Seasonal. Limited in quantity. The cabbages I grow completely without pesticides sell for just 100 yen each. Every year, they bring smiles to many people.
“I can eat this with confidence.”
“And it tastes wonderful.”
Those simple words mean more to me than anything else.
But farming is never easy.
The weather decides much of the harvest, and market prices are beyond my control. Even so, the fields will not wait. So every morning, I head back to them.
For more than twenty years, I have grown vegetables in Nakanojo-machi, Gunma Prefecture.
In spring I sow seeds. In summer I battle the heat and insects. Autumn is harvest season, and winter is when I prepare the soil for the next year. This cycle has shaped my life.
In recent years, the phrase “Japan's food security” has appeared more and more often in the news.
War. Inflation. Climate change.
Events happening on the other side of the world now affect the food on our tables.
Japan depends heavily on imported food and agricultural materials. That is why food security is not a distant political issue. It is something that touches our everyday lives.
Today, however, the foundations of our food supply are beginning to weaken.
Our farming population is aging. Fewer young people are taking over family farms. More fields are being abandoned. The prices of fertilizer, fuel, and farming supplies continue to rise.
None of these problems can be solved by a single farmer.
Still, every morning, farmers across Japan walk into their fields.
We look at the sky. We feel the soil. We examine every plant. We watch carefully for even the smallest changes.
That quiet, daily routine is what produces vegetables people can truly enjoy.
I am not doing anything extraordinary.
I am simply continuing the work that farmers have carried on for generations.
But that “ordinary” way of life is slowly disappearing.
When one farmer leaves the land, one field disappears.
Each small loss may seem insignificant, but together they affect the strength of Japan's food supply.
Food security cannot be protected by government policy alone.
It begins with local fields. It depends on people who care for the soil, plant seeds, and grow the food we eat.
These small, everyday efforts are what support Japan's tables.
I am one of those farmers.
I want to provide vegetables that people can eat with confidence. That simple desire is what brings me back to the field every day.
The cabbage I mentioned at the beginning is one example. A single cabbage may look ordinary. But inside that one cabbage are countless hours spent in the field.
The day I planted the seeds. The days I worried about the rain. The days I faced the summer heat. The days I battled insects. All of those moments become part of one cabbage.
Then someone picks it up and eats it.
“It's delicious.”
“I feel safe eating this.”
Those words give me the strength to return to the field again tomorrow.
Japan's food security. It may sound like a matter of government policy or international affairs. But its true foundation is much closer to home.
It begins with a single field.
Every day, farmers across Japan cultivate the soil, plant seeds, and grow vegetables. Those quiet efforts support the food on our tables.
I am one of them. Here in a small field in Nakanojo, I continue to grow vegetables with care.
One cabbage. One field. One farmer. Small steps like these can help protect the future of our food.
I believe that. And that is why I will return to the field tomorrow.