Fresh Winds Blowing Through

In the mornings now a strong wind whips through the surrounding rainforest valleys and the farm where we live.  It lulls us to sleep and then wakes us up with the sound of the ocean, a rhythmic lapping at our doors and windows.  At first I didn’t believe that the rainforest had a winter, but here it is, with a refreshing tinge of northeastern fall, with a wind that sweeps through our mornings to begin each day with fresh new air.

Last night, Halloween, was a real treat.  Lauren, Matt, Maya and I carved pumpkins in the afternoon, and then the gals baked for most of the rest of the day- brownies with oats from scratch, and roasted pumpkin seeds.  It was Maya’s first pumpkin-carving experience, and she went at it with creative gumption, carving a dolphin under a crescent moon.  Maya is the 11-year old daughter of our hosts here, and as we make this our home little by little, she is often the one leading us along.  The other day she had me dictate (in Hindi) a letter she was writing to her grandmother, and last night she made my Halloween.  She not only created my entire costume (a puppy mask, made out of bamboo husk), but she also showed me a glimmer of what she loves about her home. 


We were searching for suitable bamboo husks beyond the edge of light thrown off by the campfire when she called me over.  She was crouching by the stream that runs along the side of the dining area, and directed me to sit beside her.  ‘Look up,’ she said, when I had squatted beside her, and there between a border of bamboo leaves rose the waxing moon in a clear sky.  ‘Now take a deep breath,’ she said.  ‘I love the air here….so fresh.’  In my mind I thought- what a lucky kid; she’s barely known another breath of air.  And then I felt sorry for us Americans, all coming from cities and lapping up the freshness here as if it’s something novel.

The crisp new wind has also inspired a general zeal among all of us at the farm.  I’ve been going at my work with new resolve, whether in the garden, at interviews with neighboring farms, or leading discussions about social surveys.  It helps that we’ve been here a few months now, but it’s beginning to feel like I have a place here and a purpose, even if it’s just to figure out what’s going on in the local farming community.

A few days ago I visited a neighboring farm, and for the first time I was on my own.  I was with a translator, of course, and even got a ride on a scooter to the nearest turnoff, but in terms of initiative, questioning, and connecting, it was up to me.  Muthu, my translator, and I left the scooter at a steep fork at the top of a hill and walked down between coffee trees to a dusty clearing in the forest canopy.  Muthu pointed out the new vermicomposting pit the farmers had built last year, and then a round woman with a huge, welcoming smile walked out into the clearing to say hello.  We exchanged greetings and were ushered inside, where sweet tea was put on the stove and the conversation began.

For the past two months, I’ve struggled to find the purpose behind the questions I’ve been asking farmers.  The NGO I’m working with is interested in developing a multi-faceted research project that sets economic and social data alongside biodiversity records.  The idea is to show that different farming methods produce different kinds of biodiversity (and varying levels of predatory animals that will go after agricultural pests), and that this in turn influences the productivity of the farm.  It’s a huge endeavor, and one that none of us are quite sure how to begin.

Part of the problem is our sheer American-ness.  I hear about a research problem and I want to know the methods, the background, and the goals before I start.  I want to fit the research ideas into a neat little package, and go out with a clear set of intentions and a well-vetted survey technique.  With this, I had none of that, and our Indian hosts thought there was nothing wrong with that.  It’s not a bad thing, it’s just a different thing, and it’s been part of the orientation process to get used to it.

So when I left for that recent farm visit, I started fresh.  I decided that I didn’t want to know anything in particular except as much as I could gather from an open-ended discussion of farming methods, awareness, goals, and problems on the farm.  I would revert to my undergraduate training and approach the visit as an anthropologist rather than a graduate researcher.  I would listen and engage, and hopefully connect.

We had tea together, and Parle G biscuits, and the woman’s mother-in-law came in to role herself a bit of paan (betel, a nicotine-ified substance grown right on the farm).  They wanted to know where I came from and pointed out that I looked much younger than the 26 years I declared.  They asked if I was alone, and I stumbled over the answer, saying that I came to India with one ‘husband.’  That seemed to satisfy them, and I decided that I need to practice that little white lie.

The interview meandered among various topics, pausing to shoe away chickens and gather dry clothes off the line outside.  I took pages of notes, and learned more about vermicomposting, coffee price fluctuations, and the ‘sangha’ work-share committees than I had known before.  But most of all, I connected with the women, and with Muthu, who patiently translated all of my questions and answers.  By the end of the conversation, the women made it clear that I was welcome back again, and that they would like to hear about anything that would make their farming easier- whether with prices, or composting, or pest problems.  It was a good start for a needs assessment, and for a year spent among the farmers in this area. 

I could chalk the change up to the winter wind starting things fresh, but maybe it’s instead the perspective I’m gaining on letting things unfold rather than trying to keep them in tidy packages.  In any case, it’s a much more pleasant place to be, and I’ll be happy if I can continue to float on the winds of conversation.