My Neighbour Totoro Tried to Kill Me.
Letter 023 6:20 pm
Hibernal Solstice 2024
Movement • Nutrition • Community • Purpose
My Neighbour Totoro Tried to Kill Me.
Dear friend,
It’s been six months since my last letter and I trust this one finds you well.
I found a good rhythm during the second half of the year. Wonderful autumn months: waking, writing, baking, designing, farming, cooking, eating and sleeping — walking, cycling, deep diving, community concept making, purpose finding and my neighbour Totoro tried almost killed me with poisonous mushrooms. It will be explained.
Meanwhile, the year’s farm work is almost done, just three rows of potatoes to dig up before the snow falls burying them deeper than I can dig. Onions were obliterated by late November storms, thus I’m fearful about the potatoes too — the garlic mostly survived. With a little luck— I fixed the broken electric fence keeping the inoshishi (wild boar) at bay —with a little luck. In preparation for next year, seeds of clover and coriander have been sown in two fields. Yes, another field.
More about the farm next spring, now it’s time to move on to four short accounts of Movement, Nutrition, Community, Purpose, following me, James Gibson, in designing a good life in rural Japan.
Pause, breathe and continue.
One - Movement.
Come to Yaizu and write a story or two about this new trail I’m making. So off to Yaizu I trod and for days at a time I walked, walked some more and finally cycled my way through the Shizuoka countryside. So much so my mental map of the area is almost complete —a blessing and a curse. That first spring day walking in blissful ignorance for almost a full marathon —in lovely terrible rain. It was fun at the time, now a historical part of making this long trail. The Lucky Bus Stop too. We love the lucky bus stop; lucky all day. The acceptance of kindness from strangers inspires reciprocal kindness which dominos along the trail as you travel. Connecting places and people together in new and surprising ways.
A job of sorts to visit places and people capturing them in words and photographs, but more than that, it is to believe in friends with adventurous designs and say yes, I will walk beside you, even if I’m slow or tired I will keep going with a smile of my face and say yes, yes, yes is more.
Yes, to spending more creative days outdoors with friends and the nutritional effect it has on people and society.
Two - Nutrition.
My neighbour Mr. K is inclined to start conversations more frequently as of late, sauntering over as he does with an utterance bridging the distance between our houses. “Nyaaaaaao” (meow) is one of his favourites… “Samui-samui” (it’s cold, it’s cold) another. Often with hands searching in pockets for something seasonal found in the mountains; where he disappears daily.
Shiitake mushrooms, sansho pepper, ginkgo nuts, or unusual flora for the time of year.
Of late he brings up the trees inhabiting a section of mountain next to his. Hinoki and Sugi trees. Special trees, trees and mountains belonging to my house. In and amongst these trees are wild mushrooms; he’s quite enthusiastic about the trees and the mushrooms. I agree to let him show me the forest and the mushrooms; wild mushroom hunting is a thing.
It was about time I went to look anyway.
I was hoping we’d take the ubiquitous K-Truck he drives, with a unique homemade tool rack filling the flatbed. No, he insisted on taking my car up the gravel path dividing rice fields, until we reached the border between the flats and hills. Walking from here, first touring his section of mountain meticulously kept. Trees evenly spaced, moss covering the ground possibly better than a Kyoto temple, with neat round piles —about 1-2m in diameter— of pine branches and pine needles spaced throughout. A rather large Shishi-odoshi breaks the atmosphere from time to time. More like a sculpture park than a forest; he’s extremely proud of his —life— work. It’s impressive; in a Blair Witch Project kinda way.
To the mushrooms and my looming death.
Up a path he takes me, pointing out where his mountain ends and mine starts. I say it’s not mine while trying to impress him with my knowledge of Japanese trees. This one is Hinoki and that one Sugi. Finally we arrive at the mushrooms. Small white oyster-like mushrooms, growing on old logs and tree-stumps. As instructed I collect them up, leaving the browning ones; they don’t taste so good.
Filling the wicker basket tied to my waist, looking the part of a Mushroom Hunter.
Walking back down the path he explained how to cook these whatchamacallit mushrooms —I didn’t understand. Old-forest-men's Japanese is quite hard to follow. Anyway, I nodded and made sounds like I understood feeling proud of my hunter-gatherer skills. He showed me more of this forestry handy work; Impressive, obsessive.
I did not eat the mushrooms.
I did not suffer “a brain disturbance that leads to problems such as confusion, memory loss, paralysis… and death!” —I added the death, but yes death in some severe cases. “Do not eat” the internet informs me. I also learned Sugi Hiratake were commonly eaten in these parts up until about 20 years ago. Then all the brain disturbances, paralysis and deaths put people off.
Mr.K comes from another time, lovingly tending his mountains and the trees he planted with his parents. The trees outlived them and will undoubtedly outlive him and most of our community.
I ponder the special trees, trees and mountains belonging to the house where I live.
Three - Community.
“We need a Design Concept” they say.1 “Just fix the road and plant more trees” I say,2 “this will have a rejuvenating effect along the street where people are prioritised.” But no, it’s not IT-self-driving-AI enough of an idea and brushed aside with comments about “who’s going to clean the autumn leaves?” In the meantime the road remains unfixed while a self-driving bubble bus bumbles along the street, bouncing over potholes as it goes.
“We need a Logo” they say. “You have one” I say,” it’s there, on the side of your Building” —already being built. At first I hesitated to point out the oddities so obvious and overlooked. But no, I can’t sit silent “forgive me for saying —long pause— I don't think it’s a good idea —long pause— to misspell the name of your park on your own park logo!” Maybe they do need a new logo? I think I can help?
“We need a kyarakutā (mascot)” they say. “You need five,” I say, “if you're going to make characters, let's make characters!” Embracing a smidgen of consumer culture in an attempt to disguise the artsy-fartsy-fuddy-duddy I am. I try to find an acceptable way to say “It’s time to burst those thought bubbles of the past still floating around the community, those times are not floating back. Stop looking back at craft and tradition, suffocating them in an unchangeable nostalgic state. Stop blindly looking forward in the hope technology is going to realise the answers to all our problems and dreams. Let the past and present meet in purposeful positive ways, creating a local environment exemplifying good design.” An acceptable design concept might sound something like “Respect the Past, Accept the Future” I say, —but no, I really want to say “just fix the road and plant more trees”…
Four - Purpose.
Trying to sleep, eyes covered by the sleeve of my fleece. Somewhere, fingers tap a keyboard in a hurried attempt to keep up with emails, while sighs emanate from the direction of the kitchen as the umpteenth edit is stressfully hammered out. Faces illuminated by the light of individual screens.
Later I awake after barely sleeping myself; sensitive to the air of tension in the night room. The sound of sighing continues, accompanied by grinding teeth and sleep-mumbling. What was going on?
“If you don’t check your emails you don’t have to answer them” I said while thinking about the emails waiting for my reply. I’m sure we didn’t have this in mind when we… come to think of it… I don’t remember agreeing to this way of working/behaving… driver, stop the bus… there is no driver…
My purpose is to work incredibly hard, doing my best work only to be misunderstood and rejected in favour of catchy keywords and false promises by salesman with fashionable pointy shoes. My purpose is to be constantly catching up with emails, direct messages, slacks, comments, likes, follows, posts, and mentions, in the fear of missing out on the next opportunity to work my ass off in the pursuit of more —sleepless nights. My purpose is to be so distracted by things happening somewhere else through my screen so much so that I don’t notice the birds singing in the trees outside my open bathroom window as I warmly sit in the hinoki bathtub on a cold November morning.
My purpose is to ride my bike for four days attempting to keep up with my friends who all seem to be so much faster, fitter and stronger than I, on bikes more expensive, lighter and rarer than mine… but as I quieten the mind to each pedal stroke and remember to look at each beautiful autumn leaf; who isn’t concerned with who is more colourful than the other.
My purpose is to be here doing this, enjoying the surprise of homemade chiffon cake eaten with cream, jam and friends tired from cycling; sitting on a balcony overlooking a river as the sun shines on my confused aching limbs. The calming sound of water and joyful chatter, sweat cake and the warmth of the sun —just for me and my memories.
My purpose is to be unapologetically me, lost in the mysterious universe without having any purpose.
It’s all design… it’s all art… it’s all work… on a true reflection of what you think is beautiful —growing younger towards death every day.
…and so it goes.
James
They: A local group of motivated volunteers and business owners who care enough about an old onsen town that they work in their free time to help rejuvenate the community so many have given up on, but not sure how best to break free from the systems they were born into.
I: A recent member of the local group of motivated volunteers and business owners who care enough about an old onsen town that they work in their free time to help rejuvenate the community so many have given up on, but not sure how best to help break free from the systems I wasn’t born into.