July/August 1984 RAIN Page 23 wr' I these natural processes still work. Fukuoka does riot till his soil, but simply broadcasts the seed by hand over the unplowed ground. His use of straw as mulch and ground cover eliminates the need for fertilizers or comi post to replenish the soil. The straw replenishes the land with soil nutrients. Furthermore, mixed in with his crop seeds are the seeds of clover or Chinese milk vetch, which form a living ground cover and act as a green manure for soil enrichment and a form of weed control. Through these techniques, Fukuoka has produced high yields of healthy crops without having to resort to chemicals. His crops have fewer pest problems or diseases, and their quality in food value is much improved over chemically treated crops. For Fukuoka's methods to work, farmers must devote years to practical learning. They must get to know their land well—its soil and climate and its peculiarities. The rewards of such persistence are great, however; not only for superior crops and richer soils, but also for the overall progress in development of self that naturally follows the implementation of these methods. The natural farming approach is a movement toward the self—sort of a zen of farming. The first night 1 visited Fukuoka's farm, about two years ago, 1 stayed up on the hill overlooking the bay, where his citrus orchards grow. I slept in one of the mud huts built to house the few student workers who were helping him with the farm chores in exchange for his wisdom on farming and living. These workers lived simply, raising much of their own food and getting only enough money from Fukuoka to buy essentials for their stay on the farm, such as candles for their light at evening or certain spices for their meals. Their reward was guidance from Fukuoka. For most, this was enough. Reflecting now on what it was that brought me to Fukuoka's farm, how I came to sit by him in his fields for hours, 1 knew that it was more than an interest in new farming techniques. His natural farming approach , represents a hope that we can still learn to survive through a harmonious relationship with the land we live on. Fukuoka's crops have fewer pest problems or diseases, and their quality in food value is much improved over chemically treated crops. Like most Japanese, Fukuoka has a tremendous pride in Japan, but he feels sad that his work and life have been so little understood by his countrymen. One of his most disappointing personal battles, in fact, has been trying to receive recognition for his work from his own people. Many people outside Japan have read his book and know his philosophy, but few Japanese farmers, agricultural students, or scientists pay him much heed. Too often, they would come to visit him on his farm and take note of his positive results, but in the end merely shrug and exclaim that his methods are not practical today. This judgment hurt Fukuoka, for he saw his long labors being misconstrued. He believes that it is imperative for his people to replace their fast-paced, consumer lifestyle with one of a slower pace and one that sustains, rather than depletes, the land. Yet his 40 years of laboring upon the land had not swayed them, and the earth and life itself in Japan, as elsewhere in the world, are misused and wasted. Fukuoka's methods do work: He proved that. But it takes a fastidious, committed person to make a go of it. Unfortunately, most farmers in Japan, as well as in other parts of the world, don't want to take the time necessary to understand their land; instead, their relationship with the land is one of business and profit, loss and gain, chemicals and machinery. The old-growth pine trees are the pride ofJapan, much loved by the people. , But for almost a decade now, pine blight has been ravaging the extensive pine forests throughout Japan. Perhaps Fukuoka's pride in his people was bruised by the realization that they would not change. At times during our talks, I sensed a quiet despair in Fukuoka. This mood was especially evident when Fukuoka would look out toward the hills surrounding his little farm. He'd point to the trees there—the old-growth pine, which are now dying. These trees are the pride of Japan, much loved by the people. But for almost a decade now, matsu gare, or pine blight, has been ravaging the extensive pine forests throughout Japan. Scientists have been studying the pine blight for years now, but thus far have been unsuccessful in finding a cause or a cure. This problem has reached such proportions, in fact, that it is a national disaster for Japan. I can vividly recall that odd sight I witnessed while visiting one of the ancient tem.ple gardens in Kyoto. In this particular garden, an old and once beautiful pine stood, but it was wrapped from base to treetop, including all its graceful branches, in white bandages. A bottle containing a clear liquid was strapped to its side, and a feeding line ran beneath the bark. The tree's caretaker told me this tree would probably not live. This incident, more than any other, brought to mind the seriousness of the problem and the hopelessness. Throughout the countryside, the matsu gare was clearly written upon the pine ^ trees, which were dying by the thousands in the hills. Fukuoka was moved by this sad situation to try to halt the blight's advance. For a few years he spent much of , his time roaming the nearby hills, sampling the diseased pines, comparing these to healthier trees, and trying to V
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