Bamboo Grove & a BBQ

It is so peaceful out there - under the rustle of the bamboo leaves. Aside from the sounds of the highway, reminding us of the lost land deal, it is so beautiful. We went out in the early morning to cull the grove, again. The new shoots grew quickly, searching for the sunlight, 35 feet above the ground, and the stalks are pale green with a light dusty white coating. Older bamboo stalks turn brownish yellow at the base and are woodier. We will burn what we cut because the best bamboo for wood or practical use is cut in the fall.

I went out to the thicket with Kashiko, my sister-in-law, Sumiyo and his wife Tamie, the half-sister of my mother-in-law. Kashiko tended the fire while the ojisan and I cut bamboo with thin bladed finely toothed saws. We cut close to the base and then lift the stalk off the cut and run, with the base in hand, forward like a Scotsman getting ready to toss the caber, pulling the 35+ foot stalk so it will fall. We cut it into manageable thirds and haul it, like a work horse, through the field, winding our way between standing bamboo. I feel like a jedi knight, dodging obstacles. The ground was especially slippery after the recent rain so besides the knobby stubble of previously cut bamboo underfoot, it was treacherous.

It was like working with half of the seven dwarfs- not sure if I was an ogre or the wicked witch in the story - but Sumiyo is a tiny man with a big broad grin and smiling eyes although his personality doesn't match at all. He was dressed in his two-toed Japanese boots that go up to his knees, a jaunty cap and his tool belt; Tamie o-bachan was dressed in her bonnet and long-sleeved apron and boots; Kashiko was bundled in layers with a cap and an outer vest with many pockets. Everyone was so industrious, scampering around the shadowed wood, whistling (Sumiyo did) and engaged in their work. The noon sun made the bamboo leaves sparkle and for a brief time, sent shards of light to the ground. The forest buzzed- the sound of the Japanese saw is like "hee-SAW hee SAW" because the cut is made on the pull not the push; the bamboo sings when you tap it or when it falls, each with a unique note depending on its diameter; and the fire provided the percussion, with pops and crackles as the bamboo exploded in the heat.

It was all fun until after we had lunch of cold rice. Sitting down for a few minutes made us realize how tired we were but nobody (except Kashiko) would admit it. My arms felt like wet noodles and Tamie kept finding huge green bamboo to cut, some of them 8 inches in diameter and full of water. They were so heavy it took a full body hug and lunge to budge the stem and my last bit of energy to cut it. These sections of bamboo are so heavy they really feel like logs and we had to toss them onto the fire.

The reward: Eight hours of toil under the tutelage of two 70-year old slave drivers, ended our day. We abandoned the fire once the flames had gone down and it was mounded into a huge pile of smoldering embers - bamboo charcoal burns very hot - that will probably remain hot for a couple of days at least. I called Taka and rounded up Maya and packed a quick bag - we returned to the bamboo forest in the evening with sweet potatoes, omochi, shishamo (fresh sardines), yakitori and marshmallows. That's right - I was not going to let that charcoal go to waste. In a hasty picnic under the darkness of the creaking bamboo, we sat near the glowing pile of embers and grilled our fish, nori-wrapped mochi, sausages, and a pot of salty soup. We buried the potatoes under the embers until they were crispy on the outside and soft and creamy inside. It was a perfect end to a long day.