Chiba - A Day in the Life
MyroomIn Ibarakai, I had my own guest house, complete with television, toilet and sink to do my washing in. There, I learned that I alone do not need much space to live in. To breathe in. To be in.
In Chiba, my room was in a storage shed. There was a roof, a floor, and a lot of random furniture and clothes all around me. I counted at least four copies of the Japan edition of the Lonely Planet guidebook. It seems that I follow the footsteps of many other volunteers from English speaking nations.
In some ways, it felt like living in someone's garage sale.
Each morning, I would wake up and take the dog, Kurobe, for a walk. (Kurobe in Japanese means "Blacky.) I came to look forward to my walks with that big black dog. For whatever reason, I found myself conversing with Kurobe in French, and I always got the distinct feeling that he wanted to talk back to me.Kurobe
Maybe he was talking back at me, and I was just not smart enough to notice.
We walked at 8am in the morning and 6pm at night. After a while, I started to take Kurobe out whenever I felt bored or lonely. I miss that dog.
After walking Kurobe, I would wander into the kitchen and wait for breakfast. My first couple days, I tried to help out. To chop vegetables or sometihng. Anything to feel useful in the kitchen, in this place of culinary learning.
I understand full well that there are times when getting help in a task will make it longer. That to teach someone is a temporal investment and commitment, and it isn't one that should be given lightly. But damnit, that was the commitment that they entered into when they agreed that I should come. I wanted to learn how to cook from these people, damnit it.
They had no right to make me feel the way I did in that kitchen of theirs.
Instead of feeling a part of their cooking world, I had to sit and wait for my food like a guest. After the lonely meal was done, I would wash the dishes. Just about every time.
It was pretty much the only thing they let me do in their kitchen.
After breakfast, they would tell me what needed to get done. Always predicated with "This will take you all day" "this is very hard" "I know this is a lot to ask but..." Tasks like "c'an you break down these crates?" " Please go to the forest and cut down this much bamboo for us." "Dismantle this scaffolding for us."
Now I am strong. Maybe stronger than most people think I am, despite my sometimes awesome physical presence. These tasks that they would give me, would take me an hour, no more than two. After wards, I would have absolutely nothing else to do. Nothing that I really want to do. Nothing related to farming, cooking or my continued self-cultivation.
At Brown's Field, most of the farmwork was ignored and neglected. Deco and Everett had them , had US, doing housework. Cleaning up after the children. Doing loads of laundry every day, including folding and hanging sheets in the fields to dry. Vaccuuming. Sweeping.
I remember writing in my journal, "If I ever need an army of servants, I'll just pretend that I have an organic farm." Like myself, these people had committed to set amounts of time at Brown's Field. Despite our dissatisfaction with the work, we honor our commitments.
I learn during this time that my rage and anger is not tied to my meat consumption.
Especially they day they had me wash their cars.
In Chiba, my room was in a storage shed. There was a roof, a floor, and a lot of random furniture and clothes all around me. I counted at least four copies of the Japan edition of the Lonely Planet guidebook. It seems that I follow the footsteps of many other volunteers from English speaking nations.
In some ways, it felt like living in someone's garage sale.
Each morning, I would wake up and take the dog, Kurobe, for a walk. (Kurobe in Japanese means "Blacky.) I came to look forward to my walks with that big black dog. For whatever reason, I found myself conversing with Kurobe in French, and I always got the distinct feeling that he wanted to talk back to me.Kurobe
Maybe he was talking back at me, and I was just not smart enough to notice.
We walked at 8am in the morning and 6pm at night. After a while, I started to take Kurobe out whenever I felt bored or lonely. I miss that dog.
After walking Kurobe, I would wander into the kitchen and wait for breakfast. My first couple days, I tried to help out. To chop vegetables or sometihng. Anything to feel useful in the kitchen, in this place of culinary learning.
I understand full well that there are times when getting help in a task will make it longer. That to teach someone is a temporal investment and commitment, and it isn't one that should be given lightly. But damnit, that was the commitment that they entered into when they agreed that I should come. I wanted to learn how to cook from these people, damnit it.
They had no right to make me feel the way I did in that kitchen of theirs.
Instead of feeling a part of their cooking world, I had to sit and wait for my food like a guest. After the lonely meal was done, I would wash the dishes. Just about every time.
It was pretty much the only thing they let me do in their kitchen.
After breakfast, they would tell me what needed to get done. Always predicated with "This will take you all day" "this is very hard" "I know this is a lot to ask but..." Tasks like "c'an you break down these crates?" " Please go to the forest and cut down this much bamboo for us." "Dismantle this scaffolding for us."
Now I am strong. Maybe stronger than most people think I am, despite my sometimes awesome physical presence. These tasks that they would give me, would take me an hour, no more than two. After wards, I would have absolutely nothing else to do. Nothing that I really want to do. Nothing related to farming, cooking or my continued self-cultivation.
At Brown's Field, most of the farmwork was ignored and neglected. Deco and Everett had them , had US, doing housework. Cleaning up after the children. Doing loads of laundry every day, including folding and hanging sheets in the fields to dry. Vaccuuming. Sweeping.
I remember writing in my journal, "If I ever need an army of servants, I'll just pretend that I have an organic farm." Like myself, these people had committed to set amounts of time at Brown's Field. Despite our dissatisfaction with the work, we honor our commitments.
I learn during this time that my rage and anger is not tied to my meat consumption.
Especially they day they had me wash their cars.