Afternoon with Oto-osan

1/25/09

On a sunny afternoon, Oto-osan and I set out on a bicycle trip around Zushi town.

First we headed for lunch at a small ramen shop. The shop was housed in a thin yellow duplex, with floors as large as 2-3 bedrooms back-to-back. The ramen shop area was just large enough to fit a stove, room to stand and cook, a table and four chairs, tightly. Japanese style: no space wasted.

Oto-osan and I waited outside for 40 minutes, before entering. (Later, Oka-asan laughed loud and said that he was crazy for waiting so long for a simple ramen shop, but I didn’t mind. I was with Oto-osan and there was peace.)

As we entered, we were greeted by an old thin man with glasses, a small white cap and a wide smile and his daughter: a roundish woman with glasses, long tied-back hair and an expressionless face. Oto-osan told me that they slept (with possibly other members of the family) on the second floor and used the ramen kitchen to cook their own food. They cooked up some tasty ramen and we ate.

Next we rode onto Nagoye bamboo forest. Such is the place where Oto-osan volunteers once or twice a week.
He told me that the entire forest (about the size of two Olympic sized swimming pools) was in fact one tree, with all roots connected underground. One shoot takes only three months to grow to a full size of almost 50 feet. Preservation work (cutting down old shoots to give room and nutrition for new shoots to grow) greatly extends the life of a forest. For example, there is a forest in Kamakura that has been preserved for over 500 years.

Oto-osan showed me the bamboo club’s workshop, where they take cut-down shoots to make fences and various crafts. He gave me a bamboo cup and we headed out of the forest and up a hill to a sunlit tiered garden.

Once inside the garden, we saw an old blooming plum blossom, or ume, aglow in distant sunlight.
Ume blooms small white, yellow or pink flowers in the winter. As where cherry blossoms, or sakura, are in bloom for one week, ume flowers for one month. Its sweet-smelling flowers attract many kinds of birds and insects.

We asked a gardener for permission and headed over to the relatively large and sprawling ume. We stood in admiration for sometime, when mejiro (a small, roundish and light green jacketed bird with white circles around its eyes and a grey breast) flew to the other side of the tree.

Oto-osan told me that when he was in 4th grade, he caught mejiro with a net and kept it in a bamboo basket for one year. He fed it rice and flowers and let it go with its health.

We sat and watched the green and white contrast glow in the sun, as mejiro jumped from branch to branch, flower to flower, coming closer and closer to Oto-osan and me. It came as close as seven feet, feeding for some time, and then we decided to walk off. When we had walked 20 feet from the tree, mejiro, flew away.

We got back on the bikes and rode into town. First, we stopped at Zushi Plaza, where there was a shodo exhibit. Local calligraphers were displaying there work to the public and congregating.　　
Oto-osan showed two of my recent works to the group. They were surprised that a gaijin, or foreigner, could write with balance. A calligraphy teacher with radiant brownish eyes and some English conversation ability asked for the work. He said he wanted to inspire his students, displaying how one can rise many levels in six months. By the grace of G-d. May it continue.

We stayed for some time until I realized that it was getting late. The sun was just about to set at Zushi beach!

Oto-osan lead us there. He rode at a frantic pace. I could hardly keep up. We went down a main street, along a river and through some thin side streets and arrived at the beach. I was anxious, but we arrived just in time. The sky was clear and the sun set lined an orange glow just above the horizon.

After, we headed home. Oka-asan, Kaori-san and Asahi were waiting for dinner.

Adventure 14: Takayama

1/2/09-1/4/09This past winter break, I took a trip to Takayama: a town in the Japanese Alps, rife with well preserved history. I went with a friend and we stayed in a hotel for two nights.

We set off on a Friday morning with a five-hour bus ride, passing through mountain lakes and alongside a wide green river. Near Takayama, we took a break at a rest stop deep in snow. The vast whiteness and snow smell brought fond memories of youth. Soon we drove deeper into the mountains and progressively deeper in snow and arrived at Takayama.

We got off the bus in a cloudy flurry, walked around town and made it back to the room an hour before sunset. There we made preparations for Shabbat, lit the candles and made Kiddush over some wine and challah from Rabbi Binyomin.

Shabbat morning we made a large Kiddush meal and set off for a day hike around town. Snow was packed on the ground, trees and buildings and the sky was cloudy. We went through a set of well-preserved old street homes. Their small stature and slick geometric architecture made me feel as if I was in a fairy tale of ancient Japan. Then we climbed a hill, saw a good view of the town and swerved through its thin streets for a long time. Eventually, we found a highland park with castle ruins. The trail up was lonesome and iches deep in snow. As we reached the white and eerily silent ruin grounds, it began to flurry. We stayed sometime in silence in the wondrous winter scene and then returned to the room for Havdallah.

The next day we awoke to fair skies, receding snow and clear views of the surrounding mountains. First we headed to a morning market of trinket booths and food stands. A popular new year’s treat named mitarashi dango (rice boiled and pounded into 3-6 marble-sized balls, coated with a mixture of soy sauce, sugar and spicy peppers, stacked on a chopstick, and then cooked over an open stove) was widely sold and eaten.

After, we headed to Hida no Taka, a village of preserved straw-roofed farm houses and then took a bus to a rotenburo, or outdoor hot spring, amidst cold air and mountain views.

After we took a set of trains and returned home, refreshed.

Matsusaki Family

On December 14th, I moved in with a new family in the town of Zushi (of which I plan to explore and write of in the future). Their name is Matsusaki and the members of the house include a grandfather, grandmother, their eldest daughter, her husband and their four year old son. I live with the grandparents, Oto-osan (father) and Oka-asan (mother) on the first floor and Kaori, Iwahito and Asahi live on the second floor. The inhabitants of each floor have their own entrance, kitchen and laundry and most often live and eat separately.

Oto-osan and Oka-asan also have two more daughters. The elder is married, has two young boys and lives within an hour away. The younger is a world traveler. She married an American and currently lives in England.

Oto-osan and Oka-asan are both retired and enjoy their own hobbies and spending time together. Oto-osan enjoys shodo, exercising and a bamboo club, where he helps preserve local bamboo forests once or twice a week. Oka-asan enjoys learning English, ping pong, and spending time with friends.

Oto-osan has been teaching me shodo nearly every night. He is knowledgeable of the art and “way” of shodo and uses his soft deep voice to teach profound lessons. For instance, last week I had a breakthrough. I made my personal best work with a set of characters that mean: “autumn storage, winter stock.” My initial idea was that I had reached an acceptable level on that set of characters and would move on to something new. To my surprise, Oto-osan insisted that I continue with “autumn storage, winter stock.” I made a few works but none were near the level of my “breakthrough.” Oto-osan stopped me and said, “First inspiration is best. Usually you are against your ability. Go beyond. No limit. This is shodo (writing way).” Such was striking, and broke my haughty complacency. I continued with increased concentration and made better and better pieces throughout the night.

Oka-asan is a great cook and sets a beautiful table with multiple plates. She has many multi-colored eye-catching dish sets and decorates the house with worldly art.

Iwahito, their son-in-law, was a heavy weight Judo champion in his youth. Currently, he works a library. Kaori takes care of Asahi and the house.

The eldest four are very gentle, but Asahi is a little spark plug. He runs around the house, jumping around and laughing loud, and crawls up into his father’s arms and buries his head like a little monkey. Sometimes, Asahi will run down the stairs to greet my return home from work or to say “goodnight.” He is a very smart boy and I hope to teach him a bit of English during my stay in the house.

The room I sleep in is of "traditional style." It has tatami (thatched floors) and shoji (paper windows) that glow in the morning. I continue to fold and put away a futon every morning and take it out every night. In one corner, there is a wall designated for scroll paintings. Each month Oka-asan changes the painting, giving the room a new feel. This month's painting is the above portrait of a small bird sitting on the branch of a plum blossom tree.

Living with the Matsusaki family has been a great blessing and I hope hope for many more happy days together.

Foliage of Japan

The Japanese have a great appreciation for nature, and particularly for the colors of autumn. During this time, the reds, yellows and oranges of the momigi (Japanese maple), ginko and various other deciduous trees set the landscapes and gardens afire.

The momigi is world famous for its hand-shaped leaves and its brilliant hot red color. Its trunk and branches are usually crooked and asymmetrical, but well balanced. Its thin branches wave and shake in the wind, but the leaves hold on until late December. Many leaves clench up like a fist and die on the branch, rather than allow the wind to detach them from their source. Because of their stunning beauty and smallish stature, the Japanese plant them near their homes and throughout their personal and public gardens.

The ginko has pale yellow fan-shaped leaves and grows to the size of an oak. The Japanese often plant them along roadsides and flank them next to momigi (making a striking yellow-red contrast).
My two favorite spots for foliage viewing were a small garden near the Chabad Tokyo house and from atop Takatori Mountain.

I visited the Tokyo garden about twice a Shabbat for five consecutive weeks in November and December, watching the change. I would stroll through and bask in its peaceful atmosphere, taking moments to sit and watch the sun set the momigi leaves aglow. At its entrance were tall ginko, standing like guardians. Past the entrance were 30 feet of rock steps, with momigi running along both sides. Within the garden were stepping stones, over a dozen momigi and a small pond at its center. The still surface of the pond reflected the autumn colors sharper and clearer than a direct view.

Takatori Mountain was an ideal spot for viewing the deciduous trees of the hills of Miura Peninsula. During my lunch hour, I would run up the trail to the lookout tower and pray amidst a sea of orange and green (and the occasional yellow of a ginko).

Now the leaves have fallen, and the clear skies, starry nights and cold breeze of the winter have arrived.