The Rice Harvest: A Story

*Warning: this is long. I know this, so don’t complain that I didn’t warn you or plan this. I wanted to try writing a story of what my day was like to give those of you who want to commit to reading the whole thing (like my mom and Gram, devoted followers of the entire blog) a clearer picture of this Thai ritual and my experiences with Thai culture in general. If you don’t want to read the whole thing, check out the next post (The Rice Harvest: Highlights and Pictures).

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Saturday, November 15

I wake up thinking it was the wrong time. When I work morning shift, I get up just after 4:30 am; when I am not on morning shift it is closer to 7:00 am. I sleep restlessly when I have morning shift the next day- one day of accidentally setting my alarm for 4:30 pm and subsequently sleeping until 5:10 am (when I was supposed to meet a ranger at 5:15) has made me terrified that I will oversleep and let down the team. So when I wake in the dark I compulsively check my watch, often waking several times between 12:00 am and 4:30 am.
This morning I wake at a “wrong” time- 5:45 am. It is my off day, and on any other off day I would sleep until 7:00 am or later, go for a run, then shower . . . but there is no run planned, and I’m due to leave Phu Khieo at 6:30 am with Khun Kitti. Today he harvests his rice.
K’Kitti had invited us to this harvest two months ago when we visited his paddy for the first time. At that point the invitation was set for “sometime in November.” With the rains ending late this year, I found out three days ago that today would be the harvest. Omnoi invited me the second time when we were celebrating Loi Krathong, the full moon festival held each year in November. It was nice of him to mention this to me- I think he has picked up that I am relishing the opportunity for “cultural experiences” with the Thais. My study abroad program in South Africa in the fall of 2006 was lacking on this front- we were a community of foreigners who had limited contact with non-white South Africans due to the mobile nature of the program. I chose OTS South Africa for its extensive scientific curriculum, sacrificing interaction with South Africans. I did not regret this at the time, nor do I now; OTS was the right fit for me. But I am more committed because of my study abroad experience to foster a relationship with the native people here, and to include Thai culture in my continuing (post-grad) education at this job.
I meet K’Kitti at his house across the road. Waiting there are his girlfriend, Tu, who is a nurse in Khon Kaen, her mother, and her friend. They are not excited about how cold it is, though this morning is warmer than the previous few. It is winter in Tung Ka Mang now- the temperature dropped about 15°F while we were in Bangkok, officially changing the seasons. I did not believe the other farang when they said one day the rains would just end, but I think they have. While 50°F is not absolutely cold(and, as CVA notes, should not even feel cold for a girl who went to college in Maine), the shock of the lack of transition between seasons, coupled by the fact that there is no place to escape the cold makes 50°F feel pretty cold. I’m adapting and it it’s gotten a bit warmer in the past day or two, so I don’t mind this morning’s temperature as much as the Thai women do.
The drive to the paddy took about an hour in September, but this time there are several delays. I help K’Kitti and th women finish packing the food and notice an odd assortment of other items already packed, including small live trees, some sort of electric blower tool (where would we find an outlet in a rice field?) and several cans of gas. Luckily there was room for my Wellies; K’Kitti told me I could bring them if I wanted and in retrospect I am glad I did (he and I define “a little bit of water” differently). On the drive out of the sanctuary I discover Tu speaks English impressively well- I don’t think I know of any women in TKM who speak English much at all so I particularly enjoy talking with her the whole day. I learn that her seventy year-old mother also once knew how to speak some English- she learned a little during the Vietnam War because Tu’s grandfather owned a small shoe factory that supplied the American troops with boots. Small world.
There is plenty of other entertainment provided by the vehicle itself. I mentioned in a previous post that K’Kitti’s truck is outfitted for river crossings, which means there is a “snorkel” for the engine, among other features. Inside though there is a level which shows the degree to which the truck is pitching (forward and back) and rolling (side to side). Tu assures me that she feels ill anytime she is a passenger on the Phu Khieo road, independent of the driver, but I find it fascinating, as opposed to nauseating, to watch the level as we drive out of the sanctuary.
We stop in Lui Lai for eggs at the Saturday market. It seems the size of eggs here are numerically labeled- size three is the smallest and zero is the largest. At the turn-off to the rice paddy we meet up with two truckloads of rangers. I say truckloads because as many people as possible were sitting in the bed of each truck in addition to those sitting in the cabs. The rangers were decked out in an assortment of winter clothing I did not think Thailand possessed before we returned from Bangkok a few days ago- proper gloves, hats, scarves, and even a few down jackets. (It isn’t THAT cold, but the early morning drive in the back of a truck probably qualifies as “chilly.”)
The rangers manage to appropriate two young coconuts from some trees by the side of the road as Tu and chat about the diversity of fruit in Thailand. I reveal my willingness to try any food, provided it is vegetarian. I quickly find an exception though; we drive by drying fruit of the maak tree and luckily before I inquire about trying some, Tu explains that only old people chew it and it is like gum but it makes you “feel happy” in addition to turning your teeth red. This is the Thai equivalent of chewing tobacco.
Tu strengthens her grip on the two trays of size three eggs once K’Kitti gets out to switch the truck to 4WD. There are times when we both worry the eggs will “jump” from the tray, but miraculously, each one survives the rough journey. The dirt tracks aren’t as bad as they were in September, but there are still multiple mudholes that threaten to swallow the Hiluxes in our caravan.
By the time we make it to the paddy, the sun is high and pleasantly hot. The Thais don’t shed their layers for several hours, though. I don my Wellies- those of you who shuddered at my barefoot walk throught he paddy in September, rest assured; even I have my limits- and ventured out for a tour with Tu. We meet a few rangers who motorbiked out on their own earlier this morning and have gotten a head start on the harvest. The rice is shoulder-high in place where it has grown well, but it is obvious where there was either too much or two little water. Tu points out the withered, knee-high stalks of corn she planted as an experiment in another section of the field, and the Thai basil that is thriving. We return to the sala (pavilion) to unpack all of the vehicles to reveal what I find to be an amazing amount of food and little else. Then I fall into line with the rangers and their sickle-shaped knives.
We cut the rice in an advancing front. There are times when I am fearful of my proximity to so many sharp, fast-moving objects, but harvesting rice is a well-honed talent of the these Thais, and my lack of personal spatial awareness is more of a threat to my well-being than anything else. After cutting one section, as we head back to the sala for breakfast, Omnoi pulls me aside to inform me that my harvested rice is “not beautiful” and that I need to line up all of the cut ends before laying out the bundles to dry. It is a learning process.
Breakfast is chicken soup, and for my benefit as a vegetarian, omelettes. Tu had mentioned that she can’t ever make the same dish twice because she doesn’t remember what or how much she adds to the pot, but she makes one mean onion omelette. Later there are small, whole crabs which I didn’t have the creativity to shell and eat. Tu says they live in the paddy field and I have seem them in the forest. It is an odd thing to see crabs on land, especially in a land-locked area of the country.
We return to the field with full bellies and, in my case, a borrowed hat. The Thais are now dressed against the sun as well as the cold; I had forgotten how much the forest protects us against the sun and wasn’t as well prepared. They wear a variety of hats and scarves over their heads and faces, and one ranger is even wearing one of those iconic reed hats Asians are always depicted in in art and movies. Before we have finished the next section, K’Wan arrives with iced coffee- Nescafe has never tasted so good! There are about thirty of us at the field in total, but there always seems to be enough food and drink to go around.
I literally carve myself out a niche in one field near Ba Thong (our cook), so I can work at my own, slower pace . . . only to have her convey without English that my rice bundles are still “not beautiful.” The Thais seem to be able to gather, cut, and hold the stalks in line in one fluid, fast motion that is lost on this inexperience farang. Omnoi and another ranger later point out that I need to hold my sickle differently, and with this tip I find that the rice-cutting is easier and safer for my bundling hand.
It starts to get really hot when were just past half-finished, but with the number of people working we start cutting two sections simultaneously. One field is incredibly muddy and I manage to get near-stuck several times, even with my Wellies. When the amount of rice left standing in each section dwindles, I find it to be more enjoyable to carry bundles and lay them out to dry versus to continue cutting as the others close in around me. It’s probably safer, too. There is a small boy who catches a large fish and parades it by, a preview of coming attractions.
K’Kitti had promised fishing and swimming after we harvested the rice, but first there was “lao kow” and banana fritters. While I did not look forward to taking a shot of strong rice whiskey at midday under a now-blazing sun, I have found you can’t refuse a (or at least the first) shot of lao kow without a very good reason. So I took my “we-just-finished-the-harvest” shot in stride as I watched the rangers prepare to fish. There was already a long net in the artificial pond, dividing the rectangle into two long halves. As K’Kitti baits his fish with pellets, one ranger unravels what turns out to be a circular net with chain weights around the edges. The ranger drapes parts of the net over his arms and then spins it out, and the follow-through propels him into the pond as well, soliciting laughter from everyone watching. It was inevitable for him to get wet though- there is no way to reel in the net other way. There are no hooks involved; surprised fish merely get tangled. There are several more rounds of throwing the nets and diving for them before I am invited to try.
It’s initially an awkward motion; as Omnoi warned, “ Take your camera out of your pocket. Sometimes you throw the net and you fall in.” But I manage to get the hang of it after a few throws. I even get cheers (and one small fish) after a particularly good toss! Then I drink the requisite “you-just-learned-to-fish-like-a-Thai” shot of lao kow.
When the heat becomes too much for my Smartwool socks and Wellies to handle I head back to the sala for lunch. Some of the Thai women had helped cut rice for part of the time, but a few had been cooking all morning. The women are grouped in the center of the sala with the makeshift tables, and the (male) rangers are divided into two groups under the shade of some tarps. K’Wan mixes up som tam, a spicy salad made from unripe papaya; other dishes of raw vegetables, vegetables, noodles, and sticky rice are spread out among those eating. Ba Thong does a number on some young bamboo and soon there are spits to cook the freshly caught fish.
The Thais discovered that I eat fish, and cook the large one the boy had caught earlier in the morning just for me. The hot, fresh fish is delicious if a little rare, and as I help myself to more raw, unnamed vegetables it occurs to me that it was not likely that any of it had been washed in purified water . . . and I would be lucky not to get sick from what I was eating. Saving face is more important here than saving your belly though, so I at least tried everything offered. Another thing I can not easily refuse is my (third) “we’ve-finished-the-harvest-and-fishing-and-are-now-eating-lunch” shot of lao kao, but this one I am smart enough to nurse, giving me a good enough reason to refuse the bottle when it comes around again.
Lunch ends suddenly, as I am finding Thai gatherings often do. One minute I am sifting through papaya seeds so Tu’s mother can take mature ones home to plant, and the next I am being shuttled into a different truck as K’Kitti explains he will go onto another harvest at a friend’s field. We stop multiple times on the way back for supplies, and once again I am passed a “we’ve-harvested-rice-and-fished-and-eaten-lunch-and-now-will-go-home” shot of lao kow.