determine what had caused the devastation of these beloved trees. His work brought out his old scientific and research talents, but this time he didn't have the fancy titles, labs, or grants to back him up. Fukuoka performed this work on his own, quietly and methodically assessing the problem, analyzing the trees from the roots up. He found the time somewhere between his planting and farming. He even planted seedling pines on his land, near his citrus orchard. He watched these carefully over the years of his research. In the end, Fukuoka found something amiss; the problem seemed to lie in the roots—and yet somewhere beyond the roots, beyond the trees themselves, beyond the blight itself. What Fukuoka discovered there among the dying pines of his island hillsides was that a symbiotic relationship between the pine trees' roots and an associated root fungus had been disturbed. He found that the healthy trees retained a noticeable covering of fungus on their root systems, but when these trees became diseased, this particular fungal growth was either absent or diminished. Fukuoka believed that this fungus protected the pine trees so that their roots could withstand the onslaughts of such diseases as the pine blight. Once this relationship had been disturbed or destroyed, the pines were more susceptible to attacks from disease. Fukuoka placed the blame for this current imbalance on modern technology and its attendant pollution. He believed that increasing air pollution had caused a small but significant increase in atmospheric temperatures, which in turn led to a change in the temperature of the soil. This raising of soil temperature had, in its turn, destroyed the once healthy balance between the pine trees' roots and the symbiotic fungus that protected these roots. Now, according to Fukuoka, the roots had been laid bare and exposed to those diseases that hitherto would not have affected them on such a wide scale. Fukuoka believed that certain diseases had always plagued these trees, but it was only when their natural defenses were weakened or destroyed that they became the victims of major outbreaks. The matsu gare, he sadly reflected, was the result of humankind's interference in nature. Japan was, in essence, paying for its technological progress with trees and beauty; but for how long could it continue to pay such a high price for "progress"? Japan's government, which had sponsored many scientific studies to resolve the problem, was pressuring its scientists to reach some conclusions. The public, now greatly alarmed by the blight, was demanding some sort of government action; also, the public was concerned that so much government spending in studying the problem had produced few results and many conflicting theories. Fukuoka shook his head at the mess the government and its scientists were in. The government "specialists" put the blame on the budworm, which was noticeably attacking the diseased trees. Massive spray programs were planned for large acreages of pine forests. Fukuoka merely saw this as another way of "expanding the darkness within the cave by chipping away at the cave's walls." He felt strongly that such remedies were not Page 24 RAIN July/August 1984 remedies at all, but were panic-inspired actions that would, in effect, worsen the problem, if not totally disguise the real nature of it. This was where Fukuoka's frustrations lay the deepest—he knew that the budworm was not the foe, but that modern civilization's inner workings had been the real enemy of the trees. The government scientists did not accept Fukuoka's assessment that the problem began in the roots, and that this in turn weakened the tree, thus making it more susceptible to other tree disease infestations. They were looking for more specific causes than pollution and easier adversaries to tackle than government, industry, and modern society in general. Spraying the budworm seemed easiest; such a target was appealing for a modern technological giant such as Japan. As Fukuoka said, the real problem lay in the roots, but not in the roots of the trees, for those trees could have remained healthy, surviving the budworm attacks that they had already survived, countless times before. The real problem lay in the roots of modern society, which so carelessly goes about its business of "progress," and leaves so much devastation behind. Fukuoka, who loves life and nature, had seen something clear concerning humankind's misplaced values and directions. He had hoped through his work to try to effect a change. Yet who can say? Running directly overhead one of Fukuoka's rice fields is a highway overpass. We sat under that overpass at one point in our talks. The road overhead became a symbol, humankind trying to promote our own way—concrete and mortar directions; along this path nothing can grow, take root, and find nourishment in stone soil. But here is a man, whom I would call a sage, who has built another sort of life from the land, who has shown us one way that we can live upon the land and nourish it, and in turn, be nourished by it. Sensei means teacher. This man may teach us ways to enrich the soil and the soul, to replant the seeds of our own lost wisdom and nourish those seeds naturally. □ □
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