Growing Your Own in Hirakata

Matoba-san and Omura-san are relaxing in a vegetable garden near a busy Hirakata intersection, no further from a gaudy Pachinko complex than you can easily throw a small steel ball, as I introduce myself and blurt out a few polite phrases in broken Japanese. They kindly take the time to answer my questions, although they ask me not to take any close-ups of their faces.

Both men have lived in Hirakata all their lives and they say the town has changed a lot over the years. There are many new roads, many new houses. "Before, this whole neighbourhood was just fields," explains Matoba-san, a friendly- and robust-looking man in his early sixties.

They have been growing vegetables here for about ten years now and come down to the plot pretty much every day. The vegetables – cabbage, onions, beans, broccoli - are for their own households only.

"It’s just a hobby," says Matoba-san and looks over at his friend. “Something to kill time with at least,” he continues and they both laugh. When I passed by earlier, thinking of questions and working up the courage to approach them, they were also sitting down like they are now, each on his own blue stool, chatting and smoking, letting the garden take care of itself for a while. I get the feeling that clearing weeds is probably only one af many reasons for going there each day.

I want to know what their favourite vegetables are, but they just look at each other and chuckle. "Anything is fine!" declares Omura-san with a wave of his hand. His hair is less gray and he appears to defer a little to his friend. Perhaps this is actually Matoba-san's plot and Omura-san has the one next to it, it never occured to me to ask.

"Is it fun to work in the garden?" I throw out there while trying to think of something better. "Yes," answers Matoba-san, definitely the more talkative of the two. He stops to think. "People can betray you," he continues with a little smile. "But vegetables never do that."

They tell me that in Hirakata you can grow things in the garden more or less all-year round, which to me, coming from a cold Northern country, feels quite remarkable. My parents, eager gardeners themselves who can only work their garden from around April to October, would be very envious indeed.

Before I leave, Matoba-san picks a handful of lemons from the little tree they are sitting under and gives them to me as a parting-gift. When I look back before turning the corner, they are having a smoke again.