u/Extreme-Fisherman868

The reason I started hunting was because a local Italian restaurant I often visited served wild game dishes during the winter.

I enjoyed eating meats that I normally never had the chance to try, such as venison, wild boar, bear meat, and duck.

Eventually, I started paying attention to the price of the meat.
Venison was nearly 4,000 yen per 100 grams.

Out of curiosity, I asked the owner where he got the meat.
He told me that he bought it directly from hunters.

I thought to myself:
“If I become a hunter, maybe I can get venison too.”

In Japan, becoming a hunter requires both a hunting license and police permission to own a firearm.

I bought books, searched online, studied, and eventually passed the exams and became a hunter.

I never imagined that I would become a hunter.

Then I entered the mountains and joined a group hunt called makigari, a traditional style of hunting in which hunters work together with hunting dogs.

The animals we harvested together were butchered and divided among the group.

That was when venison finally came into my hands.

Looking back now, even I sometimes think,
“That’s the reason you started hunting?”

But the truth is simple.
I started because I wanted to eat the meat.

However, the world of hunting turned out to be far more fascinating than I had imagined.

Deep in the mountains of Japan, I noticed this bright little thing hiding between moss and old wood.

At first I just thought: “that’s a really cute mushroom.”

It looked a bit like a baby hand reaching out… or maybe a tiny forest monster. Either way, it felt more like a character than a fungus.

From what I could find, it may be a type of coral fungus — a group of fungi that grow in branching shapes, almost like miniature underwater reefs rising out of the forest floor.

Nature keeps making things that feel less designed and more imagined.

Ever since I started renting a small field, I’ve been cutting grass at every change of season 🌱

Honestly, during summer, after hours of work, I can wring sweat out of my T-shirt and it pours like water.

My field is not very large, but when nature grows freely, even a small space can feel endless with only a hand sickle.

Before I realize it, I’ve often spent four hours silently cutting grass.

I’m trying to practice natural farming, so I don’t think cutting everything is right.
But deciding what to leave and what to cut takes time.

One day, as I slid the sickle close to the roots of the grass, countless pill bugs and ants suddenly came rushing out.

I realized I had destroyed their home.

Since then, I’ve often wondered:

What exactly am I doing here?

Humans grow crops in order to live, but in doing so, we destroy the homes — and sometimes the lives — of countless living things.

And if we include microorganisms, perhaps life itself is built upon unimaginable sacrifice.

Yet if I stop cutting the grass entirely, the crops struggle to grow.

When I think about how insects, plants, and microorganisms all live there together, eventually becoming nutrients for the next generation of life, I’m reminded that life exists upon many other lives.

The grass I cut is laid back onto the soil.
Microorganisms break it down, and it slowly returns to the earth again.

Nothing in nature is meaningless.
Everything simply exists for a moment within a larger cycle.

Insects, plants, and humans alike are only passing the baton to the next generation.

While cutting grass, nature keeps reminding me of how simple and clear this world really is.

We cannot live apart from the soil.

And every time I work in the field, I’m reminded that our lives are supported by countless other forms of life and sacrifice.

Nature teaches many things — from cutting grass to the cycle of life itself.

I think we need to recognize that simply being alive already depends on many sacrifices around us.

When people say, “I can live completely on my own,”
perhaps they are overlooking something important.

Life continues through other lives.

Rather than feeling only guilt,
I want to feel gratitude.

Thank you for reading 🙏

Ever since I started renting a small field, I’ve been cutting grass at every change of season 🌱

Honestly, during summer, after hours of work, I can wring sweat out of my T-shirt and it pours like water.

My field is not very large, but when nature grows freely, even a small space can feel endless with only a hand sickle.

Before I realize it, I’ve often spent four hours silently cutting grass.

I’m trying to practice natural farming, so I don’t think cutting everything is right.
But deciding what to leave and what to cut takes time.

One day, as I slid the sickle close to the roots of the grass, countless pill bugs and ants suddenly came rushing out.

I realized I had destroyed their home.

Since then, I’ve often wondered:

What exactly am I doing here?

Humans grow crops in order to live, but in doing so, we destroy the homes — and sometimes the lives — of countless living things.

And if we include microorganisms, perhaps life itself is built upon unimaginable sacrifice.

Yet if I stop cutting the grass entirely, the crops struggle to grow.

When I think about how insects, plants, and microorganisms all live there together, eventually becoming nutrients for the next generation of life, I’m reminded that life exists upon many other lives.

The grass I cut is laid back onto the soil.
Microorganisms break it down, and it slowly returns to the earth again.

Nothing in nature is meaningless.
Everything simply exists for a moment within a larger cycle.

Insects, plants, and humans alike are only passing the baton to the next generation.

While cutting grass, nature keeps reminding me of how simple and clear this world really is.

We cannot live apart from the soil.

And every time I work in the field, I’m reminded that our lives are supported by countless other forms of life and sacrifice.

Nature teaches many things — from cutting grass to the cycle of life itself.

I think we need to recognize that simply being alive already depends on many sacrifices around us.

When people say, “I can live completely on my own,”
perhaps they are overlooking something important.

Life continues through other lives.

Rather than feeling only guilt,
I want to feel gratitude.

Thank you for reading 🙏

This happened many years ago, but while reading a book by the Japanese anatomist Takeshi Yoro, I came across a passage stating, “Humans are part of nature.” It was a real eye-opener for me, because I had always viewed nature and humans as separate entities.
When I observe the lives of plants and insects in the fields, I see them being born into this world, going about their lives, leaving behind offspring, and eventually dying.
I have witnessed firsthand how dead bodies are decomposed by microorganisms and return to the soil.
It may seem obvious, but this is no different from what humans do. When I saw and felt this cycle with my own eyes throughout the year, I realized that humans are indeed part of nature. I am alive because I eat the bounty of nature—nourished by water, light, and microorganisms—that grows on this soil.
When I realized that we humans are also part of this great cycle created by nature, I suddenly felt a weight lift from my shoulders.
Until now, I had been desperately striving for recognition within human society, but I realized that, in the end, we are all the same in that we return to the earth.
We tend to think of nature and man-made objects as separate, but I believe that what humans—who are part of nature—create is also nature.
If we all recognize that we are part of the same nature, perhaps we can seek a way of life that is more in harmony.

What do you think?

This happened many years ago, but while reading a book by the Japanese anatomist Takeshi Yoro, I came across a passage stating, “Humans are part of nature.” It was a real eye-opener for me, because I had always viewed nature and humans as separate entities.
When I observe the lives of plants and insects in the fields, I see them being born into this world, going about their lives, leaving behind offspring, and eventually dying.
I have witnessed firsthand how dead bodies are decomposed by microorganisms and return to the soil.
It may seem obvious, but this is no different from what humans do. When I saw and felt this cycle with my own eyes throughout the year, I realized that humans are indeed part of nature. I am alive because I eat the bounty of nature—nourished by water, light, and microorganisms—that grows on this soil.
When I realized that we humans are also part of this great cycle created by nature, I suddenly felt a weight lift from my shoulders.
Until now, I had been desperately striving for recognition within human society, but I realized that, in the end, we are all the same in that we return to the earth.
We tend to think of nature and man-made objects as separate, but I believe that what humans—who are part of nature—create is also nature.
If we all recognize that we are part of the same nature, perhaps we can seek a way of life that is more in harmony.

What do you think?

This happened many years ago, but while reading a book by the Japanese anatomist Takeshi Yoro, I came across a passage stating, “Humans are part of nature.” It was a real eye-opener for me, because I had always viewed nature and humans as separate entities.
When I observe the lives of plants and insects in the fields, I see them being born into this world, going about their lives, leaving behind offspring, and eventually dying.
I have witnessed firsthand how dead bodies are decomposed by microorganisms and return to the soil.
It may seem obvious, but this is no different from what humans do. When I saw and felt this cycle with my own eyes throughout the year, I realized that humans are indeed part of nature. I am alive because I eat the bounty of nature—nourished by water, light, and microorganisms—that grows on this soil.
When I realized that we humans are also part of this great cycle created by nature, I suddenly felt a weight lift from my shoulders.
Until now, I had been desperately striving for recognition within human society, but I realized that, in the end, we are all the same in that we return to the earth.
We tend to think of nature and man-made objects as separate, but I believe that what humans—who are part of nature—create is also nature.
If we all recognize that we are part of the same nature, perhaps we can seek a way of life that is more in harmony.

What do you think?

Spending a year in the fields reveals the seasons and the cycle of life.
When spring arrives and the soil warms up, we sow seeds in the fields. Crops and grasses begin to grow. Insects and small animals gather there, giving rise to the lives of various creatures.
When summer arrives, the plants grow large leaves in search of light, and a competition for sunlight begins.
Roots push their way through the soil in every direction, and a battle between roots begins underground.
Within that small “forest” of a field, ants, pillbugs, and creatures I’ve never seen before coexist. The sound of cicadas fills the air, and the season arrives when the summer heat feels even more intense. Flowers bloom, and bees gather there in search of nectar, while caterpillars feast on the large leaves, living out their lives in the field. Butterflies flit about the field, and then they die. Their remains return to the soil of the field.
When autumn arrives and the cicadas fall silent, the plants begin preparing to pass on to the next generation. They channel their remaining energy into nourishing their seeds.
Seeds vary widely, from those with hard outer shells for protection to those produced in vast quantities.
Winter arrives, and the exhausted plants lose their moisture and wither away. The once-noisy insects hide away somewhere to survive the cold winter.
And so, everyone waits for the next spring.

Living in the fields, one can observe the full cycle of life.
In Japan, where I live, there are four distinct seasons. The climate changes with each season, and living creatures adapt to these changes as they go about their lives.

They wait for spring, become active in summer, gradually begin preparing for the coming year in autumn, and endure the winter.

Although it is all very fleeting, I find this cycle of spring, summer, autumn, and winter truly wonderful.

I imagine that the Japanese people have long since learned and practiced how to live in harmony with the seasons.

Spending a year in the fields reveals the seasons and the cycle of life.
When spring arrives and the soil warms up, we sow seeds in the fields. Crops and grasses begin to grow. Insects and small animals gather there, giving rise to the lives of various creatures.
When summer arrives, the plants grow large leaves in search of light, and a competition for sunlight begins.
Roots push their way through the soil in every direction, and a battle between roots begins underground.
Within that small “forest” of a field, ants, pillbugs, and creatures I’ve never seen before coexist. The sound of cicadas fills the air, and the season arrives when the summer heat feels even more intense. Flowers bloom, and bees gather there in search of nectar, while caterpillars feast on the large leaves, living out their lives in the field. Butterflies flit about the field, and then they die. Their remains return to the soil of the field.
When autumn arrives and the cicadas fall silent, the plants begin preparing to pass on to the next generation. They channel their remaining energy into nourishing their seeds.
Seeds vary widely, from those with hard outer shells for protection to those produced in vast quantities.
Winter arrives, and the exhausted plants lose their moisture and wither away. The once-noisy insects hide away somewhere to survive the cold winter.
And so, everyone waits for the next spring.

Living in the fields, one can witness the full cycle of life.
In Japan, where I live, there are four distinct seasons. The climate changes with each season, and living creatures adapt to these changes as they go about their lives.

They wait for spring, become active in summer, gradually begin preparing for the coming year in autumn, and endure the winter.

Although it is all very fleeting, I find this cycle of spring, summer, autumn, and winter truly wonderful.

I imagine that the Japanese people have long learned and practiced how to live in harmony with the seasons.

One of my favorite flowers in Japan: Ginryusou (Ghost Pipe).

It doesn’t live like ordinary plants — it takes nutrients from fungi in the forest instead of relying on sunlight.

I almost always find it deep in quiet mountain forests, hidden among moss and fallen leaves.
Every time I see it, it reminds me of the Kodama from Princess Mononoke.

Strange, delicate, and somehow not entirely part of this world.