🌾 Way to the Field

A walk to my Paddy’s

Reaching our paddy field is always a small journey — one that begins with a walk through winding paths carved by feet, time, and memory. These are not paved roads, but soft trails that snake through gentle hills and clusters of bamboo. The walk is quiet, shaded by old trees and lined by rows of rice on either side.

The rice fields along the way are beautiful to observe this time of year. Some glow golden in the light, others are tinged deep red, while some remain dark and wet — still waiting for their turn. The farmers have gently parted the stalks to make narrow footpaths, allowing movement between the paddies without damaging the crop. Every few minutes, I pause — partly to rest, partly to take in the view.

The air is earthy and still. It’s the kind of silence that’s not empty, but full of presence. Even though I’ve walked this path many times, it always feels like a reminder of how connected we are to the land around us.

Finally reaching my Paddy’s just across the streamlet

After about 10 minutes of walking, I reach a familiar stream — narrow but lively, running clean water between the fields. Across it lies my family’s small plot of paddy.

A modest wooden bridge crosses the stream. It’s handmade, a bit uneven, with one or two planks slightly loose — but it stands strong. This bridge has seen many seasons and many harvests. Every time I cross it, I feel a small sense of arrival. There’s something about that moment — when you step from the path, across the water, and into your own land — that feels both grounding and rewarding.

Our paddy field isn’t large, but it’s enough. The rice is full and ready. Even before I begin cutting, I take a moment to just stand at the edge and look at it. It’s peaceful. No machines, no traffic, no distractions. Just rows of rice, moving gently in the breeze, and the soft sun behind the clouds.

A small rest house stands nearby — wooden, simple, shaded by a tree. It’s where we sit during breaks, sharing water, food, and quiet conversation. It’s not luxurious, but it’s deeply comforting. Everything we need is right there.

Small Streamlet yet teeming with life

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🥣 A Humble Lunch After the Sweating

By midday, the sun softens and our hands are dusted with chaff. We rest. The sickles are laid down on the edge of the field. Sweat turns cool on the skin, and the breeze returns like a small reward.

Lunch is simple — but in that moment, it feels like a feast.
Warm sticky rice packed in banana leaves, a bit of smoked pork, maybe some dry chutney or roasted chillies. A bottle of cool water passed between hands. Sometimes there’s fruit from a tree nearby, or leftovers wrapped from home that somehow taste better out here.

It’s humbling yet filling

A little bit of sweetness, a little bit of sourness and hint of bitterness, and spiciness in a platter – A complete platter

We sit around — some on low wooden stools, others directly on the ground — shaded by the rest house or beneath a tree. There’s quiet conversation, small jokes, the sound of the stream not far off. No phones, no noise, just presence.

It’s the kind of lunch you don’t rush.
Not because there’s time to waste — but because the moment deserves to last.