-----------------------------------------------6/29/01

Friday, 9:30 PM:

[[Today didn't look very promising at first, but turned out to quite eventful.]]

At 6:00 I rose to see stormy skies threatening to rain on us yet again. Despite the inevitable, there was one last section of sugar cane to be fertilized, so we loaded the cart with fertilizer and prepared to set off. As if he knew something we didn't, the ox stalled us by refusing to move, preferring to sip from a small pool of water.

By 8:00 we had donned our straw hats and headed south, a late start, but the fields were still relatively empty under the dark sky. As usual we mixed and spread the fertilizer, then worked to cover it up with the plow and shaba. Unfortunately, this final area of sugar cane was on very low ground, and recent rains had turned much of it into a thick, muddy mess. We fertilized the less muddy parts, but even then there was 10 lbs of mud tacked to each of my sandals, and 15 lbs stuck to my shaba, as if it wasn't heavy enough already... At least the clouds had brightened, and we could stop worrying about rain.

But that lasted only a moment before the sun was suddenly grayed out and rain poured down. Still, we couldn't leave the fertilizer uncovered and the sugar cane at an angle (hit by the ox or plow), so we put on raincoats and worked to finish the last bit before heading home at 11:30.

Xiuying stayed behind to watch the ox eat; when she returned home three hours later she was not happy to see Guoliao watching TV. It's become obvious from watching this family that the difficulty of country life can vary greatly depending on who you are. Whereas Guoliao would rather eat, sleep, and watch TV, his wife is always out in the fields or taking care of other chores. She told me in about two years she's just not going to have enough energy to keep this up. She'll be 54 then.

More rain almost turned the afternoon into a lazy one, but luckily the nearest storm skirted by 2 km to the east. Time to harvest corn. Xianping, who just returned from teaching, took me out to their corn field as his mom finished sharpening the "liandao," a small, one-handed version of the scythe, used for weeding and cutting down corn stalks.

The next three hours, from 5-8, were spent on the corn routine: pluck, shuck, and bag... pluck, shuck, and bag. In that time I saw what must equate to every possible manifestation of what should be yellow corn: funky pink ones, eerie blue ones, kernel-less ones, bug-harboring ones, fungi-covered ones, rotting ones. Oh yes, there were plenty of yellow ones, too. That was my glimpse of what you don't find in the store...

I'm confident that within those three hours I shucked more corn than the average American will shuck in their entire life. (Ok, not something to brag about, just more of life's trivia, little things that distinguish us all...) I thought I was fast at 4-5 seconds per stalk, but quickly noticed that Xianping could fill his basket almost 2 times as fast as I could! It really only took him about 2.5 seconds for each one. Then he told me his speed and endurance are well-known throughout the village. No wonder.

Xianping and I talked about many topics while harvesting away, mostly literature, history, and politics. With this I discovered his open mindedness certainly above average for a villager; he is more inclined to question the validity of what he's learned if there is evidence to the contrary, making him open to ideas that indoctrination usually inoculates the Chinese citizen against. It's too bad that pressure to stay home and help his family has kept him in the fields for the past 25 years of his life. An unfortunate waste of intellectual potential.

As we finished at 8:00, the sun dropped below the horizon and it was time to carry the bags of corn to the oxcart, parked at the nearest wide path 200 meters away. But the ox was missing, again. Everyone frantically searched for it (as it would soon be too dark), but we couldn't find it quite fast enough and a light rainstorm snuck up in the dark to make the search yet more difficult. It took about 20 more minutes to find it by following various sets of hoofprints. The rain passed and we headed home under moonlight.

Days like this I'll remember forever.

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Conclusion:

As often happens when I become familiar with a place and its people, I've come to think of Small Yin Village as yet another hometown to add to my list. I've gotten used to waking up at the rooster's call to see the usual faces around the breakfast table, and gotten used to a morning in the fields followed by a shower colder than I like my ice water, then a simple lunch of country yumminess. Although I'll never be able to claim I know exactly what it's like to be a Chinese farmer, I can say I know what it's like to be a (American) Chinese farmer.

[[(Though along with the permanent memories and experience, I'll be taking with me poison oak, poison ivy, and a host of bug bites...)]]