Chalk and Cheese

Life in Sydney seems to revolve around the twin poles of Work and Dojo.  Work provides us with the means to live, travel and buy stuff for our other “Life”, the Farm.

Last weekend saw the back of our Nissan Navarra laden with 25kg bags of chicken poo, mulch, gypsum and other minerals, disappearing up the F3.  The Middle Paddock was screaming out for work.  Well, in all honesty the middle paddock would quite comfortably look after itself, but if we wanted a decent garlic crop next year then we’d have to prepare months in advance. 

We both love garlic but finding succulent, tasty garlic in Australaia is hard.  It’s a seasonal crop and really only available as an overpriced organic product from about November though to about May.  Garlic doesn’t store any longer: it throws up shoots and wants to grow.  Eat it, plant it or lose it.  That’s garlic for you.  And if you want to enjoy garlic outside these months then be prepared to eat cheap bland Chinese stuff or marginally better Mexican or Spanish offerings.   

If I take a few years worth of steps backwards I can put this into context.  On the face of it garlic isn't a complicated crop to grow.  Plant it in about March and it’ll pop its head up a few weeks later and be ready by December.  Growing garlic is easy.  Growing good garlic is labour intensive and a great deal more comlicated.  For the last five years we’ve found this out the hard way and been gradually moving from the laissez-faire extreme (put it in unprepared ground and leave it to take care of itself) towards an almost full-blown management strategy for next year.

• 2006/07 (and still living in the City).  We’d bought enough Australian garlic cloves from a good source to populate a few dozen polystyrene boxes.  Results.  Small, stunted leaves, burned edges and miniscule cloves.  The pleasure of eating our own pungent garlic was countered by the hard work in kitchen preparation.  

• 2007/08.  Moved out of Sydney into semi-retirement (or so we thought).  Planted the offspring of year 1 into the Far Paddock.  Little bit of soil cultivation in a corner of the Far Paddock but no real husbandry.  Results.  Bigger garlic but still not something I’d say was exceptional.  Certainly not something commercially promising yet.


• 2008/09  Sydney work beckoned me back for “three months” (!!!!) so very, very minimal preparation carried out for a March planting.  The whole crop from year 2 was planted into the middle paddock with rock hard ground.  The year was an utter, unmitigated disaster with heaps of smaller cloves than even Year 1.  Boy we were angry with my work.




2009 offering.  The rotary hoe was purchased too late.



• 2009/10   Took some time off work and prepared 2 x 40 metre beds.  Planted in soft soil and, in a fit of madness (in retrospect) decided to groundcover with clover.  Clover was to chosen to help provide natural Nitrogen for the garlic but eventually became so competitive the garlic was strangled.  I’d say we lost over half our crop, what with the competitive clover and torrential rain.  The survivors were only moderate in size. 





Before the clover sprouted....





....and after it took over




• 2010/11.  90% of Year 4 stock was planed in raised beds, dosed with a healthy amount of chicken poo and with no clover!  There’s a month and a bit to go before harvest but all indications show our garlic will be much better than the previous years.  We’ve soil and leaf samples laboratory analysed, know the deficiencies and have tried to counter these before the bulbs are committed.  We’ve also begun the process of preparing beds for next year based on this information.  Year 6 on our journey of experimentation will have about a quarter of an acre of garlic with enough left over to eat and give away to friends.

One day our garlic might even be marketable although that isn’t what’s driving us.  Until then the struggle continues as a demanding juggling act of Chalk and Cheese.   City and Country.   



Thieves

I learned yesterday UK’s Andy Watson, a much more advanced journeyman on the road towards martial arts improvement, failed his Iaido 6^th Dan exam last weekend.  In fact, all 23 European candidates, ranging from 5^th to 7^th Dan, failed their respective tests.  It led me to ponder why.  Were they all abysmal on the day?  Were the panel members in a collective bad mood?   Had the panel members “raised the bar”?

Andy has yet to publish the reasons he felt contributed to his personal failure but a few days prior to his test he wrote:

“I realise that three factors determine if I pass:

1. The opinion of the examiners: the level they determine is appropriate, what they perceive on the day, how they are feeling, what they think about me.
2. The decision from on high about whether anyone will be allowed to pass.
3. My long term preparation and the performance I display as well as my short term condition (i.e. how hungover I am).”

In the light of all candidates failing, number two seems a likely suspect even though it “doesn’t seem fair”.  Isn’t martial arts everything to do with actual ability and nothing to do with politics?  You’d think so, perhaps, and be quite wrong.  Even the giddy heights of Hanshi Hachidan (8^th Dan, master teachers) have to balance personal standards with commands from above.  If the judges are ordered to close their eyes it doesn't matter how bright you shine.  Ignoring the rights or wrongs of this, mentally coping with failure is a test in its own right.

Look at this from a parallel perspective.  In January of 2012 we’ve the Australian National Jodo and Iaido competitions coming up.  I’ve never won either of my grade categories: only come second-best a few times and managed the semi’s once or twice.  Should I feel bitter if my personal opinion about the person who beat me was they were crap and didn’t deserve the victory or if the judges were somehow biased?  It’s educational to watch the look of disappointment on some faces at these events: it’s usually followed by some form of personal (or conspiracy-theory) blame game.  Same with the outcomes of gradings. 

I’m increasingly beginning to think winning and losing bouts like this, or passing/failing gradings, is irrelevant.  Both victory/defeat or pass/fail are consummate thieves.  Thieves who rob you of focus and, in return, bloat or puncture your ego.  I'd like to learn to keep the detached focus.  The sort of detached focus so important in developing Fudoshin.     We're taught to apply this on the dojo floor but what about the rest of the time?    

Easy to say but  let’s see how I cope with that come January!!!  

Andy W. strutting his stuff.  Looks like this is part of the Ukenagashi kata

What makes a good Sensei?

I’m on the cusp of admitting to being a follower of Nagayama Sensei.  Yes, I know I’m pretty low down the food chain and have no right (and therefore should not have any aspiration) to claim to be a direct student.  And yes, I’m fully aware protozoa shouldn’t even be permitted think for themselves let alone choose who to clone themselves on.  But what if?  And then again, leaving the question hanging in the air, but what if?

Sensei demonstrating his nukitsuke 

Jumping back a few days.

From last Thursday until Sunday we were in Perth for the West Australia Kendo Renmei’s annual Spring Seminar.  WA is a big State as far as Australian Iaido and Jodo are concerned with a high concentration of 4^th, 5^th, a 6^th and one 7^th Dan.  Add to that the visiting of Oda and Nagayama Sensei and you have a recipe for a good seminar.

On the basis Nagayama Sensei was extremely good to Klara and I when we visited him at his dojo in Sendai in August just gone, I spent nearly all my Perth time on the Jodo floor picking up titbits here and there, refining moves and adjusting timings under his critical gaze.  He doesn’t suffer foolish questions with a grin or a brush-off, just action.  If you don’t understand why some action needs to be performed, a little painful reminder demonstrates.  Leave an (incorrect) opening and this is what happens, he demonstrates.  There is a reason why things happen in Jodo kata.  It’s a structured battle in a somewhat similar manner as a game of chess but with more serious outcomes.  Force a wrong move physically or psychologically and someone loses.

Forcing a wrong move is what Nagayama is instinctively good at.  What makes him a brilliant Sensei is his ability to inject instinct almost intravenously to his students.

If I were all of the following:

• Japanese
• Living in Sendai
• About 30 years of age

I’d ask him to formally train me as his deshi in all the arts he is superbly proficient in.

But I don’t come close to qualifying so have to make to with the titbits here and there.  It's a good second.

Men are such whimps

It's true (and I've known this for many a year).  When Men are injured or sick it's as if no-one else in the entire world is suffering quite so much.  It's never a 'cold' but it's a rare, incurable form of pleurisy.  Not a slight muscle sprain but a complete and degenerative form of muscle-wastage.

I've a neck/mid-shoulder injury, had it for 10 days and am now climbing the walls.  Bad new is we fly over to Perth on Thursday to train with Oda and Nagayama Sensei. 

That and the Aussie Dollar is in nose dive against the Yen..  Katana now at $9,343.35 as of today.

Bugger.


 

Did Samurai of old have to sell their mothers for a decent sword?

Umm.  Currency exchange rates are not moving favourably.  My new katana is waiting for an export permit to be issued by the Japanese Government department responsible for regulating the movement of swords out of the country.  When they’re ready, I have to transfer the equivalent of 705,000 Yen to the Japanese swordmaker.  Currently, that’s over $8,800 – up from the original value of $7,950 in August.

Add 10% Ozzie import GST onto the total and my exquisite sword starts knocking on the door of $10,000.

Yes, I want my katana (and in fact need one if I ever have to try for 4^th Dan at which time use of a live blade becomes obligatory during gradings) but it’s moving in the direction of the price of a new small car or a second-hand tractor.  This presents an interesting dilemma on the relative dangers here.  What would you rather face?  A Hyundai Getz hurtling toward you at ramming speed; a reversing 55HP tractor with whirling 6’6” slasher blades or me with my new sword?  It’s a no-contest question.  Face me, as I’ll be too shit scared of unsheathing my katana in case I damage it.

Decisions, decisions.

The “little organisation” that pays me has left me dangling on the horns of a small dilemma.  My direct manager wants to extend my “sentence” here from the rest of this year until November of 2012.  Yippidido....  There is no chance of remission as the job he wants me to perform is an absolute bastard and will suck me dry of life force (done it for 6 months before - I know).  Countering this doom is a possibility of working directly for my manager's manager. That person’s suggested there may be a chance of a permanent position reporting to him, on a parallel level to my manager’s, but in a different Business Area.  OK, there would be a definite downward hike in salary from being a greedy consultant but the benefits of paid leave might tip the balance sufficient to almost make it worth considering.  What am I going to do?    

Well, I know exactly what I’d like to do.  Use the prospect of the latter to remove the threat of the former and, when my current contract expires, return to our farm.  That’s a bit cryptic but it boils down to my manager having to find someone else on the off-chance I’d be successful in snagging the senior job.  Not being the sharpest tool in the shed it hasn’t occurred to me what I’d do if I were successful in applying for the permanent job.

If there was any doubt about what I’d like to do (apart from paying off the $8,000 katana I’ve just bought) is summed up by some internet browsing at lunchtime.  I’ve been looking at farm toys, bulldozers, skid-steers and tipper trucks.  Oh, I’ve also bought an acre's worth of seeds to plant and am working out how to increase next year's garlic crop.

Says it all, really.

Affirmations of Life

Much water has flowed under the bridge in the last 8 weeks: far too much to relate so I’m only going to give flavours rather than accounts.

Holidays are such exciting periods, full of promise and anticipation.  We had many things lined up.  Catching up with my kids and meeting up with my family to scatter my Father’s ashes; the British kendo Association’s Iaido and Jodo Seminar (and grading); catching up with Irish Rose and meeting her other half for the first time in Dublin; the UK riots (for Riots read excuses-to-loot); and Japan (which deserves a huge chapter in its own right).   I don’t think it can be claimed this holiday was dull.

Before starting, all I’m going to say about the ‘countdown timer’ attached to this blog is that it expired on the 2^nd August.  My Iaido Nidan grading came and went without too much botheration and I was fortunate enough to pass.  I’ve a feeling the high ranking grading panel took pity on me travelling all the way from Oz and overlooked some unforced errors and the peculiar Australian manner in which I performed.  Two other Nidan candidates and myself were up as the last people to grade that day and I’ve a nagging suspicion that if my two fellow candidates had travelled as far as Klara and I they would have passed as well.  But they didn’t and consequently Oshita Masakazu Sensei and the rest of the panel didn’t smile upon them.  Highlight of the grading?  Actually, it wasn’t the passing but what pleased me far more was not being overawed by the panel despite being slap-bang in the centre- right in front of the Kyoto 8^th Dan Taikai winner (Oshita Sensei). 

Japan was glorious and friendly beyond belief.  There were unexpected kindnesses, surprises and delightful things just about everywhere we went.  Having been primed beforehand, we took Omiyage – small gifts/souvenirs – with us from the UK and Australia to give to Sensei and, well, just about anyone.  It is amazing how much the simple act of giving a token gift opens doors between people that don’t share a common language.   Even when Omiyage were not involved, complete strangers would stop and assist if they observed us staring with consternation at a map or an underground sign.   Yes, we were Gaijin.  But we made an effort and tried not to be cultural neanderthals.  Jenna and Jason (carriers of the genepool) were introduced to a phrase while with other backpackers: Gaijin Bashers.  Gaijin Bashers are those who perform cultural howlers and trample ignorantly over Japanese customs.  Thankfully, we tip-toed.

Nagayama Sensei, our Jodo Teacher in Sendai, was his usual combination of Dojo-stern and private-approachable.  He doesn’t know it (or refuses to acknowledge it in direct terms) but he’s our Sensei.  When we first met him, three years ago, it was under difficult circumstances (the story behind which is amusing – now).  It’s taken a few years of gradual ice-melt for him to accept us but now he pours more knowledge into our thick skulls than we could ever hope to assimilate.  Have you ever met someone and instinctively known that person could be lethally dangerous at a flick of a switch?  Nagayama Sensei is one of those.  He teaches his arts as if his finger is "on the switch". 

I can’t point to one particular event in Japan as being the highlight.  There were so many.  I can say climbing Mount Fuji is up there, though.   The most climbed Mountain in the World, they call it and rightly so.  All four of us set out from the 5^th Station at about 8pm on August 29^th.  J and J were in racing mode (which I think they may have slightly regretted at the top) and floored it.  We took a sedate pace.  After all, the Mountain climb begins at 2,300 meters with still another vertical mile to ascend.  Altitude sickness can commence with too rapid a climb.

The feeling of shared purpose and suffering was palpable the further up we climbed.  99.9% of the climbers were not hikers nor mountain climbers but  everyday people, mostly quite young, with a hard-wired desire to climb their National Icon.  They were fit in much the same way as every other twenty-something year old is.  But, undeniably, it is tough for even youthful Japanese.  We met an old lady who was climbing Fuji-san for the 6^th time.  I didn’t know what her reasons were but the fact she was willing to place herself in sufferings way filled me with admiration.  If it were possible, after the gruelling 14 kilometre zig-zag descent, I admired her even more and would have fallen to her feet in worship (if I had the strength left).

We will return to Japan.  Of that I have no doubt.