The Green Fields of Thamuang

Each time I go back to Thamuang the landscape has changed depending on growing cycle of the rice. Now after the recent rains and just weeks away from harvest, the fields all over north east Thailand are a rich verdant green. The swaths of rice stalks swaying and swooshing in a light breeze generated by the hot sun. To the weary soul it is an idyllic sight. There is anticipation as everyone prepares for the back breaking work of cutting the rice. There is an optimistic mood as the maturity of the rice ensures a good yield. There is happiness.

Khamma was rightly proud of her rice fields, keen to tell me it was hard work, eager to show me all the fields. We stopped by the potato fields, the one that I worked on last May, and I even felt an inner glow of achievement even though Mama must take the credit.

If there is one sure sign that a child is growing up fast in rural Thailand it is when he starts to ride the family motorbike. Yo is riding around very confidently and although Khamma was a little surprised when he told her, it does at least mean there is no problem in going to the shop to get the missing ingredient at meal times. I suspect from the way he is handling the bike he has been riding for some time, like all the kids do! Yo joined us for the tour but quickly left as his attention turned to riding round on the bike.

We swam in the pond which was surprisingly deep, and it felt as if I was living in a different era, a time long gone by, a time of childhood memories of fields of corn and similar ponds where we fished for sticklebacks in simple nets and put them into jam jars and hurried home to show off our prize. I imagined a setting in the Thai equivalent of a Thomas Hardy novel. Far from the Madding Crowd was quite true, although the plot is very different.

We visited the temple where an impatient Khamma wanted me see our names displayed in recognition for the small but significant donation to the building fund. The local youth were training for the annual boat race on banks of the river acting like warriors proudly flexing and displaying their muscular bodies honed and sculptured through days and weeks and months of manual labour in the fields. No expensive fitness centre membership fees to pay in Thamuang.

During the early hours of Saturday morning an addition to Khamma's brother's household arrived. A new calf was born and mother and baby were absolutely fine in the warm morning sunshine. The affection of the mother, the panic for re-assurance from the baby, the inquisitive dogs who wanted to play, the protective mother who wouldn't let them.

It was so very relaxing that I almost forgot there was work to, and with the time going so fast I couldn't afford to lol around. Working out the next jobs on the house, tidying up outside (nobody else will do it), going to the shops and of course meeting everybody in the village from the leader to the Abbott and gentle senior ladies of Thamuang always ready to joke and press the flesh.

Many people in the village are now commenting on the number of farangs infiltrating the ranks. We are now seven and there is no sign of resentment, at least not shown, only the unassuming welcome as if you have been there all the time. There is Johnny from England, Johnny from Denmark, Adrian from Australia, a Swiss, another Brit who married in the village last week, a Norwegian who is never there but has a fine house, and me. We are the United Nations of Thamuang. I wonder what the economic and social effect on the village is as a result of the invasion?