I climbed to the top edge so I could watch the water pour down. Smooth rocks were under the glassy water’s surface and I picked them up and stacked them, admiring their variety;cool blackish charcoal colors, marbled-red and white quartz, rounded and perfectly-palm sized. I looked out at the trees above and felt like the only color I could remember was green. That was the only color I saw in my line of sight; green brightened by the sun.

I felt entirely content. I was very excited about this activity because I think it is frustrating to have little knowledge of such a basic thing–knowing where your food comes from and how it comes to be. I feel like there is an increasing amount of people I know that are becoming disconnected for the source and the act of preparation of their food, especially Americans. We are bombarded by the commercialized, the commodified, the fast food, the instant convenience, the prepackaged, and the prescribed way of living with food. Who are the hardworking people who’s job it is everyday to think about something you don’t think about? I think it is imperative to know more about the things that we are nourishing our bodies with, and nurturing our communities with. In this activity we all shared in fun, friendship, focus, and a reconsideration of the value of farming to others. I think about food, (A lot) but this activity especially has been locked away in my memory and helps me reflect more on who and what we should be giving value to. Physically doing this and seeing the effort that must be put in allows you to reflect some more. Even though things have changed today and somebody could probably speed through the process by machine, It was nice to try my hand (and muddy barefeet) at this work.
~Iris Burbank