-----------------------------------------------6/26/01

Tuesday, 1:00 PM:

Yesterday was an important Chinese holiday, Duan Wu Jie. To celebrate, Xiuying spent five hours making the traditional "zongzi:" rice and fat pork wrapped in bamboo leaves and boiled. Needless to say (but I'm going to say it anyway), it was a day of rest and relaxation that slightly interfered with my original goal of working here. At least it gave me some more time to learn about the local area.

Xianshi and I went for another walk, this time to the hill overlooking the village from the north. From there we could see quite far across a patchwork of various crops carpeting the slightly hilly terrain. Villages dot the landscape in every direction; only our view to the east was blocked by the sudden and massive Ming mountain range 15 km away. Below us lay the dwellings of the 29 families of Small Yin Village, all of whom share the same surname: Yin. Nine times that many families in the adjacent Big Yin Village are also surnamed Yin. Yin Xianshi told me that Small Yin is richer than its neighbor Big Yin. Why? According to fengshui (Chinese geomancy), the reason is their location next to "their big mountain," referring to relatively small hill we were standing on. Hm.

[[He said that a businessman once tried to buy the hill for its good soil, but the villagers refused. Besides, all the the Small Yin villagers had already worked together to invest the time and money into planting ningmeng trees there to sell the medicinal oil, and keep the hillside from eroding into the village.]]

As if I have to do everything the government doesn't want me to do, our conversation veered from local issues towards the recently newsworthy Fa Lun Gong, eventually touching on topics such as the meaning of freedom, voting, and the characteristics of a true "peoples' government."

[[On our walk back, every house we passed has a dog to protect against robbers. Xianshi told me the robbers aren't local, but come from other towns and occasionally manage to steal many things.]]

After we returned and had lunch, it was time for Xianshi to head back to Nanning and work. He left, and I spent much of the lazy afternoon reading. Because it was a holiday, Xianshi's brother came home early from his teaching job and had time to take me for a walk in the fields. Yin Xianping proved very helpful and I didn't even have to ask him questions to learn much. He shed some more light on the reason for Small Yin's relatively prosperity by commenting that many of its residents have left to become county officials, bringing local fame to the small village.

We walked and talked, eating raw peanuts from the fields as we passed sugar cane, corn, and "longyan" orchards (more or less a small version of the lychee). Also out in some fields are short towers where villagers hire people to guard their crops. Despite these obvious reminders that the evil habits of people stretch out to even the countryside, Xianping expressed relief that it's not as bad as the city, where he's noticed on his few visits that everyone is out to cheat everyone else!

Back at the village there was finally some work to do. We spent an hour moving and stacking giant bricks. Not particularly characteristic of the farm work I'm looking for, but it felt good to finally help out, as then I could get rid of that loafer aura I imagined emanating from myself every time I ate with them or slept in their house. Less enjoyable at the time were the villagers who had to gather and talk as they watched me carry the bricks. The situation was rather ridiculous, as there were enough neighbors flapping their jaws to help us get the job done in a few minutes if they'd each pick up a brick or two.

That evening as it got cooler, more and more neighbors trickled in to replace the day mosquitos that were retiring after heavy losses against me. Among them (the people) was Xiuying's deaf-mute younger brother, Lu Guozhu. Xiuying told me "old people were stupid; it's not like that anymore." When Guozhu was 2 years old he had a high fever. In order to cure it, the villagers decided to use a hot rod to burn the back of his neck and head. Since then, he's never been able to speak or hear. He and I got along well last night exchanging hand signals and occasional notes, probably because we're in a similar situation, where I understand little more of what people are talking about than he does.

Dinnertime brought lots of merry villagers to "see the foreigner," and the day ended on a high note with lots of fun and laughter.


That was yesterday. Today was not a holiday. 20 minutes after I ignored my alarm, Xianping came knocking at my door (I sleep in Xianshi's room): "Hey! Time to work!" A quick, standard breakfast of rice noodles and dinner leftovers (stored in a cabinet), and about 45 minutes of preparation (gathering equipment and loading the oxcart), and I set off for the fields with Xiuying. Guoliao left earlier with the oxcart because it's slower. I don't remember what time it was, but I'm sure it still wasn't 7:00 AM.

Just before arriving at the field, we met up with Guoliao at a high part of the path long eroded by a stream. There we had to remove everything from the cart and carry it across, all because of a 2-foot gap. I asked: "Why not repair it?" The answer was simple: "We only come here once a year."

At the sugar cane field I sat for a bit while Guoliao mixed three kinds of fertilizer. Xiuying took the mixture and scattered it up and down the rows; then, with a lot of yelling and screaming at the ox, Guoliao convinced it to drag an iron plow between the rows to cover up the fertilizer. My job was to follow behind the plowing and use a "shaba" (a large hoe) to cover up any fertilizer the plow failed to cover, or straighten any sugar cane plants that had been knocked down by the ox or large chunks of displaced dirt.

Despite the inevitable heat and sweat, the job requires long pants, long sleeves, gloves, and even a rag covering all of one's head and neck except for the face. Why? The sugar cane is already quite tall, and it's long leaves are like green, flexible razors. Probably a better way to describe the feeling is likening it to walking through a field of potential paper-cuts. Definitely not the kind of task you want to roll up your sleeves for!

When we surrendered to the unbearable heat at 10:30, Guoliao and I sat in the shade to drink bean milk. While resting, he told me a little about his past. It was interesting to find out that he was once a member of the Red Guard in 1968 during China's turbulent Cultural Revolution. As most Red Guards did, he even traveled to Beijing to hear Chairman Mao speak for the revolution.

When we were done talking and picking up to go, we realized that the ox, which is allowed to walk around freely and eat, was nowhere to be found. Guoliao and Xiuying each went in a different direction to find it, but after about 15 minutes, I heard some rustling and discovered it was sleeping in the shade of the thick brush behind me! Ah, the life of a farmer.

At lunch when we got back, Xiuying said to me: "Every day is like this. Go to the fields, then come back and eat..."