Early rains in Isan

Little by little, large puddles appear that slowly form a small, previously non-existent stream. The water that mixes with the red soil turns dark and flows even more slowly to a somewhat larger pool next to the shop. Clattering drops on the green plastic roof tarpaulin make so much noise that the background music is no longer audible. The Inquisitor is staring at all this somewhat orphaned, because otherwise there is no movement in the street.

On Friday night, De Inquisitor and liefje-lief woke up from the totally unexpected rainfall. No one, not even the weather forecasters, had seen this coming, and it is also much too early in the year.

The farmers' work is at a standstill. They had been burning residual waste from the previous rice plantations for several weeks. There is no regularity at all, then there is another field on the east side of the village smoldering, a few days later a plot on the west side. That is because it is actually illegal, but for these people the only way to quickly and cheaply carry out the initial preparation of the fields. Something that never happens, but if some government would get involved, they can say that it is spontaneous combustion. But now they have a problem. They are surprised by the early but massive rain that is now falling and will apparently last for several days. The smoldering fields die quickly, the ground becomes too wet and the withered residual waste too moist to burn any further.

For at this time of the year Isaan is barren and dry. There has been no rain since October last year, or yes, with a few exceptions – on New Year's Eve of all days there was a two-hour but totally useless downpour. There is still some green because certain tree species have no leaf loss, but that does not outweigh the rest. And The Inquisitor fears even more arid conditions.

This year too, the winter months were filled with - again largely illegal - logging. Leaving the cultivated eucalyptus aside, that is allowed, but they are expanding that activity nicely to everything that is a bit more sustainable type of wood. Also economically motivated, because free raw material for making charcoal. A good price is given today for a bag of about twenty kilograms, one hundred and twenty baht and more. So they no longer only produce it for their own use, but also for sale. But again, more wealthy people jump up there: nowadays trucks drive up, they park on a site behind a large shed, close to the nearby town, nicely hidden from prying eyes. And order in massive quantities, the charcoal goes to the big cities.

Making charcoal is actually an inventive thing. At first The Inquisitor thought they were termite mounds. A cone-shaped mound, about five feet high, handmade from a mixture of red earth and mud – this material proves resistant to the heat. At the front, in the middle, there is an opening where the wood goes. At the rear, at ground level, is a kind of fireplace. In it they let the wood smolder for about thirty-six hours, just enough oxygen enters through the small opening at the front to make the wood glow, not burn. All the while the chimney is spewing out a thick gray smoke. When the charcoal is ready, they close the opening in the front and due to lack of oxygen, it stops smoldering and everything slowly cools down. Really, very inventive : hardly an investment, free raw material and good yield.

The smoke should not stop that fun, nor are they concerned about the disappearance of the trees. Only rich people, like De Inquisitor in their eyes, comment on that. That view becomes wider year after year, people are smart enough to fell only a few trees at a time, they leave some so that it - they think - does not stand out. But the forest behind The Inquisitor's house has become a collection of a few trees, the wild, the savage is gone. It looks like a park like they build in Western countries, neatly organized and manageable. So ugly.

Due to the rains, those 'termite mounds' are now cooling down too quickly, the wood no longer deforms into good charcoal. Again bad luck for the farmers because cutting down trees is hardly possible in these downpours. Just like for the day laborers who had some chores here and there. A new building, four hundred meters past our shop, has been shut down. Poa Deing, who is building a house for his daughter in his own way, has to stop, along with his comrades whom he occasionally provided work with. Brother-in-law, who is building a warehouse for us in the back of the garden with his brand new wife, is also out. At the edge of the village, Bee, the most active and innovative lady in the village, has had to put her new project on hold. What used to be a large plot of rice field is being converted into large-scale watermelon cultivation. Built a water tower, laid hundreds of meters of pipes, plowed the field into furrows. They had just started sowing the melons by hand. But now the field is completely flooded, the seeds have been washed away. And the field is no longer passable because of the mud.

So the rain throws a spanner in the works of everyone, but the less well off are worse off than people like The Inquisitor of course. He is just philosophizing on his terraces, sometimes in the shop, sometimes at home. A bit grumbling because it has suddenly become much cooler. Mentally, he was all set for the upcoming hot season. His heating fire had already been put away, the warm slippers put away, the somewhat thicker clothing disappeared to the less accessible shelves of the wardrobe. It had been creeping warmer for a week or two. And the day before the sudden rainfall it had even reached thirty-five degrees – during the day that is. On a single night it cooled down to eighteen degrees, which feels cool. Took out the long jeans, the sweater, and yes, also the hat.

Moreover, everyone here knows that you should only become alert around mid-March. The transition from winter to the hot season is characterized by heavy winds, regularly with small tornadoes, which sometimes cause a lot of damage. Only then come the rains and the heat. Now everything was still outside, months of sunshine makes a person lazy. The cushions on the sofas, the parasols – everything soaked through. Tools that you left overnight, because they are dry, are already starting to show some rust.

Yet these are minor problems when you see how the natives are treated here. But they continue to smile, sit down at De Inquisitor and order a beer. They can't stop talking about their charcoal money. Are happy when Ut, one of the village's better known figures, carries written invitations - he is getting married next month, the fourth. So three days of celebration.

And The Inquisitor? He is also happy. Because enough ingredients, collected little by little on his forays into Western things, to make pea soup. Even smoked sausage and a pork leg are ready. Winter food.