Our last visit to Hokkaido was during the early winter. In mid-August it's a completely different place. We landed in Sapporo on the western edge of the island and drove eastwards through the heart of the farmlands. The wheat was already rolled up and drying.
The corn was just about ready to be plucked.
Sunflowers.
Onions.
There were few signs of any large scale farming. Most of the fields were tended by octogenarians, bent over, floppy hats shielding them from the sun. I rarely saw a tractor or any large machinery. Quite often there'd be a solitary figure standing in a field, working by hand.
When it wasn't covered by greenery, the dirt was a rich dark brown, almost black.
This being Hokkaido, the mountains were never that far away. We had to cross them on our way to the eastern shores.
As we climbed in elevation the farms gave way to a thick forest.
There were tsunami escape signs all along the eastern coast road. They pointed out the quickest escape routes in five languages. It's a perfect topography for tsunamis - the cliffs alternate with long valleys perpendicular to the shore.
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