The Night Sky's Harvest

I am deep in the midst of another blog post, but while I wrestle with the verbiage of a story that follows four nights camping in the Fijian forest, I thought I’d provide a glimpse of where I hope this journey is taking me.

To start – a poem from church. Christian churches are a central place of community and spirituality in Fijian villages, and that was surely true of my two-month training village. What follows is a poem that I read (in Fijian) to our Methodist Church on my final Sunday in the village.

The Night Sky’s Harvest

I am strong,

Stand up on my shoulders.

Reach for the moon.

Take it in your hands.

Reach for the stars.

Collect them one by one.

Now, come down off my shoulders.

Together, we shall bury the stars and the moon in the dark soil of the earth.

A garden will sprout up from the seeds of the night sky.

Tend to the garden, and fruit, the color of light, will decorate the garden.

At the end of each day, eat the fruit.

And share your spoils with the loved ones around you.

One day, you will be strong, with broad shoulders.

And I will be food for your garden.

This poem was inspired by, of all things, “Open,” Andre Agassi’s biography. The story of his life is that of a boy, born to a tennis obsessed dad, who mercilessly drills him into becoming a tennis phenom. His borderline-abusive upbringing and general lack of nurture, leave Andre somewhat lost. On his path from a rebellious youth to a tennis great with philanthropic aspirations to educate underprivileged children in Las Vegas, one man supports Andre more than any other. That man is Gus, his strength and training coach. After their first tournament together, Gus gives an inspired speech about lifting Andre up on his shoulders so that he can reach for the moon. The speech is so visceral, it feels pulled from a fictional sports film.

The other inspiration for my poem, of course, is the near-subsistence farming way of life here on the island of Fiji.

While I am here on this earth, I hope to lift others up on my shoulders. I aspire to leave the world a better place for the next generation. When I say, “to leave the world a better place,” I mean it in the figurative sense – but also the most literal sense. I plan on spending much of the rest of my life working in soil, planting and harvesting food, and regenerating the health of our planet through sustainable farming.

Most of the residents of my Fijian village (and most Fijian villages for that matter) live a semi-subsistence farming lifestyle. Despite the daily hard labor, my neighbors appear to have more freedom and flexibility with their time than most Americans. And the active lifestyle has incredible benefits. There are men twice my age who work the farm every day and are as strong as I could ever be from spending time in a gym, a past-time of mine that now feels borderline frivolous (not to say you should stop going to the gym!).

It feels that my desire to live a life with plenty of time for family and friends, and stay mentally and physically fit into old age, could all be tied together into this way of life.

Farming might sound simple, and like a waste of the quarter of a million dollars my parents spent on my liberal arts college education, which culminated in a degree in economics, but do not fret. My future ambitions are vast in potential for impact. In short, I hope to be a part of the cultural revolution that quells the endless cycles of consumption plaguing much of western culture – a culture I now see spreading to, and harming communities in Fiji. I should note that I might not have been able to see this big picture so clearly without my liberal arts economics degree (thanks mom and dad).

In some future blog post, I’ll be sure to delve into detail about how my wonderful imaginary future will all unfold. But for now, the day-to-day path can be as simple as cutting grass with a machete.

This past week I was granted land for a small farm and amongst the overgrown grass, fifteen or so forgotten tavioka plants struggle untended. Cutting back the waist-high grass is referred to as cleaning the tavioka. Tavioka (known as cassava in English) is a Fijian root crop that is central to feeding the people of the island. I hope to harvest my root crops six or so months from now, and start to return the many meals that have been generously gifted to me in my time on this island.

In another new development in village life, a 69-year-old pastor, boat-builder, and former boxer has become a mentor of mine. He lives alone most weeks, while his wife works as a caretaker for declining expats in a nearby city. We share many meals together and enjoy each other’s company. Pastor Peni insists on me bringing nothing to our shared meals in his home. He tells me, “Blessed are those who give and expect nothing in return.”

I reply, “But pastor, I want to be blessed too! You can’t keep all the blessings to yourself.”

I brought him some onions and garlic the other day, suspecting he was fresh out. I was correct, and he was pleased by the gift. He cooked a pumpkin curry for us, prepared with onions and garlic. The pumpkin had come from a neighbor’s farm earlier that week. We ate it together and it was delicious.

I think we both felt blessed by the earth’s bounty that evening.

Me and my juvenile cassava plants.