IT HAD RAINED THE NIGHT BEFORE. We had planned to shoot at a beach near Seminyak, Bali but with the weather, schedules are pretty much just a wish list. But the rain would help with the heat, and the standing water might be a good addition to the set we needed in the countryside, along rice paddies. So we headed inland, to a farm my fixer knew about about.

As the crew unloaded the vans, I did what I do best, wandered. I walked through the fields, towards a silhouette, in the beginning, and a farmer when I got up closer. I walked quietly, not because I was sneaking up on him, but I was trying to be polite. I had a tendency to walk rather loudly, and in boots, and rain puddles, I am less than ninja.

At some point, he stood up and acknowledged my intrusion in his labor with a look. I raised my camera, which is the universal sign for Sir, I am going to take pictures now. I hope you don’t mind. Or it might mean good morning, as the farmer waved back, and returned to his work. After a while, I heard a whistle, and returned to the vans, as our talent was ready, and we were already an hour behind schedule. Along the way back, I took a different path, and came across others working the fields that morning.

I had already heard the phrase the rice won’t cook itself, and i thought about it again, as I watched the methodical, repetitive motions of the farmer - walk a few feet, bend in half, stand. Repeat. So much work, but also, the rice won’t grow itself.