640 / Harvest Time!: The “Golden Plains” Filled with the Scent of Rice
Photos and Text by Liu Shiming (640)
The morning sun shines warmly, brushing gently over the soft rice ears, shimmering with layers of gold as the light filters through.
In the rice harvest season, I walk along the ridges of the Lanyang Plain,
where the air is filled with the comforting fragrance of freshly cut grain, softly telling the joyful story of this bountiful season.
I move forward, lightly touching the glimmer of the rice stalks,
as if sketching out a vision of a bright future ahead.
On this vibrant morning,
I feel the delicate and fleeting beauty of life unfolding.
It’s as if I’ve unearthed something deeply destined within my life,
As an urban child, I remember a wise elder once told me, long ago,
that I would spend my whole life chasing the tides of the rice fields.
%plus eight? Sa prayer purchase flight, immersed in the gentle village breeze / strong>
I’m a native of Taipei, a city kid who grew up 100% in the urban jungle, with cram schools taking up most of my childhood.
In 2009, after cycling around Taiwan, I was sorting through my photos at home when I suddenly realized that what I had photographed the most along the way wasn’t the mountains or the sea, not the townscapes or portraits of people—but photo after photo of lush green rice paddies.
That’s when I knew I had an intense, almost explosive longing and attachment to rice fields.
It reflected a deep yearning that had always been missing in my life and in my blood;
it symbolized the “countryside” I had no place to return to during the New Year,
symbolized a shallow “grandparent-grandchild bond,”
symbolized a return to simplicity in a “back-to-the-fields” lifestyle,
and symbolized a graceful refuge that soothes the hustle and bustle of the city.
%jealous prayer purchase flight, the beautiful County Highway 93
On a sweltering afternoon, with my heart set on the rice fields outside, I didn’t want to miss the busy harvest season. With my camera slung over my shoulder, I wandered along the yellowing edges of the fields.
Watching the rice harvesters zipping through the paddies in the distance, I walked further in, driven by rising curiosity—that was the long-awaited sight of “rice harvesting.”
The rice harvester charged in like a tank, swiftly and neatly rolling through, while dozens of yellow bitterns stuck to it as if glued.
%family Huaiyuan rhyme pole of the scenic area, . Parrots’ nests are in the woods. / strong>
The yellow bitterns showed fearless courage, as if trying to stop a moving vehicle—watching them made me hold my breath, worried for them. They were there to catch insects under the rice stalks as soon as they were exposed.
It was a limited-time dining table—you had to be “fast, fierce, and precise” to snatch the sweets that emerged from the ground. During the rice harvest season, the yellow bitterns also took advantage of the bounty.
If the rice harvest lacked these kamikaze squadrons of yellow bitterns and egrets,
Then it wouldn’t be called a harvest, would it?
%Ji County? The area directly receives unprocessed local rice. 
After watching the harvesting for a long time, I felt a sense of reassurance and contentment.
Sometimes when you travel, you carry a gentle compassion,
to make up for some deficiency in life.
Sometimes you travel to let go of the stubborn self within,
and rediscover a perspective free from prejudice.
I hid under the shade of a tree and chatted with the rice-cutting brother. He said there are no rice harvesters produced in Taiwan—this one is made in Japan and costs 3 million. For small farms typical of ordinary farmers, buying one isn’t cost-effective, so they come to do “custom harvesting.”
I asked him, “How many times a year do you harvest in Yilan?”
He replied, “Once. Yilan only plants one rice crop per year.”
I then asked, “Is it because of water shortages like in other parts of Taiwan?”
He answered, “Quite the opposite. Yilan actually has too much water, so the government even subsidizes fallow land. Farmers then use the time to fertilize and nourish the soil.”
In the evening, I stayed on the second floor of Little Stone Café, with lush green fields full of ripening crops before my eyes.
In the late afternoon, I rode my bike through the field ridges, keeping pace with the comfortable summer evening breeze.
The air carried a fragrant scent, mingling the earthy aroma, the smell of rice ears, and also the fragrance of taro.
If you’ve heard Jay Chou’s “Rice Fields,” have you ever smelled real rice fragrance?
It’s now the most beautiful golden season of the Lanyang Plain—full of color, aroma, and taste. Why not stay for a night?
Ang Lee once said, “Everyone has their own Brokeback Mountain” or “Everyone has their own Life of Pi.”
Then I’d say, “Everyone has their own lush, fertile field of green.”
Like the granary of our lives,
it carries the most primitive simplicity and the ultimate sanctuary of life.
Rice Harvest Date: June 29, 2013
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