a little help goes a long way
updates from the end of summer in Kamikatsu
Hello reader, thanks for being here! I’m Kana and this is Tending Gardens, which you can read about here. If you like it and want more like it in your inbox, consider subscribing.
I’m no stranger to being a stranger in a new place. I’ve moved a handful of times in the past 10 years so I know that there’s a sort of invisible divide between local and non-local, or for lack of better words: insiders and outsiders. Sometimes the divide is very obvious—through the clothes you wear or the language or accent you speak, and sometimes it’s much more subtle. Feeling accepted as a local is also just that, a feeling. Getting my residence card at the town office was a formality but not an acceptance as a local.
I’m approaching my one year in Kamikatsu and I know that there are a handful of times I’ve felt a part of the community but lately, I’ve been feeling it so much more. I’ve not only felt a sense of acceptance but sincere gratitude for the help I receive on a daily basis.
There was an incident last week that made me realize, wow this is a community that looks out for each other. On a hot, sunny, humid summer morning, I was driving out of my driveway and headed to help the local brewery and their team pick awa bancha (tea) leaves. Before hopping in the car I threw my boots, gloves, and bento into the car and grabbed a towel that I loosely wrapped around my neck. I started driving and a speedy car was coming towards me—in a panic swerved my wheel slightly, but just enough for the wheel front left wheel to fall into the ditch.
Kamikatsu and many other rural parts of the country have very narrow roads. There are also a lot of roads that only fit one car, with occasional spots that curve out just enough so that two cars can pass each other. These roads also have a water channel about a couple of feet wide and deep that’s used to redirect rainwater.
I heard a loud bang the moment the wheel dropped into the ditch and I could feel the bottom of the car hit the concrete. I jumped out of my car and the girl from the speedy car also jumped out—looking flustered she said, ‘wait I’ll get someone’. In literally a minute two men came out of their office. They said a quick good morning then they promptly assessed the situation and ran back into their office to get tools.
The only thing I could do was stare blankly at my car, in such a situation in the city I would only know to call for a tow truck but here were two people who just instinctively started to help me. The men came back out and start to stack wooden blocks under the wheel. As they were knee-deep in the ditch trying to figure out how to get the wheel out, a large truck drove up to my car and stopped. They couldn’t pass me and they noticed the car was stuck. 3 men stepped out and said ‘let’s all lift the wheel’. I sent more blank stares their way… lift the car?!
I was instructed to slowly reverse the car while they pushed the car up from the ditch. It worked, I felt my unbalanced car suddenly regain balance. I rolled down my window and profusely said ‘thank you, the men nodded, smiled shyly and left. The whole ordeal was only 15 minutes. I was shocked and slightly shaking as I drove to the tea fields. All I was thinking about that day was how there was so little hesitation to lend a hand.
A couple of days later, I got a call from a friend in the village. She sounded panicked and she told me her car had stopped working in the middle of driving up a mountain. She asked if I could pick her up and drive her to work. I jumped in my car and went to get her. I realized afterwards that I also helped her without hesitation, not out of selflessness but more because I had this strong feeling that it’s just what we do. And I realized that’s how a community forms—you learn to lean on others and to provide support to them in return.
All this to say: a little help goes a long way and I feel safe because of the generosity and willingness to help from my community, and driving a car in the countryside is an adventure, to say the least.
updates from Kamikatsu
Okay, I’ve been talking a lot about awa bancha. I’ve dedicated a whole post to it if you’re not familiar with this fermented green tea. About a week and a half ago, Linda and I were picking tea we both thought out loud, ‘how incredible would it be if we made our own bancha?’ It had crossed our minds before but it suddenly felt like something we could actually do. We asked a local farmer for his guidance and he lent us his equipment, showed us how to make the tea, and we did it. (We also snagged the title of youngest awa bancha farmers!) More community generosity.
We hustled 10kg of tea leaves in a day and fermented the leaves. The tea leaves are currently sitting in a vat for another week before we dry them, which is the final step before it’s ready. Interested in trying/buying our tea?!
I’ve also come to realize that life is a series of experiments, trials and errors, and slow but steady progress. I’m learning this lesson from trying to do things for myself. A month or so ago I tried to make umeboshi, a Japanese pickled plum. Umeboshi is a century-old superfood known for its intensely sour and salty taste. I made a lot of mistakes like forgetting to add red shiso (akajiso 赤紫蘇) used for natural colouring and I left them to dry for a bit too long (and now they are quite shrivelled up). Ah, (experiments, trials and errors, and slow but steady progress)—I will try again next year!
Summer days are coming to an end in Kamikatsu. Nights are shorter, mornings are cooler, the beetles are making their final cry. Rice is long and stalky, ready to be harvested. I’ve survived a hot and humid, quintessential Japanese summer. It wasn’t as bad as I anticipated, but it also wasn’t fun to live with so many bugs and mould. I’ve had lots of shaved ice (kakigori かき氷), enjoyed many outdoor BBQs, swam in oceans and rivers, and really lived the best parts of summer, but ooooooooh I’m excited about autumn!
On another note, the news around the world has been feeling heavy. Natural disasters, refugees escaping turmoil, setbacks for women’s rights in the US and around the world, and there’s still a pandemic. The traumatic news has no end and it’s sometimes so hard to fight despair. It’s also hard to try to focus on joy because I can’t help but feel guilt. In such times I remind myself that pain and joy can and do coexist.
I read somewhere, “our pain informs our joy”. I hope this week you create space for joy because the human experience wasn’t meant for tragedy and heartache. Take care of the people you love.
Have a beautiful week!
Take care,
Kana
I’d love for you to think of me as your penpal—sharing a note from a tiny village in Japan. With Tending Gardens, I want to bring you a small joy in the form of a newsletter. If you like it and want more like it in your inbox, consider subscribing.
Thank you for sharing these beautiful stories! Your thoughts on how mutual care and support creates a sense of community brought tears to my eyes <3
Your writing is like food for this inari's soul! Might have to find a way to smuggle myself into Japan if things don't open up soon 🤔😉