The morning light was soft and gold, spilling across the terraces. Mist still clung to the edges of the fields, and the scent of damp earth filled the air.
Achu rolled up her sleeves and tied her hair back with a strip of cloth. Her hands were already stained with soil — not because she had to work, but because she loved to.
Beside her, Ran crouched with a spade nearly as tall as her arm. "Mother, are we really doing this by hand? The plow ox could do it faster."
Achu smiled faintly. "Yes, faster. But not better."
She picked up her own spade and sank it into the dark, heavy soil. "Machines and beasts can turn the surface, but they don't understand what the earth feels. When we till by hand, we learn how it breathes."
Ran tilted her head, unsure if her mother was being poetic again.
Achu grinned. "You'll see. Come here — I'll show you."
The First Trench
They began by spreading compost over the patch of land beside the bean rows — a mix of vegetable scraps, ashes, and fermented grass. Steam curled up as the morning sun warmed it.
"Smell that?" Achu asked.
Ran wrinkled her nose. "It stinks!"
"That," Achu said proudly, "is the smell of life returning."
She drove her spade into the soil, cutting a trench about ten inches deep. "This is your first ditch. Move the soil into a pile next to it. We'll need it later."
Ran mimicked her mother's movements, grunting as the spade bit into the earth."It's heavy!"
"Good," Achu said. "That means the soil is rich."
They worked in rhythm — Achu digging with steady, practiced movements, Ran with determined bursts. The field slowly filled with the scent of turned soil and the sound of small laughter between efforts.
The Second Trench
"Now," Achu said, "dig your next trench right beside the first one. But this time, move the soil into the first ditch."
Ran blinked. "So... we're just moving dirt around?"
Achu chuckled. "Yes. But we're also loosening the layers. The air, the roots, the worms — they'll thank you later."
Ran did as told, shifting the damp clods into the previous trench. Her hands blistered, and sweat dripped from her temples, but the look on her face was stubborn and proud.
"Why can't we just toss seeds and let them grow?" Ran muttered.
Achu leaned on her spade, watching her daughter's efforts with gentle eyes."Because growth isn't just about planting. It's about preparing. The same is true for people."
Ran paused, frowning thoughtfully. "Like Chen's training?"
Achu smiled. "Exactly. You can't force roots or hearts to grow strong overnight. You loosen, nourish, and give them room to breathe."
The Rhythm of the Earth
By the time they reached the last trench, Ran's arms trembled from exhaustion.Achu guided her to spread the leftover compost across the last strip of soil, then gently folded the pile from the first ditch back into place — completing the cycle.
"There," Achu said softly. "You've double-dug your first field."
Ran wiped her brow and squinted at the freshly leveled earth. "It doesn't look that different."
Achu chuckled. "It will. You'll see it in the roots later — longer, stronger, reaching deeper than before."
She knelt, scooping a handful of soil and letting it crumble between her fingers. "This earth has memory, Ran. When you treat it kindly, it remembers you."
Ran's tired face softened into a smile. "Then it'll remember me too?"
Achu brushed a bit of dirt from her daughter's cheek. "It already does."
Evening in the Fields
As the sun began to set, Chen returned from the stream carrying a basket of small fish and shouting, "Mother! Dinner!"
Ran flopped onto the grass with a groan. "Tell him I'm too tired to eat."
"Impossible," Achu said, laughing. "You're always hungry."
Ran grinned weakly, eyes half-closed. "Then... maybe after a nap."
Achu stood, stretching, her gaze sweeping over the quiet paddies — the glimmering water, the whispering stalks, the distant hum of crickets.
For a moment, everything felt exactly as it should be —the world still turning, the soil alive, the next generation learning to listen.