Early morning and I’m up before sunrise. Through the two rows of glass roof tiles I see dawn’s light arrive and grow. I know if I’m not out of bed now I’ll miss the morning quiet. I make a cup of tea on the way to feed the fish in the lotus pond outside the front door. I found this pair of 100 yr old teak doors on a “hunting” trip to Java while we were building this house. When I open the left door it creaks and the fish come running. They know that’s the sound of breakfast. In their frenzy to get the first of the floating nuggets the water churns with flashes of orange, red, gold and white. The fish are growing fast. I hope they don’t pop from overeating like oranges do from over watering. In the ten weeks I was away they have doubled in size and number as have the lotus flowers.
With the fish show over I walk up the outdoor cantilevered staircase to the top floor viewing deck to catch a glimpse of Mt. Agung, the sacred mountain. It is usually only visible in the early morning. Agung never fails to surprise and delight me, much like seeing Mt. Rainier from Seattle. Back on the terrace life on the rice field unfolds. Flocks of white herons fly overhead from their nesting grounds nearby to their feeding grounds to the south. There is a background hum of the Vespas passing by on the small road out front as people head for work or school.
Depending on the rotation of the rice planting and harvest, the rice farmers are preparing the soil, planting, weeding, harvesting or just shouting at the birds. Every bit of the work done by hand. There are no machines in this rice field. These farmers own land individually and work cooperatively. All of the adjoining paddies are planted and harvested at the same time.
In Bali, there are two main types of rice grown; traditional Bali rice, which can be planted and harvested twice a year, and the newer hybrid, which produces three full crops a year. I’m told that Bali is the only location on Earth where it is possible to complete three growing cycles of rice in a year. I don’t know about that for sure, but Bali’s mix of topography, soil, rainfall, climate, and industriousness, is, if not unique, extremely rare. During any given four-week stay at the house, I can literally watch the rice grow. If it’s between crops and the paddies are filled with water, herds of ducks provide endless entertainment. Their antics vary from precision marching along the dikes, to quacking chaos once they’ve hit the water. These are pleasures I relish as I have tea, then coffee, eat breakfast, make phone calls, and do email. I plan my work day, knowing my plans are realized according to the whims of the gods, or some other chaotic force, beyond my control.
As I walk through the gardens and up the stairs to meet the driver and start my work in the real world, I realize the gardens are growing faster than the fish. The thrice-daily downpours and intermittent sun make for tropical garden madness. Controlling growth is already more important than encouraging growth. It’s shocking when I realize this was all just dirt nine months ago, and it now it looks like a garden that has been established for twenty years.
