Walking Amid Michelin Green Guide Star-Winning Beauty

I recently had the privilege of climbing Mount Haguro in northeastern Japan. The forest walk has been given 3 stars by the Michelin Green Guide, and it did not disappoint. Please allow me to share my journey with you.

Background

Mount Haguro is one of three sacred mountains known as the Dewa Sanzan, 出羽三山, meaning the three mountains of Dewa — the old name for Yamagata and Akita Prefectures. Climbing these mountains has been considered a pilgrimage of spiritual rebirth for centuries.

Each mountain in the Dewa Sanzan represents an aspect of cosmic time that pilgrims face. Mount Gassan is where we ask forgiveness for past wrongs and encounter our ancestors. Mount Haguro is where we overcome the troubles of the present world. And Mount Yudono is where we confront our future selves.

A little history

In the 6th century, Prince Hachiko, the son of the 32nd emperor of Japan, left the capital in Nara. His father, Emperor Sushin, had been assassinated, and his cousin, the influential and powerful Shotoku Taishi, advised him that discretion was the better part of valor. Hachiko accepted this advice and, difficult though it must have been, quietly left the capital.

Legend tells us that Hachiko then traveled the country, healing those wherever he went by magically absorbing their sufferings. The more hardships he took upon himself, the more disfigured he became. Yet Prince Hachiko, without concern for his earthly appearance, kept on.

Eventually, he was led to Mount Haguro by a three-legged crow. 

In a quintessential mix of Buddhism and Shinto, Prince Hachiko set up a monastery to practice Buddhism and to worship the Shinto kami of the three mountains. There he remained, teaching and healing, until his death in 641.

From the time Buddhism reached Japan in the 6th century, there was a peaceful syncretism of Buddhism with Shinto. Buddhist gods were considered manifestations of Shinto kami, and many temples and shrines shared the same grounds — some buildings even served as both Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines.

In 1868, as a means of weakening the wealth and power of Buddhist sects and to bring greater respect to the authority of the newly installed Emperor Meiji, himself a Shinto god, the government ordered the division of Buddhism and Shintoism. Temples, statues, bells, and sutras were destroyed in a frenzy of attack by Shinto nationalists. Many Buddhist priests were forced to leave the priesthood; others chose to become Shinto priests.

From that time, Buddhist images were removed from Mount Haguro. 

Climbing Mount Haguro

After consulting bus and train schedules, I took an 8:22 train from Niigata City and reached the charming city of Tsuruoka, in Yamagata Prefecture, in plenty of time to catch the 10:41 bus. The next bus was 90 minutes later, so careful planning was essential.

I had a pleasant ride past beautiful countryside with the awesome snow-covered Mount Chokai to the north providing the backdrop. After about 40 minutes, the bus drove through an enormous torii gate, along a narrow road fronting Shukubo shrine lodgings, and arrived at the foot of Mount Haguro.

My lodging for the night was easy to find.

I rang the bell at the shrine where I was going to stay and dropped off my bag. The innkeeper, the Shinto priest’s wife, visibly relaxed when she realized that the foreigner staying with her that night could speak Japanese. I thanked her for keeping my suitcase, bid her goodbye, and headed to the hiking trail.

It was 11:30 and the weather was glorious.

I bowed and passed under the torii gate, symbolizing my entry into the sacred realm of Mount Haguro, a Shinto kami. Then I approached the next gate.

The vermillion Zuishinmon Gate was previously guarded by two Buddhist Nio warriors and had been called the Niomon Gate. These statues were moved to safety and hidden during the anti-Buddhist frenzy. Today, they can be viewed at the Shozen-in Temple, a 15-minute walk from their former home. 

This gate marks the beginning of the 2,446 stone steps that lead to the summit.

In 1648, the 50th chief priest of the Dewa Sanzan, Tenyu Betto, laid the thousands of stones that lead from the vermillion gate to the mountaintop Sanjin Gosaiden shrine. It took him 13 years. Along the way, he carved 33 different Buddhist symbols into the stones. If you can find them all, it is said your prayers will assuredly be answered.

I think I found a few.

The path first leads downhill to a group of simple wooden shrines.

Then it takes us across the red, arched Shinkyo Bridge that had marked the border across which no women could pass until the 19th-century changes. To the right is the 400-year-old, man-made Suga-no-Taki waterfall, also credited to Tenyu Betto.

Soon, I meet the 1,000-year-old cedar tree affectionately called Jiji-sugi, or “Grandfather Cedar.” This majestic tree stands near the 600-year-old Go-jū-no-toh, or Five-Story Pagoda. This amazing work of architecture was originally built by none other than Taira no Masakado in the 930s. You may remember Masakado as one of Japan’s Three Most Infamous Vengeful Ghosts. 

The Go-jū-no-toh was built without using any nails. It features a large earthquake-resistant pendulum in the center which allows the building to gently and loosely sway like a snake during tremors. Its design has inspired modern techniques for constructing earthquake-proof buildings and towers, such as the 634 meter Tokyo Sky Tree. 

The current pagoda dates from 1372 when it was rebuilt by Daihoji Masauji, the chief priest of Mount Haguro. It is all that remains of a temple complex that surrounded it until the 1870s when the buildings were destroyed. Fortunately for us, the Go-jū-no-toh was rechristened as a Shinto shrine before then.

As Yamagata is deep in Japan’s snow country, each winter workers climb up inside the pagoda to sweep off the snow that accumulates on the roofs. 

After taking time to admire these awe-inspiring sights, I head up the long staircase sided by hundreds of 400-year-old cryptomeria cedar trees.

Walking through this beautiful forest, filled with the fragrance of cedar trees and joyous birdsong, I cannot think of a nicer way to spend a day.

I pass many small wooden shrines, then come upon unusual trees wrapped in a shimenawa rope, signifying that they are sacred. 

Originally two trees, through the years they reached out to each other and are now collectively known as Meoto-sugi, “The Couple Tree.” A wooden sign nearby tells us that those who hug this tree will be blessed with children.

There are three slopes along this path, each marked by a stone monument, and I have reached the third. 

I pass a shrine dedicated to the kami, Haniya-Hime no Mikoto, who was created from the feces of the creator goddess, Izanami-no-Mikoto. (I’m not making this up.) Those looking for the divine blessing of lasting relationships come here to pray.

Soon, I reach the top of the mountain, welcomed by another torii gate.

Exploring the mountaintop

I’ve climbed the 2,445 stone steps that lead from the Zuishinmon Gate to the 414 meter-high summit of Mount Haguro. I bow and enter the grounds where all three deities of the Dewa Sanzan are enshrined.

The first thing that catches my eye is a magnificent wooden shrine, a marvel of craftsmanship. It is the Itsukushima Shrine dedicated to the three deities of Munakata (in Fukuoka), and was once shared with Benzaiten, their Buddhist equivalent. These deities are incarnations of the god of water and all that flows, and they are crucial to this island nation as providers of the bounties from the sea. 

Among myriad intricate carvings are two dragons, one adorning each front pillar. Unlike the Western concept of dragons, these are helpful and wingless creatures. One is climbing up the pillar, symbolizing our struggles to attain Buddhahood through the continuous cycle of birth, death, and rebirth.

The other dragon descends, signifying its intention to come to earth and help aid the salvation of all living things.

No one knows when this building was constructed.

I pass the shrine to Prince Hachiko, then go up a few steps to pay my respects at the Sanjin-Gosaiden Shrine. This striking cedar structure was built in 1818, and it has an impressive 2.1 meter thick thatched roof, the thickest in Japan.

The gods of each of the Dewa Sanzan — Mount Haguro, Mount Gassan, and Mount Yudono — are enshrined within. This is the only mountaintop accessible all year round, so pilgrims can pay homage to all three deities here.

In front of the shrine is a pond called Kagami-ike, Mirror Pond. Although it beautifully reflects the shrine, this is not the source of its name.

In the early 20th century, the pond was drained. Over 600 ornate, bronze mirrors were recovered from its muddy bottom. Worshippers are thought to have used the mirrors as vehicles for their prayers and tossed them into the pond. Today, those mirrors have traveled as far as the British Museum and the Smithsonian Institute. Nearly 200 are on display in the nearby Dewa Sanzan Historical Museum, which, unfortunately, was closed when I visited.

Beside the pond is an ancient bell. As Shinto shrines do not usually have bells, this one is clearly a remnant of the days when Buddhism flourished in Dewa Sanzan.

The bronze bell weighs 10 tons, the 3rd largest in Japan. It was donated by the regent Hojo Tokimune as thanks for prayers offered for victory during the Mongol invasions of 1274 and 1281.

The thatched roof belfry was built in 1617, replacing the former structure that was destroyed during a typhoon.

This bell is rung only once a year, on December 31. Imagine the reverberations that echo across the mountains.

Among the other shrines on the mountaintop is Tōshō Shrine, dedicated to the deified first shogun of the Edo era, Tokugawa Ieyasu.

Another is the Reisaiden, a shrine built to house ancestral spirits. There is a spectacular painting of a dragon on the ceiling of its entranceway and a collection of Buddhist sculptural masterpieces in the building beside it. No photography is allowed.

Beside Reisaiden is a small cemetery with some unusual clothed gravestones.

Along the east side of the mountaintop, sits a row of small shrines. One of these stood out because of its collection of footwear. It is the Kensumimi Shrine, dedicated to Kamo-Taketsu-Numi no Mikoto, who, according to legend, is the kami who was incarnated as the three-legged crow.

People visit the shrine and offer footwear imbued with prayers for safe travels and healing and strength for their legs.

The climb down

After paying my respects at the modest imperial grave of Prince Hachiko, I head back to the torii gate to begin my descent.

Along the way is a sign tempting me to explore the Minami-Dani, which means southern valley. Despite the “Watch out for Bears” sign, I brave the unused trail. About 500 meters into the woods I come to a clearing that once held a temple where the great poet, Matsuo Basho, stayed while on his famous “Narrow Road to the Deep North” poetic journey in the 17th century.

There was not much left of the pond or the gazebo, but the walk is beautiful.

Back on the main path, I come across construction at a tea house. I peek into the grounds before one of the workers kindly tells me he would “appreciate me not entering.” I see enough to know that the rebuilt tea house will afford a fantastic view of the vast Shonai plains below.

Shukubo shrine stay

The innkeeper greets me at the door of the shrine lodging and shows me to my room. It is a huge 12 mat room, twice the size of a typical single room.

“Wow, this room is huge!” This is an unexpected surprise.

“You’re a foreigner, so I thought you would like a big room.”

I do!

She takes me down the hall to show me the shared bath and toilets, then back to show me the small room where my meals would be served. We agree on a 6:00 dinner, and she leaves me to wash up and relax.

Innkeepers in Japan prefer to serve dinner early, as the meals are rather elaborate, and they appreciate having plenty of time to clean up before they go to bed.

I bathe, put on the yukata robe the innkeeper provided, and before I know it, dinner is served.

It’s a feast of wild mountain vegetables and various types of tofu, including a house specialty, sesame tofu. This type of cuisine was developed in the Kamakura era by Zen monks and is called shojin-ryori.

Although Dewa Sanzan became Shinto in 1869, shojin-ryori continued to be served and adapted. Enjoying shojin-ryori is an important part of any visit to the Dewa Sanzan.

After a peaceful sleep in that quiet room between comfortable and warm futons, I wake up refreshed.

I again visit the Jiji-sugi “Grandfather Cedar” and the Go-jū-no-toh. I see many people cleaning, and learn that the mountain is cleaned one day each year.

I visit the two shrines between my inn and the Zuishinmon Gate. One is called the Tenchikon Shrine. This iteration was built in 1779 and is decorated with remarkable carvings.

The other shrine is dedicated to “The Tofu Jizō.”

With a name like that, it had to have an interesting backstory.

Before the late 19th century, this Jizō statue held pride of place on temple grounds, bringing prosperity to the worshippers on Mount Haguro and protecting pilgrims.

Sadly, when its temple compound was destroyed, this Jizō statue was cast into a ravine and forgotten.

Many years later, a mason was searching the forest for stone. He came upon the Jizō and mistook it for mere smooth stone. It seemed to him a perfect find to fashion into a stone used in making tofu. It was his lucky day — or so he thought.

The moment he struck the stone, he fell over unconscious. For three days and three nights he lay in a stupor, his mind filled with dreams.

In his dreams, Jizō appeared to him and warned him to repent of his disrespect.

When he awoke, repent, he did!

He moved the Jizō to its current position near the Zuishinmon Gate, built a shrine for him, and gave him the name “Tofu Jizō.” Today, people visit this Jizō to pray for long life, safe childbirth, and for help in raising children.

I go next door to the inn and partake of a wonderful shojin-ryori breakfast. I notice one of the dishes is a triangular chimaki, a type of rice dumpling wrapped and cooked in bamboo leaves and topped with soybean powder. It is a popular dish served on Children’s Day and one of my favorites.

After this delicious meal, I bid farewell to the kind innkeeper.

My time at Mount Haguro is up. I catch the 9:18 bus to Tsuruoka Town, satisfied after a perfect stay and looking forward to new adventures.

Mount Haguro embodies many of the reasons I write about rural Japan. Though off the beaten path, it truly is a treasure trove of culture and beauty for those who take the time to visit.

For what it’s like to stay at a Buddhist Temple, please see my article, “Shukubō — Tranquil Temple Stay in Japan.”

The post Mount Haguro—Experiencing its Rustic Magnificence first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

The only double-helix wooden structure in the world

Nestled on a hillside overlooking the small city of Aizuwakamatsu in Fukushima Prefecture is an extraordinary shrine. Constructed in 1796, this architectural marvel bears the official name Entsu Sansōdō, 円通三匝堂, which translates to “the temple of three turns around.”

Above the entrance of this entirely wooden structure, an intricately carved dark wood lintel showcases two lighter-colored dragons entwined as protectors of this sacred space. But that remarkable sight pales in comparison to the building itself.

Sazaedō’s Unique architecture

Upon entering the building, visitors turn left and begin an uphill climb. The interior reveals a continuous ramp winding its way up, before passing over an arched bridge, and then descending back down. This unique double-helix design earned the shrine its popular name, Sazaedō. Sazae means spiral turban shell, and dō refers to temple or shrine.

The windows and eaves follow the incline of the ramps, tracing the spiraling path upwards and downwards. The sloping walkway maintains an unbroken course without any overlaps.

Remarkably, Sazaedō’s design did not come from the genius of an architect but rather from the ingenuity of the head priest of the nearby Shōsōji Temple, Ikudō, whose statue graces the entrance of the shrine. 

The exact source of his inspiration remains a mystery. Yet, it is believed that renewed access to Western books in 1720, thanks to Tokugawa Yoshimune lifting a long-standing ban, provided Ikudō with valuable scientific knowledge that likely influenced his design. Some speculate that he may have seen drawings of Leonardo da Vinci’s double-helix staircase at Château de Chambord in France, but there is no way to know.

One-stop pilgrimage

Sazaedō was built at a time when pilgrims undertook journeys across western Japan to visit 33 temples dedicated to Kannon, the Buddhist goddess of mercy. These pilgrimages required a significant investment in time and money. Nevertheless, people were driven by their piety to visit all the temples, offering prayers and purchasing protective amulets at each one. Sazaedō offered a revolutionary alternative.

Within its walls, all 33 Kannon statues were placed in alcoves along Sazaedō’s one-way spiral hallway, condensing the entire pilgrimage into one temple. This innovative idea made Sazaedō immensely popular, transforming it into a convenient one-stop pilgrimage destination. The success of this design inspired the construction of other spiral temples throughout Japan, although none rivaled the impressive three stories of Sazaedō.

Its official name, Entsu Sansōdō, not only alludes to its “three turns around” design but also refers to the Buddhist etiquette of walking three times clockwise around an image of the Buddha, a practice observed by all pilgrims who visit Sazaedō.

The building’s ceiling and interior walls are covered with thousands of paper stickers called senjafuda, which pilgrims used to affix to mark their visit to shrines and temples. These stickers typically display the person’s name and sometimes their place of residence. The multitude of senjafuda in Sazaedō provides a window into bygone days when visiting temples was not only a spiritual endeavor but also a popular recreational activity.

In 1868, the Meiji government ordered the separation of Buddhism and Shinto. This decree triggered the widespread destruction of Buddhist temples and statuary. During this difficult time, the 33 Kannon statues were removed from Sazaedō, and the building was redefined as a Shinto shrine.

Today, Sazaedō stands as a testament to its rich history and remains the only double-helix wooden structure in the world. Instead of statues of Kannon, the alcoves hold illustrations of moral teachings compiled by Matsudaira Katataka, the 8th lord of the Aizu clan, who ruled the area during the first half of the 19th century.

Although Aizuwakamatsu is quite far off the beaten track, it’s well worth a visit to see the amazing Sazaedō for yourself.

And while you are there, take a moment to visit the nearby shrine to the young samurai who committed seppuku, ritual suicide, during the close of the Boshin civil war in 1868.

References:

http://www.sazaedo.jp/, 朝日新聞1972年11月20日, signs.

The post Sazaedō—The Strikingly Unique Spiral Temple of Aizu, Japan first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

How are the mighty fallen!

Fujiwara Hirotsugu was a member of the powerful Fujiwara clan. This family influenced and manipulated emperors from behind the scenes for over three centuries during the Nara and Heian eras (710-1185).

Background on the insurrection

Starting in the 7th century, Japan’s imperial court sent missions to Chang’an, the capital of Tang Dynasty China, to import information and technology. In 717, among the scholars sent to China were Kibi no Makibi and the monk, Genbō. These two men spent 17 years in Chinese libraries and at the feet of sages.

When Genbō returned, he brought with him sutras and esoteric Buddhist texts. He soon found himself in the exalted position of abbot of the Fujiwara family’s tutelary temple, Kōfukuji, which still stands in Nara.

Kibi no Makibi brought back a wide variety of knowledge — academic texts, particularly those dealing with mathematics and astronomy, fine embroidery techniques, and even the game of goh. Several years later, he went back to China for further study. When he returned to Japan, this exceptional man was advanced to the third highest position in the country, the Minister of the Right.

In 735, a smallpox epidemic broke out in Kyushu and spread northeast, eventually killing one-third of the population. By 737, the epidemic reached Heijō-kyō, the capital (Nara City), causing death and terror among the aristocracy. Emperor Shōmu was spared, but ten top officials died, including the “Fujiwara Four” — Umakai, Maro, Muchimaro, and Fusasaki. Their deaths dealt a serious blow to the Fujiwara clan.

Perhaps because of this weakening of Fujiwara influence, Emperor Shōmu had Umakai’s son, Fujiwara Hirotsugu, demoted from his position as governor of the central Yamato Province and sent to be vice-governor of Dazaifu in 739. Although Dazaifu was considered the Western Capital, being banished to what Nara aristocrats thought of as an unsophisticated rural backwater on the island of Kyushu was not something anyone wished for.

Fujiwara Hirotsugu felt a great injustice had been done. He found scapegoats in Genbō and Kibi no Makibi, whom he railed against, blaming them for the epidemic, the corruption, and the general discontent in the capital.

Hirotsugu remonstrated the court, “The failures of recent policies have brought on catastrophes of heaven and earth.” He demanded that Genbō and Kibi no Makibi be dismissed.

Four days after the court received his letter, Hirotsugu declared himself in rebellion.

Fujiwara Hirotsugu’s rebellion, 藤原広嗣の乱

Life was hard for the people of Kyushu. The smallpox epidemic, years of drought, and bad harvests had made daily life miserable. The government’s response to their hardships was not to send aid but to commission a large-scale temple-building project to appease the gods. Peasants could not afford the taxes or the servitude required for temple construction.

Farmers, local district chiefs, and members of the already disgruntled Hayato minority joined Hirotsugu in rebellion. He also appealed for the support of the Korean Kingdom of Silla. Using his official position at Dazaifu, Hirotsugu soon raised a force numbering 15,000.

Emperor Shōmu was concerned not only about Hirotsugu but also about Silla’s possible involvement and its repercussions. He was eager to suppress this rebellion, but it would take time to assemble troops. All draftees had been released from the imperial military the year before due to the smallpox epidemic.

While waiting for his troops to be gathered, the newly appointed Tai-Shogun, Ono no Azumabito, sent 24 Hayato warriors from the capital to do reconnaissance in Kyushu. These men were from southern Kyushu, but as part of their taxation, each adult male was required to stay and work in the capital for six years. Unlike the people in the Yamato area, these “barbarians” were of a different ethnic and language group.

Azumabito’s army also recruited elite mounted archers from across the island of Honshu, weighing the advantage heavily in the government’s favor.

Before leaving Nara with his newly recruited army of 17,000, Azumabito was ordered to pray to Hachiman, the Shinto protector of warriors. A messenger was sent to make offerings at the Ise Shrine, and Emperor Shōmu ordered that seven-foot tall statues of the Buddhist bodhisattva, Kannon, the deity of mercy, be cast and sutras copied and read in all provinces.

Fujiwara Hirotsugu’s battles in Kyushu

Hirotsugu’s rebellion seemed doomed from the start. One of his armies did not show up for the first battle. Another was late. Hirotsugu was defeated.

He regrouped and organized another attack on Azumabito’s forces. Despite having used his position in Dazaifu to recruit armies from across Kyushu, his forces had difficulty remaining loyal.

To make matters worse, Emperor Shōmu sent a decree to the officials and the general populace of Kyushu, promising a reward to the person who could bring him Hirotsugu’s severed head.

Only a few weeks after his first battle, Hirotsugu was down to 10,000 horsemen. They faced off with 6,000 of the government’s forces at the Itabitsu River in northern Kyushu. Hirotsugu ordered his advance guards, made up of Hayato warriors, to build a raft and cross the river.

On the other side, Azumabito ordered his Hayato warriors to tell Hirotsugu’s Hayato to surrender. The armies heard them call across the river, yet only the Hayato could understand.

Then Azumabito hailed Hirotsugu again and again — ten times. Nonplussed, Hirotsugu rode to the riverside and called, “I hear someone from the court has come.” 

“That’s me,” answered Azumabito.

Hirotsugu dismounted, bowed, and said, “I have nothing against the court. I just beg the emperor to punish those troublemakers Kibi no Makibi and Genbō. If I oppose the throne, the gods of heaven will punish me.”

“If that be the case, why have you raised an army and come to fight us?”

With no words, Hirotsugu mounted his horse, turned, and rode back to his troops.

Hearing this conversation, three of Hirotsugu’s Hayato leaped into the river and fled to the government side. Azumabito’s Hayato pulled them out of the water. When the rest of Hirotsugu’s Hayato saw this, they, along with ten mounted soldiers, crossed the river and surrendered.

Having been Hirotsugu’s advance troop, the knowledgeable Hayato betrayed his strategies and plans to Azumabito.

At the next battle, Hirotsugu was soundly defeated. 

Escape and dishonorable death

Faced with defeat, Hirotsugu escaped across the sea, hoping to find refuge in the Korean Kingdom of Silla. But as he neared an offshore island, a fierce wind arose and prevented further progress. Hirotsugu cried to the heavens, “I am a great and loyal subject. The gods will not desert me. God, calm the winds and waves!”

Saying this, he threw his eki-rei (bell given to high officials) into the sea. The wind and waves only grew more tempestuous. He reversed course, driven by the winds back towards the Goto Islands, off the coast of what is now Nagasaki.

He arrived at the northernmost Goto Island, but instead of comfort and a warm bed, he was captured. His severed head was washed, packed in salt, and presented to the emperor in Nara.

One can only wonder if Hirotsugu remembered his prophetic words as the winds opposed his progress and he soon faced death,

If I oppose the throne, the gods of heaven will punish me.

References:

Heavenly Warriors: The Evolution of Japan’s Military, 500–1300, Kotobank Fujiwara Hirotsugu no Ran, The Literature of Travel in the Japanese Rediscovery of China, 1862-1945, and Professor Nakamura.

The post Fujiwara Hirotsugu’s Rebellion and the Forgotten Role of the Hayato Warriors first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

More than just pretty flowers

I grew up in northern Virginia. Each spring, my mother would wax poetic about the cherry blossoms that bloomed along the Potomac River and Tidal Basin in nearby Washington, DC. She would load me into the car, drive the short distance to the city, and slowly motor past the hundreds of trees. My mother obviously appreciated the blossoms more than I did.

They’re just flowers, I remember thinking.

Many years and thousands of miles from my childhood, I have come to appreciate that cherry blossoms are far more than just pretty flowers.

Sakura, Japanese Cherry Blossoms

For the centuries that Japan used the lunar calendar, until 1872, sakura bloomed just after the start of the new year, signifying new beginnings. Farmers considered the first blossoms a sign to ready their fields for another year of planting and harvesting.

Today in Japan, the arrival of sakura still marks beginnings. The blossoms appear at the end of one school year and the start of the next, and at the time when people start new jobs or transfer from one workplace to another.

Sakura season is a time for sadness at partings and a time to celebrate new beginnings.

The Impermanence of Life

For Japanese, sakura evoke feelings of both joy and pathos. Because the blossoms appear for so short a time and then gracefully fall like snow, they have long been a symbol of the impermanence of life.

Mono no aware is an expression, born over 1,000 years ago, that refers to a feeling of awe and appreciation for the transience of things, of life, and of love. The delicate sakura blossoms are all the more cherished because of the brief time we can see them each year.

Hanami — Cherry Blossom Viewing

Perhaps because of the deep awareness of the fleeting beauty of sakura, there has long been a tradition of hanami, or flower viewing. The aristocracy of the Heian Era (794-1185) would trek up to the mountains outside of Kyoto to reflect on the sublime splendor of the cherry blossoms and write poetry — the very first flower viewing parties.

When the great Heian poets wrote of “flowers,” they were inevitably referring to sakura. The Buddhist priest and poet, Saigyō, wrote in his anthology, 山家集, Sankashū:

Oh, to die

beneath the blossoms

in spring

under a full moon

in the second month.

Saigyō

Saigyō’s prayer must have been heard, as he died on the 16th day of the second month, 1190, at a temple, under a full moon, and, one imagines, under gently falling cherry blossom petals.

From the 17th century, not just aristocrats, but common people flocked to gaze upon the sakura blossoms, much like today.

When the sakura are blooming, friends, families, and coworkers make a point of spending time sitting under the trees, admiring the delicate blossoms, while eating, drinking, and making merry.

There can be competition for choice spots under the cherry blossoms in the big cities. It’s not unusual to see people staking out their territories by laying down blue tarps early in the morning to ensure they get the place they want for their evening party. But in the smaller cities, this is not such a problem.

One doesn’t necessarily need to seek out the “best place” for viewing sakura, as the trees line most rivers in cities and towns and they have pride of place in many parks. What you do need to find out is when the trees will blossom.

Sakura Forecast

So that everyone is aware of the best time to view sakura, weather forecasters in Japan provide maps with predictions on when the blossoms will open, and when the trees will be in full bloom.

It is no surprise that the trees generally begin to bloom in the south, and the “sakura front” slowly moves to the north, ending in Hokkaido, where the trees can bloom as late as May.

Sakura and Music

Just as sakura have been a theme throughout Japanese poetry, so are they in song. The most famous traditional song about cherry blossoms is called, “Sakura, Sakura.” It is perhaps not what one would expect of a springtime song, but its haunting melody beautifully depicts the pathos felt when viewing the ephemeral and delicate blossoms.

Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms,
In the spring sky
As far as one can see.
Are they mist, or are they clouds?
Fragrance fills the air.
Come now, come now,
Let us go and see.

author unknown

Japan has no national flower, but if it were to have one, it would surely be the cherry blossom.

Translation of Saigyō poem and “Sakura, Sakura” by me.

Read about the Japanese appreciation for the beauties of autumn here.

The post Sakura—The Ephemeral Beauty of Japan’s Cherry Blossoms first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

And how Japan retained its writing system after WWII

After World War II, when the Allied Forces under General MacArthur occupied Japan, the country was in dire need of food, infrastructure, and all-round rebuilding. Specialists were brought in to help with every sphere of government, including American officials with expertise in education.

When these officials saw the Japanese writing system, they were dumbfounded by its complexity. Three different alphabets?! How could children learn such a complicated system?

In order to simplify education, a suggestion was put forth to scrap the three writing systems — hiragana, katakana, and kanji — and replace them with one system, the Western alphabet, known as romaji (Roman letters), which had been introduced to Japan in the mid-1800s.

Before drawing up such a plan, first a study needed to be carried out to determine the literacy of the people. If the literacy level were shown to be low, then the Western alphabet would replace the Japanese writing systems in schools.

Working at the Civil Information and Educational Section under the Office of the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces was a noted linguist and scholar, Professor Kindaichi Haruhiko, who was one of those assigned to this difficult task.

He and his colleagues created a test to be administered to 10,000 people randomly chosen from family registers throughout the country. The first portion of the test would be on hiragana, the second on katakana, and the final section would be on newspaper reading and comprehension. Both reading and listening skills would be tested.

Carrying out such a study was a difficult endeavor in war-ravaged Japan, but the test was created, a one-hour time limit agreed upon, and a date was set for the test to be given.

The Old Woman of Odawara

Professor Kindaichi was assigned to a school in Odawara City, just south of Tokyo. An hour before the test was to begin, all the students were present — all except one. He checked to see who was missing. It was an elderly woman whose house in Tokyo had twice burned to the ground during the war. She was now living with relatives in Odawara.

At that time in Japan, non-compliance with authority was not an option in the collective mind, so Professor Kindaichi went to the woman’s house to collect her. When he got there, he found that she was in bed with “a fever.”

Shocked to see the professor at her house, she jumped out of her futon and knelt respectfully before him and pleaded, “Please don’t make me go. If I take this test, I will bring shame to His Majesty the Emperor.” She bowed low, her face rubbing against the tatami mat in abject humility.

Although literacy was relatively high during the Edo Era (1603–1668), compulsory education was not introduced to Japan until the Meiji Era. In 1872, for the first time in Japanese history, all children were required to attend elementary school for at least three years.

The old woman had been born long before 1872 and had never attended school. She could not even write hiragana. She had given up on learning letters, determining to learn to read and write in her next life.

She told the professor, “This is my daughter. Please take her instead of me.”

Professor Kindaichi looked at the daughter, dressed in a lovely kimono, waiting to be called with, the professor recalled, “a gravity of countenance as if she were to be a human sacrifice.”

The professor responded, “No, that cannot be. You were chosen by lot. It’s your lucky day!” He tried to cheer her with his levity, continuing, “You should go buy a lottery ticket, you’re so lucky!”

The old woman made up her mind, “I understand. I will be the one to go.” With a solemn face, she stood up, straightened her kimono, put on her haori embroidered with her family crest, and went with the professor to the school.

Finally, the test could begin.

Across the country the results were surprisingly good. There were few who got every answer correct, but almost no one had failed. The fact that each letter in Japanese has its unique pronunciation makes reading and writing relatively easy. The American officials were surprised and impressed at the results. The plans to replace the writing system were abandoned.

But what of the old woman? How did she manage? The professor felt sorry for her, sure that she had been embarrassed to be among the very few who scored zero. He peeked at her test, and discovered that her name was Hana. Then his face broke into a smile.

During the listening portion of the test, the students had been asked to circle the word for spring, haru, はる, on their test papers. This word included the hiragana “ha” that was in her name, Hana, はな. Of course, she could read her own name! Although everything else on the test was incorrect, she managed to answer that one question and get a score of five points. Certainly, there was no shame in that.

This story was taken from Professor Kindaichi’s book, 日本語新版、下、 金田一春彦、1988

The post The Little-Known Story of the Old Woman of Odawara first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.