I love rice. Anyone who knows me knows this. (In fact, my very first blog entry was, as my friend James put it, "an ode to rice.") I have at least a bowl of rice for every meal. Be it brown rice, sticky rice, jasmine rice, grainy rice...it does not matter. If it's rice, i'll eat it...and I'll enjoy eating it.
While I am indeed a proud, happy eater of rice, I am by no means a selfish eater. If it were up to me, I'd want the joy I receive (and believe me, it's quite the joy) from a nice, warm bowl of rice to be shared by all. I'm also aware that I have had my fair share of rice here in Thailand (doing the math, at 5 months with 4 weeks a month at 7 days a week and 3 meals a day...I have consumed at least 420 bowls of rice) I figured I should give back. So it was towards this end that I volunteered to help a teacher in my school plant rice in his field.
We started early, he picked me up at my house around 7, we had breakfast in his place and then we were off to the fields. No amount of sun block was going to protect me from the sun so I had to wear the only long sleeved shirt I brought with me to Thailand and a t-shirt over my face.
The day's job mainly entailed "pitching" the rice evenly around the field and then eventually having a tractor embed them into the soil. We were fairly efficient I thought, dividing up the land into areas each "pitcher" would focus on. There were sacks of rice that were strategically laid around the field--refilling stations if you will-- so we wouldn't have to walk all the way back to the truck to pick up more grain. My teacher's field is but a small section of this giant plateau which is shared by five provinces called the "Tung Kula Rong Hai" which means "The field that made the Kula cry. The Kula is an old tribe and legend has is that a long time ago, as the Kula walked along the field, they realized that there was no end to their journey. The farther they walked, the farther it seemed they had to go. The intense heat added to their despair and they all broke down and cried.
There wasn't any crying going on this day though. In fact, I enjoyed the experience tremendously. The scenery was beautiful. As far as the eyes could see, it was just miles and miles of land. No tall buildings, no smog, nothing but God's good earth, the sky and several farmers. While insanely hot, there was enough cloud cover to grant us little over cast breaks. Hearing the gentle "swoosh" of the grain as it left the hands and fell to the fields mixed with the birds was very relaxing and I soon found myself in a trance almost--as if I wasn't engaged in work but a sort meditation.
We snacked on a baby watermellons (so so refreshing on a hot day) and had lunch by the fields. I was drenched with sweat...literally...and attacked the food like a beast. The meal was a very typical Isan meal--somtam (papaya salad), gai-yang (barbequed chicken) and...drum roll....rice! We lingered over lunch a bit and it was nice getting to know my teacher's family. After some more watermellon and some durian it was back to the fields.
Seven hours in the field can be exhausting but after a quick trip home (and a nice shower) I came back to watch the tractor do its job. It was sunset at this point and only a few farmers were left. After thanking my teacher, Ajan Pusit, for giving me the opportunity to give back to the fields that have so nourished me (I will never stop romanticizing the role of rice in my life) I headed home and prepared for dinner... 
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