Living in an old Japanese-style house

What i learned after a year in a kominka

Hello friends,

Welcome, June! A new month is a new beginning. There is a joy in turning the calendar page in anticipation of what’s to come.

June is a month of nostalgia. In Canada and many other countries, June is the month of celebrating graduations and the start of summer. It’s when the air feels noticeably warmer, dining outside under hanging patio lights is a common gathering, and the daylight stretches until 8:00 pm. I’ve always loved summer for the carefreeness spirit that the season carries and June feels like the passage to that freedom.

terraced rice fields (one of the paddies is mine!)

June in Kamikatsu is the sound of croaking frogs, little fireflies along the river, and wild grass and weeds everywhere. It’s the realization that the plants and bugs are very much alive. The first of June marks the start of the fishing season for ayu, a sweet river fish that’s very popular in Kamikatsu. Ayu only grows in very clean water and feeds on mossy patches in the streams.

This week I received a generous serving of ayu prepared in two ways: sashimi with a yuzu vinegar and a slice of pickled ginger and cooked ayu prepared over a charcoal fire with a light salt rub. I was also gifted a heaping box of corn a handful of onions and tiny bulbs of garlic.

Old Japanese-style home

A year ago, I moved into my (now) home—an old Japanese-style house known as a kominka. I wrote about it in a post in May 2021, and now feels like a lovely moment to pause, reflect, and share what I’ve learned over the past year.

I definitely moved into the kominka with rose-tinted glasses, imagining an idyllic farm life—living in a traditional Japanese home, tending to my new pets (two dogs and four chickens), and enjoying all the open space in the garden. But reality set in quickly, and I had to come to grips with the challenges of this lifestyle.

Despite the many surprises, I still cherish daily life here, and I hope that everything I’ve learned this past year will better prepare me for the year ahead. Some of those lessons include:

Fine lines between inside and outside

I can feel the seasons inside my home—no intended poetry or beautiful metaphor. When it’s cold outside, it’s cold inside. Cracks and crevices along the walls and windows let the chill seep in through imperfectly sealed wooden frames. A friend of mine even has a hole in her ceiling, and in winter, she can feel snow blowing inside her home (luckily, mine isn’t that bad). Traditional Japanese homes were designed for comfort in summer, with open windows that allow air to flow through—but I have no idea how people managed through the colder months.

With the rainy season about to begin in a few days, another challenge arises: mold. The humidity soars, and with little to no sunlight for about two weeks, wooden surfaces inside the house become a breeding ground for it. I’m constantly adjusting my home to match the seasons—swapping out furniture like a kotatsu (heated table) in winter, running a dehumidifier during the rainy season, and replacing carpets with a tatami (woven bamboo) mat in summer. In a way, I adapt my home just as I change my clothes for the weather.

The insects are inevitable

This might make people squirm, but I have learned to live with many bugs. The co-existence with bugs arrives in early spring and peaks in June with the onset of the rainy season. I don’t know if I would consider bugs my biggest “problem”. I, like most, don’t enjoy bugs, but I’ve learned to cope with them (probably better than most). I try to avoid killing almost all bugs, except on the rare occasion I see centipedes. Instead, as best as I can, I’ve been looking for natural insect repellers and catching and releasing the ones I find.

Many insects don’t like the smell of mint and hinoki (Japanese cypress), both I’ve learned, are good natural bug repellents. In the summer months, to prevent mosquitoes or other bugs, I also use a kaya or bed net. There are ways to cope with insects and accept their part in the greater picture of the natural ecosystem. I’ve come to the terms that living with (and in) nature means making peace with bugs.

kaya (net) for my bed

DIY is useful, if not essential

I never imagined I’d take on DIY projects for the house. Living in the countryside has made me much more resourceful. I often find myself asking, at least twice, “Is this something I can do on my own?”

I’ve never considered myself a particularly handy person, but one of my most rewarding projects this year was building garden beds. My next big victory was filling those beds with soil and growing vegetables. Now, my plants are thriving and flowering—soon-to-bloom tomatoes and other snackable produce.

Maintaining the inside of the house is one challenge, but I also feel that taking care of the outdoor spaces is equally important. On a community level, neighbors care that visible outdoor areas are well-kept.

On a personal level, I’ve found that nice landscaping and a garden make coming home feel even more welcoming. I never thought I’d be the person who plants flowers just for their beauty, but I’m beginning to see how valuable beauty is in itself. Plus, flowers are great for pollinators!

A space for gathering

What I love most about having a home of my own is that I can create a space for gathering, cooking, raising animals, and eating with friends. This was my dream when I moved out of my host family’s abode and into my own house. Home in this one year constantly feels like a place of comfort, laughter, and play.

Being able to gather is truly a gift. I love cooking food and serving my friends mismatched cutlery and dishes, most of which were free from the community’s recycle shop. I love being able to extend generosity in a way that allows people to come to stay with me and enjoy Kamikatsu.

The thing I’ve come to realize most about living in a kominka is that a house is a living thing. I think that it’s easy to feel disconnected from the four walls that enclose us when we’re dwelling in an apartment.

Houses can tell us stories of the past and how they were built to interact with their environment. Houses, like people, need regular care and maintenance to make sure that structures remain intact.

Preventative care, like ensuring that drains are cleaned or dusting is done often, stretches the life of a place. I’m hoping that this year my muscle memory sets in, and I’m better equipped to anticipate and adapt to any challenge. I think that being settled in one place this year has taught me that a home is something you create and nurture.

May June be kind to you. May calm wash over you like the slow, soft, and steady trickle of rain that I’m listening to from my window as I type this to you.

Have a wonderful week ahead.

Take care,
Kana