OISCA – A Year Later

May 24, 2015

This year, as always, our morning of volunteering had been magnificently prepared. Here are a few examples. 

Experts in forestry, sporting blue hardhats, had been consulted. And group leaders, in dark garb and white helmets, had been recruited and trained.

Then, on the ground, each section of the field to be planted had been clearly numbered; small blue stakes had been painted and placed where each tree should go; 

seedlings had been boxed, soaked, and then bagged; hoes had been gathered for distribution; 

       

and on the day very careful planting demonstrations were given.

This year people of all ages, sizes, and abilities came to volunteer. There were over 100 more than the year before. 

       

    

After speeches of encouragement, 

with hoes and bags of seedlings on our shoulders, we headed to our respective areas. And then our work began.

         

Of course, the exquisite attention to details in planning and executing this day reflected Japan at her most efficient. But another touching, rather personal, cultural attitude also presented itself. After planting our baby trees and packing down the moist earth – which had been trucked in from the mountains over many months – we were to cover the freshly packed soil with wooden chips. Their purpose was to hold in moisture since these teeny trees would not be watered. One jolly elderly farmer and his working partner did a splendid job of planting their small charges. However, they neglected the final step: spreading the wooden chips.

My friend Mayumi pointed this out to me, while saying, “I can’t say anything because that lovely farmer is old. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.” We both knew, though, that the extra covering was essential. So, after a moment of thought, I said, “Let me do it. I’m a foreigner and can get by with things you can’t.”

So, very surreptitiously I sprinkled a few life-preserving chips on each of the newly planted trees. 

To our relief, no one seemed to notice. So, we could all leave, knowing in our hearts we had done the best we could.

After our morning labor, we were taken to see how our babies from the year before were doing. Happily, very well. And impressively, not one of them had been lost to the extreme vicissitudes of weather in the intervening months.

We also peered at the preparations being done for next year’s planting, and saw the long, dusty path that would also eventually become part of this beloved forest.

       

We parted tired, of course, but also filled with hope. How better to believe in the future than by placing our hands in the soil and encouraging new life to take hold? We will never see the final results, of course. But that does not matter. It is what we leave behind that counts, and surely that is what we will carry in our hearts forever.

Love,
Anne