O N H E N R Y ' S F A R M —
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On the first morning back harvesting on the farm after flying home from Japan, I kneel in black mud next to a row of Galisse lettuce, which I am picking for mesclun. As I scoot forward to cut more feather-soft tops, old lettuce leaves I'd sorted out moments before stick to the mud on the knees of my yellow rain-pants, making a colorful collage: curly green puffs on black ovals on a yellow canvas. In the haze of the sputtering rain, the light green and sunshine yellow colors glow bright against the dark that surrounds them.
My nose drips rainwater and chills in the autumn air. Just half of a week before, I'd been relishing the crisp, blue-skied, warm weather in the rural Japanese mountainside where my parents reside. Hunched over in the cold rain, I remember how supernatural it felt to see red-orange tinged mountains everywhere I looked. On a trip with our lovely neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Morikawa, my parents and I rode a trolley up thousands of feet to the summit of a mountain. Looking out of the glass back side of the trolley, dense, rainbow-colored trees puffed into view. They looked almost like Easter eggs, glistening in their bright color, one right next to the other. As the trees at the base of the mountain grew farther and farther away, I wanted to reach out through the glass and feel their color with my fingertips--to be completely soaked in their beauty.
These scenes in Japan were something out of a Dreamworld, or a Pixar animation. My dad kept saying over and over that he just couldn't believe what he was seeing. There was so much more of the red and orange fall leaves here than at home, where yellowing trees dominate the landscape, he explained to our friends.
Back on the farm the incessant and blustery cold rain snaps me back to reality. The trees here are gorgeous in their own way, and while I bag spinach later on in the morning I notice that the sparse array of coloring trees near the shed seem almost refined as they stand and wave slightly in the wind.
The vegetables, too, amaze me. Even in this cold weather and frosts, the greens are large and lush. The leaves of the spinach I'm bagging are a deep green that signify that they are chock full of nutrients and energy. The arugula looks just as abundant and flawless--the arugula beds are tall and full, and the leaves betray little signs of insect damage. It is dreamlike, to be gifted with such lovely greens at the end of October.
This season is winding down, and the days are getting darker and colder. Soon enough, there will be no more fresh greens until spring, and then snow will pile over the icy kale stalks, and Walnut Creek will freeze over. My parents will return home, then my brothers, and we'll go out all together with a chainsaw and pick-up truck to gather firewood. The house will be cozy and full of laughter and love.
But for now, I sit filling bags with spinach and watch the yellow-orange tree flutter down leaves as the rain continues to shower the earth. If I daydream too much of the future, I think, I'll lose this irreplaceable image.
My nose drips rainwater and chills in the autumn air. Just half of a week before, I'd been relishing the crisp, blue-skied, warm weather in the rural Japanese mountainside where my parents reside. Hunched over in the cold rain, I remember how supernatural it felt to see red-orange tinged mountains everywhere I looked. On a trip with our lovely neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Morikawa, my parents and I rode a trolley up thousands of feet to the summit of a mountain. Looking out of the glass back side of the trolley, dense, rainbow-colored trees puffed into view. They looked almost like Easter eggs, glistening in their bright color, one right next to the other. As the trees at the base of the mountain grew farther and farther away, I wanted to reach out through the glass and feel their color with my fingertips--to be completely soaked in their beauty.
These scenes in Japan were something out of a Dreamworld, or a Pixar animation. My dad kept saying over and over that he just couldn't believe what he was seeing. There was so much more of the red and orange fall leaves here than at home, where yellowing trees dominate the landscape, he explained to our friends.
Back on the farm the incessant and blustery cold rain snaps me back to reality. The trees here are gorgeous in their own way, and while I bag spinach later on in the morning I notice that the sparse array of coloring trees near the shed seem almost refined as they stand and wave slightly in the wind.
The vegetables, too, amaze me. Even in this cold weather and frosts, the greens are large and lush. The leaves of the spinach I'm bagging are a deep green that signify that they are chock full of nutrients and energy. The arugula looks just as abundant and flawless--the arugula beds are tall and full, and the leaves betray little signs of insect damage. It is dreamlike, to be gifted with such lovely greens at the end of October.
This season is winding down, and the days are getting darker and colder. Soon enough, there will be no more fresh greens until spring, and then snow will pile over the icy kale stalks, and Walnut Creek will freeze over. My parents will return home, then my brothers, and we'll go out all together with a chainsaw and pick-up truck to gather firewood. The house will be cozy and full of laughter and love.
But for now, I sit filling bags with spinach and watch the yellow-orange tree flutter down leaves as the rain continues to shower the earth. If I daydream too much of the future, I think, I'll lose this irreplaceable image.