June. In a rice field in the deep northern
reaches of Japan's main island, a farmer wades
carefully among the young clumps of rice
stalks, thinning out the week. The sky is blue.
The calf-high leaves ripple in the wind. The
farmer tips back his broad-brimmed hat, wiping
away sweat and feeling thankful for the rice:
the life it brings. His plants, though organic,
are the tallest in the little valley.

In the center of urban Tokyo, another farmer stands over his
little field, feeling the suppleness of the green leaves between
his fingers. A three-centimeter long medaka, or Japanese
killifish, swims out from the shade of a clump of rice. He pokes a
finger at it. It darts back into the safety of the rice stalks and
he pokes his finger down further, pressing into the mud at the
base of his plants. When he pulls it out, he's hooked a little
worm. He dangles it in front of his face studying it seriously and
then tosses it back into the water.

Then, a bell rings and he runs off to join his classmates on the
playground. This farmer is 8 years old. His field is held in a
50 x 30 centimeter styrene box.