This is where the family fish farming is, in the future rice fields. The atmosphere is good, it's the attraction of the day and it looks like a game.
After an animated discussion, two men with a mischievous smile begin to roll their pants well above the knee and pull on their long underpants. They go up the sleeves of their patched jackets and as they remove their canvas tennis whose life expectancy has been prolonged to total decrepitude; they have brought two baskets braided bottomless. They enter the rice field under the noisy encouragement and exclamations of the public. I do not understand a word of the local language but these two seem to be stars of fishing in the rice field.
Extirpant with each step their feet of clay mud, they move in the basin in search of the bubbles then dry with a sharp blow the trap in the water. Holding it with one hand on the bottom, they search the interior for a trapped fish. Each find is well-received by enthusiastic spectators, even the impassive old pipeman is won over by the excitement of the game. A friendly rivalry links our two mud diggers, they speed up the pace to catch more fish than their accomplice, do not bring them back to the edge but throw them towards the spectators.
Everyone has fun like children. And soon it's fourteen fish that circle in a bucket, a nice catch! The fishermen, tired but happy and congratulated, are finally heading towards the edge, the recreation is over. While everyone casually returns to their occupations, we go back home to prepare some of this fishing for the meal. It's not fresh, my fish?
Liangtiancun, April 2009