The Whispering Mountain
The Whispering Mountain
A peak looms large over our fields. Not imposing enough to warrant a name of it’s own, it’s known simply as “The Mountain”. It’s the source of water for our well and a bringer of long, leaning shadows that wilting summer crops welcome.
Towards the top of this mystical mound, at the end of a track of lights and darks, of spiderwebs and birdcalls, of magical twists and mystery turns, lies the bamboo grove, waiting.
See The Light...
With friends, or customers, – or, increasingly, friendly customers – the companionship of the upward trek, the scrabble of the harvest and the subsequent downward, heavy lug has, as always, been incredibly rewarding. To hear laughter, grunts of work, cries of triumph carried on the wind is, quite simply, symphonic.
Yet truth be told: This beautiful cadence notwithstanding, I prefer to traverse The Mountain alone.
Into The Dark...
Alone, yes, but far from in solitude, for The Mountain, alive itself, is magnificent company. Winds murmur through trees, whose leaves rustle with life; branches <knock> together in greeting, whilst on and under the ground, life both big, small and English, go about their business.
Meanwhile, The Mountain, unpeturbed, watches, waits, whistles and welcomes.
And hides, and shields this solitary trekker from the cares, but more importantly, the eyes of the Japanese world in which I find myself, for once the daily threshold is crossed, to be judged, constantly, interminanbly, purely on the basis of the colour of one’s skin, is a burden any foreigner faces in these backwoods.
Escape from >>the eyes<<, a much-needed respite from constant scrutiny, is perhaps the most satisfying, soul-cleansing yield The Mountain offers.
This year’s takenoko season is nearly over. Many heartfelt thanks go out to the friends, students and customers who have made the season a fun and financial success, and very much looking forward to foraging next year.
But – and forgive this indulgence – though your company and voices will be sorely missed, they’ll be replaced. And soothed. And calmed:
By those of The Whispering Mountain.
Joy.
Kitchengardenjapan
3 years have passed since I left (why?) and your prose helps to keep my memories alive.
Maybe it was >>the eys<<, Tavis…
Thanks for reading,
T
KC,
Beautiful post.
And at least you’ve got yer Mountain to find equal simplicity in, with your simple affairs the same as the trees or the trails or the chirps of the birds, far from some rigid economy and the racket that is “civilization”, or, in this case, “Eastern civilization”.
My very own “Mountain” is much in the works, stretching and shooting in all directions, breathing and bleeding and bending and breaking, and it is here that I one day hope to rest assured, and then die myself, maybe next to the olive tree.
ken
I very much admire yer mountainous project, Ken. And under the sprawling branches of an alive olive tree? What a wonderful place to rest (assured).
Cheers,
T
I feel truly honoured, blessed and grateful to have romped in your mountain, KC!
Same time next year, eh?
Was great to haul with you, julian. And you’re more than welcome for another romp
T