I love writing and design. To me, writing and design are deeply entwined. We live in narrative—verbal and visual—and we learn through stories. As designer and writer, understanding people’s needs, desires, and cares is rooted in storytelling. Just as communication is at the heart of design, narrative is at the heart of communication.
Written 2010 © Jeanette Leagh
Market Day Crossing
Market day happens twice a month. It begins early in the morning with farmers, tailors, and acrobats descending on the city center’s main dirt road. Donkeys and mules dutifully haul in wooden wagons of fresh produce and dry goods. The entertainers and their trained horses from the traveling circus claim an area separate from the shop stalls. Root vegetables, dried bean curd skin, steaming homemade buns, baskets full of eggs, embroidered clothing, hand-stitched fabric shoes, cotton quilts, and buckwheat pillows soon cover the dusty ground in anticipation of shoppers from nearby villages to arrive.
Five year–old Jiang and his uncle are heading to market day more for the spectacle of the occasion than for shopping needs. Their farming village sits by a river that turns violent—destroying homes and killing unlucky bystanders—with the summer rain and thins to a layer of ice during the winter freeze. It’s autumn and the river is calm. But Jiang, unable to swim and having witnessed storm casualties rush down-river during a summer flood, sits obediently in the ten–person row boat during the river–crossing. A man from the Chang village, simply known as The Swimmer, steers the course with a long wooden stick. Jiang grips the edges of the creaky, wooden boat, anxious to reach the other shore.
Fall Harvest
Jiang is from DongLiPu, which literally translates to Eastern Li Hut. The peasants who live in this village are descendants of the Li patriarch, a man whose wealth rested on the crops harvested on his land. Li gradually gave his land away as his clan grew. Eventually, the land was divided further among new clans that settled nearby. For many years, there was no clear division of property; everyone understood where their land ended and a relative’s began. Today, DongLiPu is one of four villages that collectively farm the land: peanuts for oil, corn and sweet potato for food, hemp for weaving, and white mulberry trees for silkworm cultivation.
Fall is harvest season, and the chores for young children are plentiful. Some chores offer a sliver entertainment and competitive fun, like peanut–scavenging. Peanut plants grow in clusters underneath sandy soil. Once they are pulled from the earth, they’re placed in the village square, where a donkey pulls a stone roller over the plants to release the shelled peanuts from the rest of the plant cluster. A long rake combs through to collect the peanuts, leaving behind large mounds of dirt and roots. Jiang, along with other children, quickly dives into the mounds to salvage peanuts missed in the rake-through. Jiang excitedly digs deeper than the others, and is soon tunneling close the bottom of the pile. Part of the mound collapses on Jiang. He calls out in panic and desperately squirms back to the surface, where the other children are fighting over who has found the most peanuts. After catching his breath, a proud grin replaces Jiang’s fear from moments earlier. He is the winner.
Village School
At five and a half, Jiang is the youngest and smallest in a first grade class of seven and eight year–olds. He also is the smartest, and will soon become the teacher’s favorite. Jiang isn’t supposed to be in school yet. But with a mother who is eager to keep her mischievous son out of trouble and an uncle who is friends with the principal, Jiang finds himself in a makeshift seat at the teacher’s desk. The intimate proximity forces Jiang to pay attention for fear of punishment, but he also unwittingly receives a spit shower while his teacher lectures. The students must sit up straight on their rickety two–person wooden benches, resting their slim schoolbooks on mud brick desks. Their hands fold neatly behind their backs. Unable to raise his hand to dry off his face, Jiang must endure the daily rain of spit during his first year of school. Later, as a teenager, Jiang would be teased for the freckles that sprinkle his face. Friends would taunt him with the folklore that freckles result from being spat on—something Jiang won’t deny and instead confirms.
•••
The farm fields, the schoolhouse, and the nearby villages make up young Jiang’s world. His grandma warns him with harsh words not to enter the woods behind their home. There are ghosts there. People die there. Jiang doesn’t yet know the earth is round, and often dreams of walking to the end of the world for a peek. The farthest Jiang has traveled is to the town where market day takes place. There lies a formidable citadel, a reminder of dynasties past and a sight of curious wonder for five year–old Jiang. He wants to venture beyond the city walls but is still too young and afraid, for now, to do so.