The "winter" growing season is short, and I had the privilege of watching the entire process of planting the rice seeds to taking the bags of rice to the market, all from my classroom windows. Each classroom has three un-paned windows that are always open to allow the breeze in. It's been about 3-4 months since the seeds were planted, and I could tell the rice was ready to harvest. The individual grains on the stalks got big and heavy. The farmers have to plan their harvest time carefully to maximize their crop. They must do it before the seeds crack, and beat the monsoon rains.
Our school is surrounded on three sides by miles of rice paddies. They are large square fields, independently owned by different families. The fields are sunk into the ground to collect the water, and there are raised dirt paths that the farmers use to walk to their field. About a week ago, I heard a loud noise and saw the farmer had rented the machine to harvest the rice. A crowd of boys followed it around and around the field. They thought it was so cool! It is the equivalent of a child seeing a fire engine or garbage truck in the U.S.
Afterwards, only straight rows of dry straw are left.
The golden grains of rice are dispersed on tarps to dry in the sun for a few days. Jom-ron's (our bus driver) family has a plot behind the school, and he used part of our large campus to let it dry. Usually families will dry their rice on land in their yard because they have to guard it against thieves. Jom-ron's family used a part of our campus because it was much easier than taking it to his house, and there is more space here.
Two days after it was harvested, it sprinkled, so he had to quickly move all the rice underneath the overhang at school in order to dry properly. A little rain is fine, but too much will ruin the entire crop, and they will lose their investment. I felt sorry for him when I saw him working out there all alone, but eventually six other guys showed up to help. It was funny because it was really hot that day, and he just wore his sarong, but when he noticed that I was coming out occasionally to hang my clothes, he put on a shirt.
The farmers also put some of the straw in large bags; although, I'm not sure what is the purpose. They might use it for kindling.
One evening, I smelled a lot of smoke. In the States, this would be cause for alarm. People would run out into the streets, drive by the scene really slowly, call 911, investigate to see if anyone needs assistance, try to put out the fire, etc. In Cambodia, it is not an unreasonable assumption that someone is just creating a purposeful and controlled fire, and you hope it's not plastic.
My thought was, "I better bring my laundry rack inside, so my clothes don't reek." When I went outside, I could tell this was no normal pile of burning trash. The smoke was intense. My eyes burned, and it was hard to breathe.
The field burned late into the night, and I went up to the balcony for a better view. It was hauntingly luminescent.
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