Dear Family and Friends,

 Last week I got a notice from the post office. It said I should call a certain number about a package. Telephones are difficult for me in Japanese, especially with recorded messages. But I braced myself and plunged in. The mechanical voice said to punch in the “suiseki bango”. I had no idea what that was. I could neither find it in my dictionary nor see any characters for it on the notice. So, I tried every number. None worked. I started all over again. I got the same humiliating results. What to do?

My neighbor is a good friend, so I dashed over to ask for help. Unfortunately, she was out. But luckily, I saw a delivery truck down the street. I ran to it and poked my head in. Of course, the driver looked rather startled. What could a frantic foreign woman want? But when I said, “Please help me. What is a “suiseki” number?”, he visibly relaxed. Then in a fatherly way, he took the delivery notice, circled the number, and said, “Here, this is what you want. And after you dial it, this is what will happen . . .” Relief flooded through me. I bowed my gratitude and raced back to make my important call.

Another very meaningful experience happened in Sendai Station. I was heading off on a four-day trip. When I travel, I do not worry about appearance so much as practicality. So, my clothes were very bulky, but comfortable. In the station I noticed a woman standing discretely in a corner. She had several bags neatly piled behind her and was eating a cookie. Where had I seen her before? Suddenly I remembered. She attends the Yomawari Group’s meal service for the homeless.

Later when I was on my trip, I discovered to my dismay that my phone cord did not work. That meant no photos, weather, health, or time. Needless to say, I was rather frantic. But the hotel receptionist immediately lent me theirs. The next day I hesitantly asked if I could borrow it, just for my trip. This time the receptionist seemed to be the manager. With a twinkle in his eyes, he said, “Of course, no problem.” To my amazement, he did not ask for a deposit. He simply trusted. 

When I showed up four days later, he had the same somewhat amused twinkle in his eyes. I bowed deeply and said, “Everyday my gratitude to you overflowed.” He smiled again, took the cord, and then turned to help a customer. The matter-of-fact trust he had deeply moved me. Yet, every person I met in Iwate Prefecture had a purity and loveliness that evoked a sense of openness and belief in others. I was one among many.

I traveled in very rural places. That meant many train stations had minimal or no signs. The locals simply knew. One station was so small and unmarked that I thought it was an empty shop. But once again, a lovely man came to my aid. He had Parkinson’s, so he had trouble walking and talking. But even so, with head jerking and eyes rolling, he guided me to the teeny platform, and made sure I got on the only train that passed through. I feel a deep respect and tenderness towards that gentle, caring man even now.

A few days later, when I was back in Morioka, I took a bus to the city museum. We passed the municipal hospital. Coming out of it was an ancient couple, both very stooped over, ever so slowly shuffling to a waiting car. They were holding hands.  That alone was very sweet. But then I noticed the man had tubes up his nose. The wife had a backpack. It held the breathing apparatus attached to the tubes. Why not a wheelchair? Proud Japanese farmers will stand on their own to the very end. I thought of the years and many experiences that had woven this precious couple together, bringing them to this very moment. That image was both beautiful and profound.

I returned home filled with the kindness and positive spirit of so many people. I hope I can live that attitude as my daily life resumes.

Love,

Anne

Dear Family and Friends,

Niigata Prefecture is southwest of Miyagi. It is not far, but it never held my interest enough to consider a visit. However, for the past few months I have been supporting a friend, helping-hoping to keep her travel agency alive. Together she and I decided Niigata was off the beaten track enough to allow for a safe trip. So, I went, armored with my two vaccinations, double masks, a teeny spray jar of alcohol, and the year-long habit of following social distancing.

Niigata is indeed rural. At this time of year, everywhere is green: sharp thanks to paddies, complemented by lush home gardens, and beautifully contrasted with the dark mountains serving as a perfect backdrop or frame for the entire verdant setting. The vast paddies produce Koshihikari rice, famous for feeding locals and Tokyo residents in abundance.

Along with that, there are thermal baths scattered throughout. Spa towns are everywhere, as are free footbaths, which farmers enjoy together, drinking sake and laughing, after a hard day of work.

Besides the ski slopes that attract people from all over the country in winter, there are a few other tourist attractions. Two very old Buddhist temples are particularly famous. They have carvings by Ishikawa Uncho. Saifukuji has an elaborate, rather gaudy ceiling. 

Eirinji is more humble and gracious, probably made when the sculptor was older with years of experience behind him. Photos of either temple were not allowed, so I captured the images from the brochures I received.

What I loved most in the latter was a series of teeny carved monks, not being reverent or pious, but rather showing their delightful humanity. One was scrubbing clothes, another grating a daikon, one was patting a rabbit, another bellowing out songs to his heart’s content, while yet another was falling head over heels in an unexpected tumble.

One town boasted millennium-old metal working.

Another had stunningly handsome weaving, also a well over-1000-year-old tradition. The quality was superb An obi, or kimono sash, could easily cost the equivalent of $20,000.

The food, of course, we outrageously delicious.

But what struck me the most were the people. They live in small communities, need each other, trust each other, help each other. They are open, friendly, curious, and extremely helpful.

The transport system was frustratingly inconvenient, with trains or buses coming very irregularly, most trips requiring several changes, fast running to catch the once-every-two-hour train, and then waiting for 45 minutes or longer in the next village for a connecting train to arrive. It was confusing at best for me, but the locals, from grandmas to young school kids, were eager to get me to where I needed to go.

And aboard, older people would want to chat, sitting across from me for social distance.

Once when I missed a train and had to wait over an hour for the next one, a man laughed and said, “Isn’t this kind of time wonderful? It gives you a chance to reflect and to enjoy the beautiful surroundings.” The station was wooden and small, surrounded by paddies. It was indeed peaceful and graciously stunning.

I had to take a taxi to get to Saifukuji Temple. The driver had marvelously slicked back hair, shiny as if it were lacquered. He had pointed black shoes and a trim suit, despite the relentless heat. He told me everyone there was a farmer, including himself. He reassured me many in the younger generation were choosing to stay on the land, rather than flock to cities. Later I found a flyer, “Know the Future”, praising the work of farmers. I was relieved to know that essential tradition was proud and continuing.

Other people either drew or printed out maps so I could find my way. Some were along very circuitous roads that had once been pathways through paddies. 

One bus driver even got off the bus when he saw me at a stop and asked where I was going. “This is holiday time, so buses are really scarce. Get onto my bus because it is here. I will help you make the connection you need.”

The people are used to very hot summers and bitterly cold winters. It is common for summer temperatures to reach 38º C or higher (over 100º F), as they were when I was there. 

But you could tell winters were fierce because roads were lined with high poles to mark their location when snows became exceedingly deep.

After a rain, a grandmother said to me, “Today’s cool weather is such a welcomed break. It is only 34º today. What a relief!” I laughed and agreed. In fact, when I got back to unusually-hot-for-Sendai’s 28º, it almost felt chilly.

My final stop was back in urban Niigata City to a kite museum. It was an hour bus ride out, then an hour’s walk along horrendous major highways, with trucks, buses, cars, and motorcycles roaring past. Of course, it was made of infernal blacktop, and bordered by huge parking lots, shopping malls, and chain stores. There was even a kitch golden Buddha with two cute stone owls. What a shock anytime, but much more so after the few days I had just spent. 

But the museum was superb, so I was glad to have made the effort to get there.

Before heading back along the hell that had brought me there, I sat down to munch on a rice ball. While there, one of the museum staff stepped outside and politely came to chat. “We don’t get foreigners here much. So, it is a privilege and very exciting having you here. Thank you for coming, especially since it took so much effort. That means a lot to us.” I smiled and said I was the one who should thank them. My stay in Niigata had been wonderful.

My four days there reassured me that the world has tremendous potential for living in harmony with nature, for human kindness, openness, and trust. Surely, we humans can be larger, deeper, and more thoughtful than what many of us in recent years have come to expect.

Love,                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Anne