Apple Farming

The fifth graders from the nearby village are tasked with helping a local farm raise the famous apples we are so well known for.

Uncharacteristically warm for September, our day of apple farming began with a brisk up-road walk; the knee was not amused but somehow we made it work. It’s about now that the weather will begin to cool drastically. One Californian’s winter is an Aomorian’s autumn…

Le sigh.

But it’s that same frigid temperature which make the region so rich in the agricultural production of apples so I can’t complain too much.

The lesson came complete with free apple tasting at the end of three hours of picking bugs and leaves off the baby fruits. Apple connoisseurship dictates that sweet is better than bitter, if we are to go by the farmer’s expert opinion. Although a few kids were brave enough to voice their opposing tastes, it seems as if the majority vote is that sweet is always better for business. I can see how this makes sense in Japan where the best flavor (whether savory or sweet) is that it lie somewhere in the real of harmoniously neutral. Also there are no real ovens here… Sour apples are thus under appreciated and unloved.

Does anyone else have a similar experience in their prefecture? What’s something your kids grow?


  
  
  
  
  
  

Rice Farming 101

 

I love science classes in Japan. They’re so much more fun in small schools, where the kids get a special yellow folder-esque backpack that they use to collect their data and samples. And because we’re out in the middle of nowhere you can be sure that the school owns a rice patch (or two) as well as a bit of extra land for vegetables and flowers.

About two weeks ago the kids planted the ricelings. By now my schools know I’m allergic to rice… But there seems to be some confusion on how the allergy side of things works.

“I just heard from Natsuhori-sensei! When do we plant the rice?” I asked excitedly. It’s been my dream, nay my sole reason for living (in the countryside), to plant rice.

“Oh.”

I await eagerly for my orders to ditch the indoor shoes and to go wade knee-deep into a field of water-logged mud.

“Well… It’s just that… The kids have already finished planting. They’re coming back soon.”

Shock. Dismay. Heartbreak. WHY?! Was I not loved? Was I too foreign to help plant rice? Did they not think I could survive a near drowning in a rice paddy?

“You’re allergic to rice so we didn’t want you to get a bad reaction. The kids were sad but they understand.”

O.O”?!

After a brief explanation that I needed to ingest the rice before feeling any of the ill effects they decided to schedule the follow up field work day on Wednesday (or as it is known at that particular school, the only day we know in English. Also known as, the day the ALT comes to the village).

The awaited day arrived and I counted down the periods to science with all the anticipation that my four-year old self counted down the days to Christmas.

A kind farmer who lived in the neighborhood brought all the necessary supplies to care for the field. After giving us a brief lesson in the ways of rice and growing the perfect batch, we set down to business.

We threw soy beans so that they could rot at the bottom of the murky waters. Then we threw left over a rice flour and mulch looking mixture to cover the top of the water with “a curtain”. This, I was assured, would prevent other plants like grass from sprouting. We were in effect feeding the rice plants and weeding out the competition in one fell swoop.

In two months  we’ll be releasing some koi and carps into the paddies. They’ll eat up whatever weeds and grass did manage to grow but leave the rice alone. Some farmers use ducks instead of fish, but I’m rather partial to the fish method because FISH.

And that was how I learned for the first time that fish get to swim in the rice. Mind blown.