From the Heart of Japan to the Hills of Wazuka
A visit to Jack's Farm — and the beginning of something real.
The journey began the way most good ones do — through noise, before arriving at something quiet.
Through the hustle and bustle of Japan's beating heart, I made my way to Uji, a small town just outside of Kyoto. If you don't know Uji, know this: it is the heart of matcha. You feel it the moment you arrive. I strolled its paths with a typhoon approaching, a dark gloom pressing down on the sky, and yet there was something deeply calm about it. The sound of the rain. The beauty pressing in from every direction. Busy, yes — but in the way nature is busy. Full of life, not noise.
Walking through the streets, you are immersed in tea culture quickly and completely. Stalls invite you to taste, to pause, to compare. And as you move from cup to cup, you notice something in the faces of the people who serve you — a love that runs deep. This isn't hospitality. It's devotion.
I hailed a taxi and, with the help of technology bridging the language gap, began the journey to Wazuka. A place of rolling hills and an abundance of tea fields stretching as far as you can follow them. The ride was silent but I was anything but still — every corner, every turn brought a new view that stopped your breath before giving it back. Quietly stunning.
I arrived at the meeting spot — a Lawson convenience store. Even here, they had a dedicated section for tea. It is that deep within their soul.
While I waited, I watched a worker on the farm nearby. Methodical. Unhurried. Moving through his tasks with a calm that felt almost ceremonial, even with a typhoon on the horizon. There's a lesson in that.
Suarre arrived with a smile and took me on a journey through paths that connect rice fields to tea fields, the landscape shifting like a sentence changing tone. We drove deeper into the forest and the atmosphere changed again — the road rougher now, the bumps beneath the wheels telling the story of every trip before this one. Every batch of tea carried out through this same path. You feel the effort. You understand the sacrifice it takes to make something truly good.
We arrived at the meeting point and waited for Jack. While we did, Suarre filled the air with knowledge — sharing the story of the farm, of the choice to go natural, to let the environment lead. Not to push the land, but to listen to it. Give back to the soil and the soil will give back to you. It's a philosophy that resonates deeply with what Adventcha stands for.
Then Jack arrived. Contagious smile. Clear eyes. A man who has found his place in the world and built something real within it.
We drove further into the forest and settled in as the rain set in around us. And what followed were a few hours I won't forget easily. The birds still chirping. The rain falling on tea leaves. Jack talking about where this all started — working fields in his home country for three years before deciding he wanted something more than conventional. No fertilisers. No shortcuts. Nothing assisted unless it was natural.
"Let the environment do its thing and it will give back what it gives back."
As we moved through the tea fields, Jack shared the full story of the process — from first leaf to final cup. He spoke about his daughter picking by hand, the family woven into every step of what they create. You could hear the pride in it. Not performed — just real.
There were moments of silence between the stories. But they weren't awkward. They were earned. The kind of silence that only exists when people understand each other.
Jack shared his dreams for the farm — where he sees it going, what it could become. And watching his eyes as he spoke, you had no doubt those dreams will come true. Even AI believes in them. Side note: he had AI generate an image of his dream matcha-making space — a vision so clear it had already found a form.
The stories kept flowing. I could have set up a hammock and stayed through nightfall.
But the day was getting darker, and it was time to say our see-ya-laters.
True to his nature, Jack didn't take the quick road back to Uji. He took the mountain road — off the beaten track, through the hills of Wazuka, talking the whole way about tea, about the land, about why any of this matters. That drive felt like a reason. A reminder of why Adventcha partners with farms that hold strong values and a deep, genuine passion — not just for producing great matcha, but for protecting the environment in the same breath.
There is, I want to say, a sadness woven into this place too. As we sat together, I asked about the tea fields surrounding Jack's — the ones lying still. They spoke about the older generation no longer able to tend them, fields now abandoned, with no one ready to take them on. It lingered. And quietly, one day, perhaps that is a dream for Adventcha too — to be part of bringing those fields back to life.
The journey ended back in Uji. We walked away smiling — no big goodbye, no fanfare. Just two people who understood each other a little better than before.
And this, as they say, is only the beginning of the journey with Jack's farm.
The Beginning of Something Real
