Memoirs of a WWOOFer

The scratchy yodeling of a rooster stirs me from my slumber on the tatami. Reluctantly I roll over to look at my watch. 3:15 am. Nowhere close to sunrise. My idyllic visions of humble farm life are slowly being whisked away by the winds that sculpt the land of northern Japan.

As a WWOOFer, or Willing Worker On Organic Farms, I rise with the murmur of my host family from the kitchen and the clatter of dishes preparing breakfast. Groggily I attend to setting the table, carefully laying out each set of hashi. Kazuki-chan watches with lively brown eyes that plead with me to come play instead.

Miso soup splashes into bowls with lingering scents of the sea. Rice topped with fried egg is paired with plates of steaming root vegetables. Tealeaves unfurl in the boiled water and homemade yogurt shines in a clear jar. With casual utters of ‘itadakimasu,’ we eat.

Despite months of living in Japan as an ALT, conversation remains a challenge as Aiki-kun babbles about basketball practice, voice squeaking with notes of puberty. Fortunately, host father Ken-san has great English and fills me in with a smile so big his eyes become thin as crescent moons. We layer ourselves in work clothes, pull on mud-crusted rubber boots and head for the chicken coops.

“They like when you talk to them,” chuckles Ken-san as we carefully gather the eggs; I linger, cupping the ones that are still warm.

My Japanese colleagues were perplexed by my decision to volunteer on a farm over the school break, especially since I already lived in the inaka. Yet the thought of being glued to my desk for a week perfecting the art of looking busy weighed heavily on my psyche. Little did I know I had discovered an ideal alternative for JETs everywhere.

WWOOF is a network of organizations also known as World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms that began in the UK in 1971. The concept is simple: bring together volunteers with organic farmers to practice more sustainable ways of living. In return, participants live as part of the family sharing meals, lodgings, and knowledge.

WWOOF hosts are found in over fifty countries and the variety of possibilities means anyone with a genki streak and hint of kōkishin (curiosity) can partake. For many, the experience is a chance to travel cost effectively with purpose, learn new skills and lifestyles, practice a second language and connect with another culture.

After purchasing a year-long membership with the Japan WWOOF Association for ¥5500, I completed an online profile and viewed hosts across Japan. Everything from the location and type of farm to family values and setting helped me narrow down my top choices. I communicated with hosts until setting up placement in Ibaraki-ken; with a bit of faith, a nihongo jisho, and some rubber boots I was on my way.

Now, in the sprawling fields with host mother Ayako-san squatting stoically on her heels, I pause in awe of our labour. The long plots had seemed endless; our fingers poking into the damp soil dropping sprouts into each hole, crouched low enough to inhale the rich decay of earth. Buzzed with satisfaction I begin to understand that time exists only in the position of the sun and rising hunger in our bellies.

Peeling off layers of dusty clothes, boots and gloves the aromas of dinner cooking are a welcome end to the day. With an encouraging nod Ayako-san grants me the first bath.

“It’s good for relax,” she adds reassuringly.

Even with daily invitations I continued to opt for the shower. Although I’d done onsen before, the intimate nature of a family ofuro was a new level. Yet here was my host family gladly sharing their bath water with a newcomer to their home. As a JET, it’s easy to joke about being gaijin, but not once had I felt like an outsider here. Casting doubt aside I slip into the steaming water, a newly honoured family member.

Murmurs of conversation carry over from the kitchen and my own head is alive with thoughts. WWOOFing has opened my eyes to a way of living that’s in harmony with the cycles of life. Amidst the routines are subtle variations in the language of the land that reveal themselves to the careful observer. Looking down at my wrinkled fingertips, I see the dirt has become part of the colour of my skin.

For more information, or to get involved with WWOOF Japan, visit http://www.wwoofjapan.com/main/ or check out international WWOOF organizations at http://www.wwoof.org/