Planting rice is never fun* "Planting rice is never fun, Bent from morn till set of sun. Can not stand and can not sit, Can not rest a little bit." *Mágtaním ay di bíro

Planting rice is never fun is an atrocious English translation of the original Tagalog folk song Mágtaním ay di bíro (literally, "Planting [rice] is no joke"). The quote featured above is the first stanza of the English version which we used to sing in class in primary school. Back then, English was the de facto official language and medium of instruction in public schools in the Philippines.

Later, when I was in high school, Planting rice is never fun went out of favor because it abjured the dignity of labor particularly of Filipino farmers. I should point out that this applies only to the English translation. In my opinion, the original Tagalog lyrics is a realistic, unromanticized take on the back-bending work planting rice entails.

Mágtaním ay di bíro, on the face of it, doesn't denigrate farming cavalierly as being "never fun." It doesn't even mention "rice" (palay) by name, although its graphic description of the process unmistakably points to planting paddy rice. Mágtaním's third stanza does make a passing social commentary lamenting the fate of peasants (tenants or share-croppers) who earn their keep by dint of their hard work:

(1) (2) (3) (4)

Kay págkasawíng-pálad     Ng iníanák sa hírap,     Ang bísig kung di íunát,     Di kumíta ng pílak.

It's a misfortune     To be born poor,     If one doesn't labor,     One doesn't earn.

This is my translation. I no longer remember the (English) lyrics of Planting Rice in its entirety. Suffice it to say that in an effort to maintain the metering of the original Tagalog lyrics so as to remain in sync with the bars of the folk song, the lyricist of Planting Rice ended up with an entirely different song! Mágtaním, by the way, has an upbeat lilting melody typical of Filipino folk songs. It has a march-like beat (1/1 or 4/4); it certainly is not a dirge. Mágtaním ay di bíro is reproduced in its entirety below.

I had fun shooting the following photos of an all-man crew of six planting rice in a rice field on the outskirts of my hometown. This was shot in the afternoon when they were finishing up. I had seen them earlier that morning from the car coming home from the airport. These rice fields are just off the highway. The green fields in the background had been planted just days earlier.
These two farmers are planting a fairly large rectangular paddy. They are planting the rice seedlings in a grid formation about a foot square. Each of the pair is planting rice two to three columns abreast, stepping back after a row is done, with bundles of rice seedlings pre-positioned behind them.
The third farmer has no partner and lags behind the other two. He was in charge of pre-positioning the bundled rice seedlings. He also served as "trailblazer" or "pathfinder" for the other two, establishing the grid coordinates by planting a pilot column of transplanted seedlings for the pair to follow. He's the same farmer in the solo portrait above.
Rice field paddies are enclosed by earth berms (tagaytay in Waray, pilapil in Tagalog) which also serve as access foot paths. Berms also demarcate the boundaries of adjacent lots. Rice paddies follow the contour of the land, with adjacent paddies forming a stepped terrace declining downhill or downstream.
The planters went about their business as I took photos. They didn't seem to mind and might have even welcomed the distraction from the tedium of their work. Although planting rice is hard work, it certainly doesn't involve being "bent from morn till set of sun". Contrary to the opening lines of the English version, there are ample occasions to stretch and walk about. And yes, there are lunch and cigarette breaks. Judging from the unfortunate title of the English version, it looks like the lyricist of Planting Rice is Never Fun took the Tagalog hyperbole literally.
This group of three planters have just finished replanting a paddy and are gathering seedlings for yet another. The two baskets balanced on a wooden pole will be used to transport the seedling bundles. If it is a large paddy like the one shown above, it will probably be their last for the day. They will leave enough seedlings for replanting this paddy, which has been used as the seed bed. The other threesome will probably do the replanting here. If they join forces, they'll be finished in a jiffy.
These planters are not tenants or share-croppers but daily wage laborers. The land owner pays them in cash for a day's work at the going rate (which may be in cash and kind if lunch is provided). Hardly any of the rice fields located near towns or along a highway are tenanted. These are usually owner-cultivated with hired help.

In my hometown (Jaro, Leyte), irrigated rice farms are mostly small holdings a fraction of an hectare in area. It is not economically viable for tenants to cultivate such small holdings because irrigated rice fields are usually planted to hybrid varieties which require intensive inputs of fertilizers and pesticides. Tenants who persist usually end up being in hock either to the land owner (or third parties charging usurious rates for borrowed working capital), that they eventually give up their claim to the land. Rain-fed fields planted to traditional upland rice may be tenable for share-cropping because it requires no other input apart from labor. Also, upland rice is usually cultivated only on a portion of a tenanted farm such that the share-cropper is not totally dependent on it.
This largish paddy cum seedbed is chock-full of healthy seedlings bound for the surrounding paddies which have already been harrowed. They will be transplanted in a matter of days. The white plastic ribbons strung across the seedbed have been there since the palay seeds were sown to discourage herons and other birds from eating the germinating seeds. The ribbons will come up again near harvest time to discourage the maya from eating the ripening grain.
Above: Two farmers and their carabaos harrowing large paddies. Most of the rice fields in this part of town have either been planted or are in the late stages of preparation. Harrowing is the final stage prior to planting. Before harrowing, the paddies which have already been plowed, are flooded with irrigation water. Below: A farmer assisting his carabao crossing an irrigation canal by lifting the harrow himself. A harrow (surod in Waray) is a twin-handled, comb-like implement with steel tines spaced six inches apart.
This farmer with a red umbrella hat has a sunny disposition as cheerful as his headgear. His co-tillers within hollering distance was calling him out for smiling too much of his gap-toothed smile (below). Umbrella hats are proving to be a popular substitute for the traditional conical hat (sadók/salakót in Waray/Tagalog) made of woven buri palm fronds which are heavier especially when wet.
The paddies being harrowed by these farmers and their carabaos are not their own. Owner-cultivators who do not have carabaos hire them on a piece work basis. The rate they charge depends on the size of the paddy. Plowing costs more than harrowing because it entails more work and takes up more time. Plowing is done when the paddies are relatively dry. The sod and remnants of the harvested rice crop (i.e, the root ball and the base stems of the rice plant from which the grain-bearing panicles and upper leaves have been cut off with a hand sickle) are plowed under together with any weed growth to make organic mulch. Harrowing mixes up the mulch with the soil and dredges up unwanted detritus.

Field preparation can also be mechanized using hand tractors. But there is nothing a hand tractor can do which a carabao can't. In fact, a hand tractor is not powerful enough to plow fields as efficiently as a carabao. The former's use is limited mainly to harrowing and transport. Mechanized farming is not suitable for cultivating small farms. I have discussed the economics of traditional (i.e., carabao-powered) vs. small-horsepower mechanized farming in a previous blog post. As for tractors, their use is limited to large-scale plantation agriculture, e.g., sugar cane.
Harrowing is not as demanding on man and beast as plowing. During my previous visit a month ago, the fields were dry and lying fallow because of a prolonged dry spell. The much delayed onset of the wet season coincided with my prior visit, helped along by two tropical storms occurring a month apart, the second of which made landfall four days after I took these pictures. All of the rice fields in this part of town have been plowed under in a matter of weeks while I was away.

Left: A farmer giving his carabao an impromptu mud bath, by splashing it with paddy water with his foot. The carabao is showing its appreciation by arching its neck. Farmers can be amazingly gentle with their carabaos which, being naturally docile and even- tempered, require no corporal prodding apart from voice commands delivered in a firm, low voice, that sound almost like the animal's own lowing. To get a carabao to halt, you call out: Soool. To get it going you make a clicking sound like you would with a horse. Carabaos are steered by leading them by the nose, literally. The carabao's equivalent to a horse's bit is a nose ring which is threaded through a hole punched through its nostril septum. I haven't seen the operation being done to a juvenile carabao. It must hurt, but shouldn't be worse than branding. Unlike cattle, carabaos aren't branded. An individual carabao is identified by the distribution of the cowlicks of its hair on its hide, which is unique like human fingerprints.

Below, left: Man Iyong owns the rice fields being planted above. He is holding a coconut shell containing granules of molluscicide which he was broadcasting by hand to a paddy which had already been replanted.
Above, right: The not-so-golden kuhol (escargot), an alien species that has proven difficult to eradicate. I think this pest (shown in clusters along the berm) has evolved. It has grown smaller (the better to climb the rice plant?) and darker in color like the indigenous conical snail variety. I have discussed the folly of its introduction in this blog post.
The newly transplanted rice seedlings look scraggly and frail (above). But not for long. This rice crop will be ready for harvest come January in the new year. I hope to be around during the harvest and just before when the rice fields will have turned golden with the ripening rice grain. This photo is one of my favorites. With it's white balance as shot, and minimal post-processing besides, it has a painterly look reminding me of the color palette in Fernando Amorsolo's Plowing the Field (below).

Plowing the Rice Field by Fernando Amorsolo. Oil on canvass, 20¼ x 26 in. 1951

Harvest time is certainly more fun than the planting season. Ironically, I can't recall the harvest time equivalent of Planting Rice/Magtanim, or if there is one at all. There are folk dances celebrating harvest but no iconic folk song about the rice harvest that I know of. On the other hand, idyllic scenes of the rice harvest and farmers and farm lasses reaping grain (or cooking meals for the harvesting crew) were staple subjects of Fernando Amorsolo's paintings.

Here's Fernando Amorsolo's oil painting Planting Rice:

Planting Rice by Fernando Amorsolo. Oil on canvass, 26 x 35¼ in. 1953

(Update: Paintings by Fernando Amorsolo of harvesting rice in the countryside can be seen in my Rice Harvest post.)

Reproduced in full below is the Tagalog lyrics of Magtanim ay di biro. (A proper English translation that is faithful to the original is a worthy undertaking. But that will have to wait till later.)







Source: www.yupangco.com