first day as an anthropologist

A friend of mine, while still in school for the trade, used to say, "I'm going to the little architect's room." I loved that- how brilliant to claim your passion in self-definition. Started using it myself. The little anthropologist's room. And today, for the first time, I felt like I could really apply it. My first day as an anthropologist.

Followed a professor from New Zealand and his wife up to an organic subak (a subak is a block of rice fields who work together and share the same water), the only one he knows of that is completely Balinese innovated, free from Western influence. And the farmer we were to meet, he said, was a good soul, a bright light. And a clear and blunt speaker- not common in the Balinese culture. At first he gave me directions to the farm but after some slight convincing, he admitted that he wanted to return himself, and okay, we could go together tomorrow. I think one of the greatest things I have learned on this trip is negotiation. I woke up early in anticipation, even though the meeting was not until 4pm.

We entered the farmer's family compound and were invited to a green mat on one veranda. I made sure to keep my feet covered and only pulled out a notebook when I saw the prof do the same. The farmer spoke about how he had just returned from giving gifts to a village upstream, as a thank you for them not cutting down the forests that kept his water clean. Then the professor introduced me as doing research- did I want to explain it myself, or should he?

Took the reigns and hoped my Indonesian made one lick of sense. The farmer seemed to understand immediately and talked about use of pesticides- when they started, how quickly the animals died, when they stopped, how long it took for animals to return. Okay, this is stuff that's only interesting to me, but it was GOLD, I tell you! GOLD. His daughter brought us three hot Balinese coffees and although I knew I'd be up till 3am if I drank it now, I accepted it gratefully. It was so much more delicious than the stuff I made for myself in the morning. Then he invited us to the fields themselves. Really?! Yes!!! We had to take the motorbikes again but he said we should leave our helmets there. Okay...

It was all dirt and rock road and I just followed their path as best I could. The first fields were two weeks shy of planning and he showed me where the worms burrowed. There was not much else though so we drove up the way to his family's field. We balanced dirt walls as the sky turned a burned pink, all three volcanos visible from his plot. Frogs were singing below us and a cow bellowed from its hut. All signs of an organic, healthy farm.

He pointed to holes in the wall where mice lived. Mice eat rice. Forest cats eat mice. And chickens. Balance. He kept using the word for Balance. You want mice that eat some of your rice so that the cats don't eat all your chickens. You don't have to kill off everything around you to be safe. If you give some of what you want, you can get back a lot more of what you need.

In the field we saw lots of bugs and creatures zooming about the quiet waters. He would stamp on the holding wall and gliding spiders would shoot out, chasing the pests that cause rice stalk borrow disease. With pesticides, all of these helpful creatures had died. It had taken 7 years for them to reach previous numbers. There were swimming grasshoppers people caught for sate and burrowing beetles, the larva of whom people ate. He scooped one from the water and we chased it around a small patch of grass with our hands. He pinned it under his finger and I caught it in my hand. Its little legs gripped at my palm but I suppressed all girl instinct to scream and shake it off, tilting it up to my face instead. A lot like a ladybug, without the spots. Its hard wings folded like the spine of a football (American football) over its back and it glowed brown with a hint of green. Kelipas. I let it back into the field and paused a second longer to feel the clean water swallowing the tips of my fingers, to breathe the way the sunset painted it all orange. He said in three weeks there would be many more and I could return to see all the animals.

My Indonesian is, at best, a bit like listening to a wordy song for the first time. You get the picture but miss the details. The professor helped translate some for me during the field inspection, but on the walk back, he discussed the volcanoes with his wife and I walked alone with the farmer. He pulled leaves off three trees and started to tell me about them. I caught that all were used in the fields in some way and one was used for pesticides. I missed all the rest. He re-explained it to the professor when we approached and I asked for a translation. The prof told me the same things I had understood myself and said the rest was unclear to him. He had been working there since the early 1990's and that somehow made me feel a lot better about myself. I'd return again with a native translator and try hard to get more meaning.

We popped back over the bumpy roads, something even a week ago I was scared to do. But it was not a choice now, not a luxury to ask whether I was able to do this or not. I had to. This was my dream and I'd do anything to live it.

Confidence, more than anything, is about forgetting and I barely remembered to doubt whether or not I was able... to drive the motorbike, to understand the farmers.

And research is about ups and downs. By the time I got back to town, I had quietly panicked about being able to write a thesis at all. What if the free lists were worthless? How was I going to gather analyzable data again? What on earth do I think I'm doing here!?

And in that confidence become panic, I realized: I had become an anthropologist. My dreams were dripping from my fingers and this moment was every ounce as beautiful I had ever hoped it would be. As the huge, full moon rose high over the rice fields on our last stretch home, I inhaled until my chest hurt, overwhelmed by the beauty, thanking the Universe for a life that could be as big and bright as that.