Into the Fields

Brutus new immediately that he had a new, inexperienced driver at the helm and behaved accordingly. With the tossing of his widely horned head, his desire to waver off the line, and on occasion the point blank refusal to move at all, I was finding him an uncooperative beast and a frustrating working companion. To add further insult to working injury this reluctant leviathan would constantly be involved in bovine flatulence, and those who have had to spend any length of time six feet down wind from such an animal’s ample, windy behind would agree a water buffalo's tail is an ideal place to pour a gallon or so of your favorite perfume.

At the present rate of progress I believed it would take nothing short of a small miracle to complete the morning's task of plowing the tier of rice fields before lunch. Fortunately that small miracle stood off to my right side in the form of Wayan, the owner of the buffalo plow I was presently wrestling with. This nervous, flinty eyed man stood with his mouth set in permanent, crooked concern as I struggled with the task at hand and his sinewy hand would often fall to the top of his shaking head while he emitted nervous giggles at his apprentice’s ineptitude. I felt I had become to Wayan what the water buffalo had become to me, a proverbial pain in the a.., so it now came time to hand over this rudimentary farm tool to a more qualified and competent operator. Brutus felt the hand and heard the voice of authority and together they slid off through the muddy soil in unison.

Made, my host for this time lives in a tiny village of about eighty occupants called Tista, situated on the outskirts of Tabanan, close to the river HO. Each family lives in a small walled compound that consists of two to six dwellings, generally a garden attached to the rear where pigs, chickens and vegetables are cultivated, and a rice store will complete the configuration taking up the centre of the enclave next to a small Hindu temple. I found myself here after chatting with Made who worked at the losmen I was staying and upon his invitation joined him and his family during a very serious period.

About two hundred meters away from their houses is the their farming land, it running down to the banks of the Ho river. For the last few years the villagers have been experiencing heartbreaking frustration due to two plagues that have descended upon them. The first is an infestation of fresh water crabs that have deposited themselves in all of their fields and eat any new rice shoots that appear. No larger than a big man’s thumb nail they have been born from the surrounding fresh water tributaries that course through their area. The paddy floor is completely dotted with the chubby crustacean's muddy warrens and gives the appearance of a vastly crated surface of a dark moon. The second problem for the farmers is the thousands of rats. Not only do these vermin eat the rice but they burrow holes throughout the hillside, and as a result of this menace, the integrity of the terrace walls is pushed to the point of collapse. The combination of these two infestations make it almost impossible for the village to maintain yearly crops, Made made a point of showing me some of the village stores and gave me a comparison of where their rice levels would normally lie and it was obvious these people were reduced to live off a third of their normal harvest.

Hence here we were plowing the fields for a new crop. Only this time it would be a crop of assorted vegetables. Made would be the first on the hillside, and as such his village, to experiment with the new produce in the hope of finding a viable food source for he and his family that would not be put at such jeopardy by the current pestilence.Made is his extended family's only source of income save for his wife and her selling of a few offerings at the local market. There are eight to provide for.

Thank you Made for a great day with you and your family.