Blessed drops fall from the sky
It was nearing the end of yet another sweltering, rainless day. What was this, the twentieth straight day of temperatures over 33C? Every 24 hours were the same in our valley—we woke to a burning morning sun and the sky was blue…absolutely cloudless. A gentle but hot wind blew in the afternoons, maybe just to remind us that not all breezes are created equal. This was a breeze that actually made you sweat.
The hot nights were again clear, telling you that the next morning would be on replay. Another godforsaken blue sky that offers no break, not a single shadow from the sun’s rays.
About four days ago I was walking Terashima-kun at about 6PM…a time when enough ankle-high shadows had begun to form to slightly cool the pavement. A crouched over old farmer was out of her house, steadying herself on a guard rail on the side of the tiny road. She looked like she had been in a fight…or maybe had rolled down a hill. Exhausted and all mussed.
She seemed to be squinting out to the horizon, almost sniffing the weather. For the first time in weeks there were hopeful cracks of lightning and faint rumbles of thunder far in the distance.
“Will it finally rain today,” I asked. Her face scrunched and she said gosh I really hope so. She’s not a rice farmer—those guys have water pumped into their paddies at will. She was struggling with dusty patches of cabbage, potatoes, eggplants, and beans. Even the weeds bordering her property had begun to scorch.
That day ended without a drop finding our valley. The lightning petered out, the clouds later cleared, and we were subjected to another three days of Toaster Oven before patterns did finally change.
Yesterday the skies shifted gears. Bigly! The outer remnants of an enormous typhoon hitting the country much further to the west spat some rain our way. Far from the typhoon’s track, our corner of Japan was an afterthought, an accident, but it was glorious catching the spit. When drops hit my face yesterday morning I think I saw god.
It ended up being a full day of hard, spraying, messy rains broken by hot and sunny stretches between. Giant cumulous clouds floated in one by one and every hour or so one would be dark underneathe. “Here comes another! Look at how black the clouds are,” we yelled. While the air never cooled, each warm rain that hit was like a reason to celebrate.
I had forgotten how delicious wet pavement smells.
I know. Writing about the stupidly hot summer of 2023 is so eight weeks ago. But this is the first time I’ve witnessed a heat wave from farmlands. To date I’ve sat in darkened air conditioned rooms in the big city, nodding sympathetically as farmers were interviewed on the news about the relentless sun and their ruined crops. I thought I understood, but I really didn’t.
Farmers don’t seem to “water” in Japan—if they don’t have city-provided irrigation channels like the rice people, they simply wait for rains. And if nothing falls from the sky they pray for even short-lived morning dews. I’ve noticed that for the past couple of weeks potato, pumpkin, and watermelon farmers have resorted to laying thick beds of hay around their plants. Anything to shade the soil and their plant roots from the sun.
Toru and I don’t yet farm. But we are starting a garden for Frog’s Glen, and this year has been a challenge. In the past three weeks our sakura tree lost almost all of its leaves to scorch, and our maple—once green and bushy—is now red sticks. Both are still alive but I think they’ve lost at least a year of growth. We now mimic our farmer neighbors by collecting all of our cuttings into big piles for drying in the sun. Weeds are always plentiful in Japan! I’ve been spreading beds of the dead material on the top soil of plants having the hardest time. Locking in just a bit more moisture seems to help.
I wonder what the Shinto gods are doing. No doubt they’ve been given loads of gifts from the farmers for months, but yesterday was our first break. Either we recognize this shrinkflation for what it is and begin to up our gift-giving game, or who knows, will Japanese farmers begin to invest in watering systems? I’ll let you know.
Pray for us in the meantime, will you?
Sunshine through the rain! Blessed are those who are greeted by a rainbow!