Donuts, Apples, and Generosity
- At June 06, 2020
- By admin
- In Annes Letters
0
Dear Family and Friends,
Every few months there is a young man who parks his flashy pink truck in the parking lot of the supermarket near my home. He is the Donut Man. He usually sells his wares to hungry kids coming home from school. But he also has goods that are healthy and homemade, things direct from local farms. I always peer in to see what he has, and we end up chatting. He loves giving me impromptu Japanese lessons, smiling as he teaches me the very local dialect that is found on the farms around Sendai.
The last time we met, I asked him how business was since I had not seen him for many months. “Has the Coronavirus prevented you from coming?” I queried. “Not so much. I don’t come to Sendai so often anymore because I prefer the country,” he replied. “People in Sendai are a bit shy and don’t buy much, but rural folk are really different. They live in huge houses, often with three generations, and will buy about 30 or 40 donuts at one time. Then they call their neighbors and invite them over after a day of work in the fields. They talk, drink sake, eat donuts, and have a marvelous time. I just love the atmosphere of openness and generosity of those folks. I laugh a lot, too, so I feel good.”
The other day a friend called and asked if I wanted to work on an apple farm for a day. I had been there last autumn to help trim leaves and turn each precious globe of fruit so that it would ripen evenly all the way round. I enjoyed that day a lot, so agreed to go, even though I had no idea what the work would entail this spring.
It turned out that we would remove all but the best baby apple in each cluster. That would allow the chosen one to get the sunshine and space that it would need to become gloriously round and red by the fall. They were Fuji apples, which are a favorite, so I was delighted to carefully prepare their environment for the best possible results.
My friends, the farmers, and I snipped and clipped, crouching low, climbing high to do the best job we could.
As we sat eating, the farmers asked me where I came from. I explained that I had grown up in what was then a farming area, where there had been apples. “But we never tended to them as meticulously as you do here,” I said. “The work we do for these Fuji is nothing to what we do for the Mutsu apples up the hill,” one man replied. “After we cut away all but the single best of a cluster, we put a special bag over it to protect it from insects. Those babies grow gorgeously huge and round. We sell them to China for over $100 a piece.” Needless to say, I was astonished.
After lunch and a nap under a tree, we resumed our labors for much of the afternoon. And of course, after a few hours, the women returned with snacks.
Every few months there is a young man who parks his flashy pink truck in the parking lot of the supermarket near my home. He is the Donut Man. He usually sells his wares to hungry kids coming home from school. But he also has goods that are healthy and homemade, things direct from local farms. I always peer in to see what he has, and we end up chatting. He loves giving me impromptu Japanese lessons, smiling as he teaches me the very local dialect that is found on the farms around Sendai.
The last time we met, I asked him how business was since I had not seen him for many months. “Has the Coronavirus prevented you from coming?” I queried. “Not so much. I don’t come to Sendai so often anymore because I prefer the country,” he replied. “People in Sendai are a bit shy and don’t buy much, but rural folk are really different. They live in huge houses, often with three generations, and will buy about 30 or 40 donuts at one time. Then they call their neighbors and invite them over after a day of work in the fields. They talk, drink sake, eat donuts, and have a marvelous time. I just love the atmosphere of openness and generosity of those folks. I laugh a lot, too, so I feel good.”
The other day a friend called and asked if I wanted to work on an apple farm for a day. I had been there last autumn to help trim leaves and turn each precious globe of fruit so that it would ripen evenly all the way round. I enjoyed that day a lot, so agreed to go, even though I had no idea what the work would entail this spring.
It turned out that we would remove all but the best baby apple in each cluster. That would allow the chosen one to get the sunshine and space that it would need to become gloriously round and red by the fall. They were Fuji apples, which are a favorite, so I was delighted to carefully prepare their environment for the best possible results.
My friends, the farmers, and I snipped and clipped, crouching low, climbing high to do the best job we could.
We worked all morning and at exactly noon two ladies from the main house appeared with rice balls, pickles, and sweet sake for our lunch. The sake had no alcohol, but was thick and rich with grains of rice and a natural sweetener that made it a good pick-up drink for the work we were doing.
As we sat eating, the farmers asked me where I came from. I explained that I had grown up in what was then a farming area, where there had been apples. “But we never tended to them as meticulously as you do here,” I said. “The work we do for these Fuji is nothing to what we do for the Mutsu apples up the hill,” one man replied. “After we cut away all but the single best of a cluster, we put a special bag over it to protect it from insects. Those babies grow gorgeously huge and round. We sell them to China for over $100 a piece.” Needless to say, I was astonished.
After lunch and a nap under a tree, we resumed our labors for much of the afternoon. And of course, after a few hours, the women returned with snacks.
As we went to say good-bye, the women again ran out of the house with goodies for us to take home. “You just can’t leave empty handed,” they insisted, as they loaded up the car with bottles of homemade apple juice, vegetables, and frozen grapes grown on their farm.
And with that generous Sayonara, I agree with the little Donut Man. The country people have hearts of gold and love to share whenever they can.
Love,
Anne
And with that generous Sayonara, I agree with the little Donut Man. The country people have hearts of gold and love to share whenever they can.
Love,
Anne
