Kunibiki: The origins of the myth

Fair warning: Are you ready for some nerdiness? We’ll be addressing both ancient political and geographical history, hopefully in a way that’s easy to follow.

In the comic retelling of ancient mythology, we’ve recently addressed the story of Kunibiki (国引き, literally “Land-Pulling”), which comes from the Izumo-no-Kuni-Fudoki. What seems to be a story about theft of land may actually have more roots in cooperation with other lands, but it nonetheless was not politically desirable to add to the Kojiki. Along with the Nihonshoki, these three texts were among of the first of Japan’s publications in the early 8th century.

They’re a little late to game of keeping written records. Earlier records of Japan written in China and Korea help to tease out some of the origins of the myths recorded at such a comparatively late date, especially considering archeological evidence suggests the culture of the Izumo region being hundreds of years older than the 8th century. Many of the shrines which take a center stage in both local and national mythology had probably been around at least 600 years before anyone got the idea to write about them.

And why did they start writing about them? Put simply, for legitimacy as having their own culture to defend against the cultural takeover of the Tang dynasty (China). There had been years and years of cultural and technological influence from the Asian continent before this time, but at this time in history Japan imported so much literary culture and lifestyle tastes that they never quite got back to their previous homegrown culture. This period of influence and its merits and demerits are historically perceived very differently on either side of the sea, but for our purposes, the important point is that the Kojiki and Nihonshoki were written for political reasons and recorded in Chinese characters (which leads to some disputes later on in history about whether they should be read according to the meaning of the characters or purely read phonetically). They collected whatever information they could from around the different provinces of Japan, and chose to leave stories like Kunibiki out so as to focus on a tighter narrative that would enforce the legitimacy of the emperor (or empress, as occasionally was the case at this time). We’d be jumping ahead a little bit in the Kojiki timeline to say why (I’m hoping to get to that part in my comic renditions by early 2015), but that narrative purpose meant downplaying the role of Izumo and its heroes, like Susano-o, in favor of his sister Amaterasu who is said to be the ancestor of the emperor. You could read this as how the victors write history, and the ancient kingdom of Yamato needed to make sure they held more legitimacy than the ancient kingdom of Izumo, who they had finally made peace with at some point (again, this theme will come up in later legends).

The Fudoki were compiled around the same time with similar people running the little kingdom of Japan at the time, but their purpose was less to be a national narrative and more to be a set of encyclopedias about each of the slightly-less-than-fully-integrated provinces of Japan. They had detailed records of local customs and mythology, economies, even plant life. A big focus was on geographical features of the regions, and assigning appropriate names to each of those features (we’ll touch on this a little more in the following entry). Given the oddity of the Shimane Peninsula, with a little stretch of level ground sandwiched between stretches of mountains before the jagged coastline drops off into the sea, it’s not surprising that it would have given birth to such a legend as wriggling the coasts off of other places with a rake and mashing them together with the original coastlines here.

The reason the Izumo-no-Kuni-Fudoki is so important is because it is the only one remaining mostly intact today, so we know about 8th century Izumo in much more detail than we know about other regions of Japan whose Fudoki were lost or mostly lost. That, together with wider historical context and archeological digs so plentiful in this region, gives us a pretty good look into the ways in which ancient–really ancient–Izumo developed and had an influence on the rest of Japan.

This region’s proximity to the Korean Peninsula is a good place to start, and archeological finds of Korean origin in the region have shown that the exchange goes pretty far back. The Izumo region is considered the birthplace of many practical things in Japan: chopsticks, iron production, even sake. It stands that they were also taught farming methods and culture that lead to the rapid civilization of this region, which then was spread throughout other parts of Japan’s largest island. Hence, taking the land from Silla may say less about thieving from the Korean peninsula, and more about accepting a lot of cultural influence and knowledge from them.

Furthermore, there is historical context, archeological evidence, and later Kojiki stories that suggest a lot of exchange between Izumo and Koshi, though the regions are better known today as Shimane Prefecture and Ishikawa Prefecture. In recognition of this, Mihonoseki, the eastern tip of the Shimane Peninsula supposedly taken from there, entered a Sister City relationship with Suzu City on the tip of the Noto Peninsula, and once Mihonoseki merged with Matsue that sister city relationship was retained. Speaking of mythology-based relationships, the city of Miyazaki is pushing for a city relationship with Matsue because the place where Izanagi started cleansing himself after escaping the underworld of Yomi was connected with one of the myth-rich spots of Miyazaki, where the three noble deities were born as he bathed. Thus, Matsue and Miyazaki share a supernatural connection. We’ll see how that potential official relationship progresses (while we’re at it, Matsue also has relationships with Takarazuka, Onomichi, and a handful of cities abroad).

So why these places in particular, and why grabbing land? That may be because engineers from these places came to the flood-plagued Izumo region and helped to reclaim the land. Roughly 2000 years ago, the Shimane Peninsula may have looked more like this:

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The Izumo plains were frequently troubled by floods running down from the Chuugoku mountains into the oddly flat area west of Lake Shinji, which back then was more of a river than the lake it’s contained as today. There are other interesting tidbits about how the frequent flooding affected local customs in this stretch of the Izumo region, but for now it will suffice to say that flooding was a huge issue, and successful measures to control the issue were some of the most significant events in this region’s early history. Therefore, such an event may not only be the source of the land-adding Kunibiki legend, but also the monstrous Yamata-no-Orochi legend. Instead of a giant eight-headed serpent, that legend might be about getting the rivers under control. Also, Kushinada-hime, the bride Susano-o wins in the legend, is known by another name: Inata-hime. “Rice-field Princess!”

So it’s great that the Izumo region benefitted from Korea and Koshi’s influence, but why take land from the Oki Islands, too? Gee, beats me. Maybe just because they were close by.

Also on the geographical front, the placement and shapes of mountains and beaches may also have led to the creative formation of this legend. Let’s observe:

Mt. Sahime, now known as Mt. Sanbe, the highest mountain in Shimane Prefecture.

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A view of Mt. Sanbe from around Izumo Taisha, looking down the Nagahama coastline. Inasa-no-Hama, where 8 million gods congregate to make their annual visit to Izumo Taisha, is located at the north part of this stretch of coast along Izumo City and towards Oda City.

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And a look from St. Sanbe back up at the western end of the peninsula towards Izumo Taisha.

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Mt. Hinokami,now known as Mt. Daisen, the highest mountain in Tottori Prefecture, and the entire San’in region. Though Hinokami sounds like a better name for a volcano than “big mountain” if you ask me! It sticks out from near sea level, making it as noticeable as Mt. Fuji (and much more impressive when viewed from Yonago or Matsue (on a clear day) than Mt. Fuji when viewed from Tokyo! Photoshopped postcards of a towering Mt. Fuji behind the Tokyoscape make me giggle.). Given its similar shape and prominence, it’s often nicknamed the Mt. Fuji of Izumo (though technically it’s in Hoki!).

And a view from Mt. Makuragi, on the eastern end of the Shimane Peninsula:

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Finally, Yumigahama Beach, along the coast of Yonago City and Sakaiminato City. It’s current name comes from how it is stretched liked a bow, ready to shoot an arrow. This is one of the most popular summer beaches in the San’in region, but even among the coast line of cliffs you find a lot of little semi-circular beaches secluded by cliffs and mountains on either side. One of my favorite views I’ve seen of the Sea of Japan was from a friend’s place facing a tiny harbor, where no one would go out of their way to visit for a day on the sand. As for the sandy spots, you tend to notice everyone has their own favorite, and each one seems completely secluded from all the others. Not so with Yumigahama, known for it beautiful stretching coastline, and view of Daisen!

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That’s another geographical thing to note—the rope that attached the land of Miho to Mt. Hinokami was said to turn into an island, not a coastline. While the city of Yonago has a merchant history stretching back hundreds of years, perhaps hundreds and hundreds of years before that it was underwater! The volcanic influence of Daisen may also have led to a lot of the peninsula’s shape.

The island of Daikonshima (with an odd history behind that name) floating out there on Lake Nakaumi wasn’t specifically mentioned in this legend, and it used to be an independent township until recently merging with Matsue as part of a nationwide push a few years ago to cut down on the number of tiny municipalities. Today, as a district in Matsue, it still retains the name “Yatsuka.” This is just one example of how to you can still feel this legend’s impact on San’in region today, and we’ll get to more of that in the following entry.

 

Flower Viewing: Winter Peonies

The attention hogs have demanded more sharing of their photos.

Following up on the previous entry, the winter peonies at Yuushien insisted on more photos to show off a little more of their splendor. In addition to the usual year-round displays of color and shape and winter peonyscapes with woven huts to protect them from snow, there is also a temporary exhibition on display until 3/31/2014 that is a collaboration between Holland’s imaginative and futuristic gardener Nico Wissing and Japan’s green magician Kazuyuki Ishihara.

Without further ado, enjoy Shimane’s prefectural flower, famous among peony enthusiasts around the world:

I’ve got a lovely bunch of peonies, there they are a’standing in a row. Big ones, small ones, some as big as your—oh, who I am kidding, there are no small ones.

 

Rainy Winter Day at Yuushien Garden

What do you get for venturing outside on a day like this? You get wet, that’s what.

Yuushien Garden is located on Daikonshima (otherwise known as the Yatsuka district of Matsue–now where have we heard that name before?), a island on Nakaumi, a brackish lake between Shimane and Tottori. When I hear “Yuushien” I think peonies. Okay, so sometimes I think of ginseng too, but I mostly think of peonies. After all, the sight and scent of 30,000 of them floating in the pond while thousands more were on display around the rest of the garden (and the rest of the island) was an unforgetable experience.

While no season can compare to full season, there are peonies blooming all year round at this garden, and the winter peonies (kan-botan) are a special sight from December through February. While peonies in Flower Language (hanakotoba) can mean royal style, riches and honor, pompousness, and (surprisingly) shyness, the winter peonies in particular have a noble, high class association. At Yuushien, these seasonal peonies have their own little straw huts to protect them from the weight of snow, and photographers flock to capture the bright blossoms against the white landscape.

I had no such luck. We had snowglobe like days during the week, but my Sunday at Yuushien was rain, rain, rain, rain.

I didn’t get to see the snowy scenery and rain is certainly not my favorite weather, but it did give me a very different view of the garden than I had only a very sunny, very crowded day last May during Golden Week (right around the height of the peony season). Rain brings out the textures in the garden landscape, especially in the ponds, moss, and volcanic rock that Daikonshima is made out of (and that’s why its soil is so good for peonies and ginseng).

Despite the general subdued tones of winter, there were still very vibrant, impressive peonies. In my years of studying East Asian cultures I have frequently heard them referred to like the Queen of the Flowers, and the Queen enjoys her spotlight in any weather. But, my dear Queen, there are so many other little things to notice in the sleepy garden winters! Can’t you let them have a little spotlight, too?

No? You really insist on photobombing, don’t you?

Setting the royal flower aside for a moment, let’s take a look at some of the rest of the rainy day views Yuushien provides in February.

Alright, Your Elegance, you haunty, flower, you! There will be more photos in your honor coming soon.

In the meantime, I’ll just wrap up with a statue we interpreted thus.

 

Haiken: Proper treatment and observation of tea tools.

As a guest at a tea ceremony, you are welcome to haiken (observe) the tools a tea master has chosen for that particular occasion. They may have seasonal motifs, reflect the artistic style of some locale, or simply be appreciated for their innate function and usefulness. While at my weekly practices we usually use a set of seasonal items that rotate out every month or so, but when we’re planning for the real deal, Tea-sensei brings out the wooden boxes with carefully wrapped–and often ancient–items inside. The thought is that a truly good antique is one that is still usable.

There is a set way of handling such precious items so as to keep them nice while still observing all their details, and to give everyone (or mostly everyone) a chance to see them. Some items, such as the decorative scroll or the kettle, are observed before the tea ceremony starts and without touching them. During or immediately following the ceremony, you’d observe the tea bowl you used, and at times hand it to the guest next to you to observe while they wait for their tea. Once the ceremony is done, you can request to see some of the tools the host used to prepare the tea, which gives the host a little time to put away some of the other tools. After returning them, you (if you’re the highest-ranked guest) have the option of giving the host a pop-quiz about where their tools come from. I’m finally starting to be able to answer some of this on my own, at least for the tools I use in practice! But as soon as I remember that the natsume is a matsu-kui-tsuru pattern, it’s a new month and we’re using something different. Sigh, it’s a learning process.

 

Tamatsukuri Onsen: Stones and Sweets

Tamatsukuri Onsen, most famous for its beauty water and as a relaxing vacation spot laden with fancy ryokan hotels, is also an En-musubi power spot. As a quick review for recent visitors to this blog, En-musubi is binding your fate with people or nature or whatever, but is popularly thought of as matchmaking. The San’in region is very, very immersed in the tyings of En, which is why I tend to bring it up a lot.

Reusing old maps? Me? Never. Kamosu Shrine and Shinjiko Onsen are always worth noting even if they have nothing to do with the content of the entry.

Power spots are a recent phenomenon among Japanese tourists, but it’s hard to say whether they have the same lure for international visitors. As a fan of local customs and mythology and folk culture, I find them endearing, but prefer to know which places were considered important before the power spot boom. In a spot like Tamatsukuri, it’s quite fitting that there would be a power spot in the form of an enshrined stone, as the area is historically known as a major producer of magatama jewels (hence the name, “jewel-making hot springs”). That has less to do with the beauty water and more to do with the abundance of green agate mined nearby to produce the comma shaped jewels, thought to bring forth spiritual powers since Japan’s prehistoric times. They remain a popular souvenir from this area, and there are museums and ruins and workshops dedicated to them.

A pretty common theme here, you’ll notice. The area is also a popular cherry blossom viewing spot, which I’ll bring up again later in this entry.

Stones remain a popular theme throughout the onsen area, and are frequently worked into the themes and designs of the ryokan baths and gardens. It’s not as if I would usually carry my camera into an onsen, but I do have a few snapshots of the different baths at Choseikaku, one of the fancier places you can pay to just use the bath and without staying (fluffy towels and a cup of matcha in the lobby are included in the price at this one, but the hours and prices vary according to each hotel). Most day-trippers use the much cheaper Yu~Yu facility, which I find reminiscent of a giant fish bowl in the sky. But I digress, here are the photos I do have:

I know there is something special about a couple of the larger stones on the floor of the bath, but I’ve completely forgotten what it was.

Not only is this bath shaped like a magatama, but it’s lined with precious stones, too!

While we’re at it, here’s one of the outdoor baths (rotenburo). Not my top favorite among the outdoor Tamatsukuri baths, but very nice nonetheless.

This hotel is sort of at the end of a long promenade of them, and while I’ve never stayed overnight at Tamatsukuri, it’s one of my favorite places to take a stroll, be it in hot weather or in cold weather (in which case the free foot baths, especially the hottest ones down at the riverside, are even nicer).

On a typical stay at Tamatsukuri Onsen, you would wear one of the yukata (comfy and casual cotton kimono) your hotel provides for you, stroll around and enjoy the charms of the area before returning to relax in the hot springs and enjoy a multi-course meal before retiring for the night. One of the spots that you would have high on your list to see is Tamatsukuriyu Shrine, and I’m sort of surprised at myself for not having a proper photo of the entrance. In all its picturesqueness, the main torii gate at the entrance is right across from a little arched bridge over the Tamayu River, and then the shaded stone steps head straight up from there to the main shrine area.

But don’t head up the stairs too fast! You need to buy a Kanai-ishi (wish-granting stone) first. The type of little stone you get varies depending on your luck that day.

Then proceed up the stairs and follow these instructions to have your wish granted by the Negai-ishi (wishing stone), a stone thought to hold special spiritual powers given its unusual roundness. You’ll find many Shinto shrines dedicated to oddities in nature. I’ve heard that Mt. Fuji is revered more for its shape than for its height.

Sometimes you’ll be surprised by the line that form around the stone in tourist seasons, so don’t be in a rush to make a wish.

He’s got a protective green stone next to him.

Visitors attracted to Tamatsukuri Onsen for its beautifying properties would probably also be interested in visiting Seigan-ji, the temple next to the shrine with a Buddha that takes away aesthetic imperfections.

Now that we’ve addressed the Negai-ishi, I can finally get to the point of this entry. See that Cake Shop Agate I noted on the map? I want to show you this cake I enjoyed!

Household objects have been left in the photo for some size comparison.

As one of the En-musubi sweets advertised here and there, I’ve had my eyes on this cake for a while, and finally treated myself to one at the Dan-Dan Food Festival that Matsue hosts throughout the month of February. This year I managed to get there in time for the Eight Lucky Gods Hot Pot, a nabe dish full of local seafood, vegetable, and other specialities big enough to feed 800 people. After that I wasn’t as hungry as I hoped to be, which is why I picked out something to take home after wandering in and out of the festival for a few hours. Along with all the edible festivities, there are plenty of penguins and samurai and stuff for entertainment, so please see Bernice’s photos here.

So here it is, the Wishing Stone themed cake, with a collection of tastes and textures but sweetness that is not for the faint of heart. The design on top is a pink magatama and a torii gate, like you find at the entrance to a shrine.

Seeing as Matsue is a city of sweets–particularly wagashi–it’s no surprise that magatama themed sweets have been done before. This is one from Saiundo, a “Wishing Sweet” that comes in five colors and flavors.

Back to this cake, it’s a mix of Japanese and Western desserts, as you’ll notice it is covered in a very soft layer of mochi (pounded rice cake). The overall color scheme is pink and white, as these colors (or red and white together) are commonly associated with auspicious things, like En-musubi.

On the inside… well, let’s see if I can remember everything on the inside, as it all blended together quite nicely. Seeing as Tamatsukuri is a popular cherry blossom viewing spot, with a long stretch of the Tamayu River covered in cherry blossoms before you even hit the ryokan area, cherry is the key flavor, though not as heavy as its taste would be in a Western cherry dessert. As the outside mochi oozes apart, you’ll notice we have cherry whip creme, a little bit of anko, cherry mousse, and some normal whip creme (I think?) and sponge cake. Yum.

A collection of light, delicate flavors, but altogether very sweet, and therefore goes down well with some green tea (I think either sencha or the locally preferred matcha would be fine). Despite its size, it doesn’t last long even if you’re trying to savor it.

In other news, though it’s not cherry blossom season yet, there’s already talk of sakura-mochi. I’ve been thinking about them since spotting them at the food festival, and someone has just brought some to the office. Hurray! Forget En-musubi, I just want more sweets. A dip in the onsen is always nice too, of course.

 

The Fudoki a.t.b.b. – Heave, ho! Kuni, ko! – Part 3

Continued from Part 2

In some upcoming entries, we’ll take a look at more of the history of and the influence of this legend. The next story will follow Onamuji again. Unlike the happy story of his encounter with the White Hare, this one won’t be as fluffy, and you can start reading that here.

Read about the origins of Kunibiki and the effects of it today in a couple of very info-heavy and nerdy entries. Plus, there’s also Ou-no-Mori, what’s left of the forest made by his rake.

(Note: This is local mythology that fits in alongside the Shinto legends known throughout the country, but it was recorded in the Izumo-no-Kuni-Fudoki (Chronicles of Ancient Izumo, 713-733 AD) as opposed to the Kojiki (711-712 AD) or Nihonshoki (720 AD).)

Or see the Kojiki a.t.b.b. masterlist!
The Kojiki Myths in Manga Form

 

Ikebana: Flower arranging by the rules (or not)

In my ongoing pursuit of the Japanese arts, I finally got to try out ikebana: flower arranging. You might have guessed from my onslaught of flower viewing posts last spring that I like flowers, but I’ve never done ikebana, save the one time Tea-sensei received some difficult to use by very pretty wild flowers, and let me have a go at trying to arrange them. She always reinforces that in tea (or at least the omotesenke school), you always try to arrange the flowers like how they’d appear in nature. Not so for the Sogetsu school of flower arranging, though it was Tea-sensei who introduced me to Flower-sensei.

The sogetsu school makes arrangements based on three major supporting elements which, for beginners, are at certain points and angles and lengths. There is lots of flexibility as you go on, though. I brought along my partner in the arts Tanya, my Russian CIR friend, but it turns out she’s already studied sogetsu before and was way ahead of me! I started by trying to keep it as close to as Flower-sensei instructed me.

When using a wide, open bowl, you stick the stems on a spiked tool called a kenzan.

Sometimes you have to be a little forceful when stabbing flower stems.

Flower-sensei prepared two types of flowers for us to work with: beniaoi and snapdragons.

Beniaoi (紅葵) is a mallow plant. I couldn’t find any Flower Language associated with it.

I finally see why these are called snapdragons in English! However, in Japanese, they are kingyosou, literally “goldfish grass” (金魚草). It can signify a range of meanings, such as a pure heart, foresight, shamelessness, an intrusive person, or “if I had to guess, the answer is NO.”

To my disappointment, Hanakotoba (Flower Language) is pretty much ignored in both sogetsu and in omotesenke. That makes sense because Japan didn’t start obsessing with this until receiving Victorian England’s flower language influence, and most people don’t really know trivial stuff like this. It’s still used a lot in manga and anime, though, and as a fan of shoujo manga I enjoy the extra level of meaning they can add when plastered all over a page. Too bad we can’t all walk around with giant flowers floating behind us to express our feelings sometimes.

Following the most basic guidelines of sogetsu, I completed my first creation!

Meanwhile, Tanya had already completed a piece according to the instructions, and had begun showing off.

So I got a little more creative with mine too, albeit still rather conservative.

Yes, I purposely placed those fallen snap dragons, there! It evokes a sense of impermanence, or something artsy like that. Flower-sensei dusted them out of the way to take her own picture, though. Tanya was more creative and used a fallen snapdragon as a hat for a beniaoi pod.

I appreciate all of my sensei’s patience with me as I try out various art forms, and Flower-sensei was no exception. After finishing up with the flowers, we just hung out in the studio to chat, and as is typical in Japanese hospitality, there was tea and snacks. I was just really surprised by one of them–I’ve seen sugary dried fruits as treats before, but I had never seen bitter melon in a sweet, dried form! I hate this bumpy and appropriately named produce, but I love sweets, so I was more than happy to try it.

Nope. Still bitter. But it was worth a shot.

A few weeks after this delightful little taiken (a very handy word for just “trying it out” and “getting the experience”), I visited Matsue’s industrial high school. At these kinds of trade schools, many students pick up applicable labor or business skills to go straight into job searching as opposed to university, though some go on to enter university programs in architecture or engineering or the like. I had visited them last year as well to listen to their senior project presentations and have a discussion with them, but this year we switched things up a bit by attending their research classes with them a couple times before hearing about their final projects (it was fun to spent more time getting to know them this year!).

One group of students was working on some kind of concrete that can sustain plant life. Or is it cement? I have to confess I know very little about this, though thanks to a college roommate’s very enthusiastic lecture she once gave me on the concrete/cement she made, I at least know there’s a lot of thought that goes into it getting the right combination of ingredients. As part of the ingredients, the students were using ashes from shijimi clam shells (seeing as Lake Shinji is famous for abundant shijimi) and sawdust, and after making the concrete/cement soaked them in water, and then did water tests to see how well they could support life. Unfortunately, not as always as well as they hoped.

Once they had something that wasn’t going to be toxic, they tried out raising different kinds of plants on it. Little seedlings had trouble taking root and didn’t last long, but the moss did alright. The day I joined them, they were doing an ikebana experiment: how well can the concrete/cement support cut flowers?

We collected clippings around the campus, then drilled little holes in the soft concrete/cement to stick our flowers in. There were no rules to abide by, but with sogestu fresh in my mind, I used some of that for inspiration.

The students trusted their instincts instead:

Some flowers wilted within a couple weeks, but others were still doing well a good six weeks later! Sogetsu only started in 1927, so I wonder if concrete ikebana will catch on and be a new style? Or if it’s already being done…?

 

Taisha-tsukuri shrine architecture: roof construction

Throughout the Izumo region, in cities such as Izumo, Matsue, and Unnan especially, there are ancient examples of Taisha-tsukuri shrine architecture. Izumo Taisha is the most famous and national treasure, and completed its Daisengu, a once-every-60-years rebuilding process in May of 2012. Kamosu Shrine is another treasure. With the current building constructed in since 1583, it stands as the oldest example of this architectural style. However, the style itself has been around since at least 552, and Izumo Taisha is likely a few centuries even older than that.

Like the Shinmei-tsukuri and Sumiyoshi-tsukuri styles found elsewhere in Japan, it predates the arrival of Buddhist influence. Therefore, there are some key features of these styles that you’ll find in Shinto shrines, but won’t find in Buddhist temples, such as the katsuogi (horizontal beams although the top of the central beam of the roof) and chigi (forked planks at the ends–or middle–of the central beam). A fun fact about chigi in Taisha-tsukuri: you can usually determine the gender of the kami enshrined within by the angle of the cut of the planks.

Taisha-tsukuri is distinguished by its gable-end pillars and central pillar, and raised square honden (main hall) supported on thick pillars or stilts. You tend to see really thick shimenawa (twisted straw ropes) as well, and Izumo Taisha has the largest shimenawa in Japan. When reconstructing the shrines to withstand the test of time and weather, or to follow a specific renewal schedule to keep the shrine feeling pure and fresh, sometimes only the roof is reconstructed.

Good thing too, as the San’in region is known for its amount of rainfall.

With their many layers of strips of cypress bark, the roofs are often considered the key focal point of any given shrine.

Here’s my head for some size comparison.

The roof starts with a frame…

A metal edge to help protect against rain…

And a whole bunch of hinoki cypress park.

And then you start piling it up.

The renewal construction at Sada Shrine will take place on one honden at a time, starting with the southern-most honden of the three (recall that it is unusual for a shrine to have more than one honden). Each time, the holy item the kami inhabits is moved to a temporary shrine so as not to be bothered by the home renovation. At least in Shimane, it’s not uncommon to offer free tours of the construction process at the beginning stages, offering an angle you don’t typically get to see on a normal visit. If you visit, keep an ear out! In the meantime, I have more photos available upon request.

 

Famine-Inspired Cuisine: Bote-Bote Cha

Lord Matsudaira Harusato, perhaps better known by his tea-name Fumai, is the man person responsible for Matsue and the wider Izumo domain’s lingering obsession with tea and wagashi (traditional Japanese confections), but he’s also frequently credited with the introduction of Bote-Bota Cha, a tea (yes, a tea–not a soup!) designed to stretch food rations and fill one’s famished stomach. This may just be a legend it actually does have folk origins, but it’s one of the many famine-recovery efforts put in place during the reign of this particularly famous feudal lord of Matsue, (Horio Yoshiharu and Matsudaira Naomasa are also particularly famous, but Fumai’s sake-loving son? Not as much).

Whatever the case, the commoners of the domain took quite a likely to it, and it remains part of the things-to-try-in-Matsue menu, along with Izumo soba, shijimi clam miso soup, zenzai, and the classic matcha and wagashi pairing. There are a number of places with their own various charms or fame all along Shiomi Nawate (the preserved Edo period road along the north side of the castle moat) and other paths in and around the castle once frequented by Lafcadio Hearn that serve all or a selection of these dishes, and at least one such place sells bottles of tea specifically prepared for Bote-Bote Cha. If you’re between sighting seeing at the castle and catching the sunset at Lake Shinji or catching your ride back out of town and you feel like you’re in a hurry to try every one of the aforementioned items, or you’d like to try some local beers, or if your traveling partner insists on having something completely different to snack on while you get your fill of specialties, then the Chidori Tea House, located next to the tourism information office and toilets near the main entrance to the Matsue Castle grounds, may be your best bet.

Or, if you’re a local like me who regular takes walks around the castle grounds, then this is a nice spot to take cover from the rain and warm up, or a place to cool down on a hot summer day. Sometimes you run into samurai in there, but I recommend trying to get there before or after the lunch rush!

The first times I had Bote-Bote Cha, it was a bit of an afterthought following Izumo soba and otherwise. It’s just tea, after all. And it’s not as if I have the shrunken stomach of a starving Edo-period townsperson. This time, however, I decided I’d try it on an empty stomach, and then get some dango or something on the other side of the castle.

So, famished townspeople and travelers, this is what you can expect from modern-day Bote-Bote Cha.

I repeat: this is tea, not soup. You’re supposed to dump the fillings in and drink/slurp them along with your tea, with the spoon to help. It’s certainly not the texture you’d expect from tea, especially since it’s a collection of textures many Western tongue may not be accustomed to. I once heard about a radio personality visiting Matsue and ordering this dish, and struggling for the right words to describe what he was consuming. I wish I could have heard that!

The starving people who relied on this may not have always had such a selection, and today’s Bote-Bote Cha may look extravagant, but that’s because it’s morphed from survival food to foodie item. Furthermore, in a city so steeped in tea culture, they couldn’t let this tea get away without being ceremoniously prepared. There are sometimes tea ceremonies dedicated to the preparation of Bote-Bote Cha, and while I haven’t taken part in one myself (yet), some of my Omotesenke classmates have done the tea preparation.

You too can take home a special chasen to prepare the frothy, salty hojicha!

For the usual, unceremonious Bote-Bote meal, no need to be shy. I probably should have slurped my fillings more with my tea, but I was enjoying the hojicha so much that I had a few too many mouthfuls of that first, and wound up needing to eat a lot of it with the spoon.

So, about that dango…

Well, to my surprise, the Bote-Bote Cha on an empty stomach was rather satisfying. I wasn’t stuffed, but I wouldn’t have been able to say I was hungry, either. Famine food is effective!

…but seeing I wasn’t starving, I got some dango anyway. Funny how that works.

 

Setsubun at Kumano Taisha: In with the luck!

“Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi! Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi!”

February 3rd was Setsubun, a holiday in Japan to mark the changing of the seasons and ward off bad luck to make room for good luck. Even my tea ceremony lesson room is decorated with a painting of a sad and comical looking oni. This creature of Japanese folklore is sometimes translated as “demon,” but I prefer “ogre” as sometimes they’re more misunderstood than evil. On Setsubun, the basic practice is to have a member of the household wear an oni mask and the other members of the household chase them around throwing dried soy beans at them, shouting “out with the oni, in with the luck! Out with the oni, in with the luck!” Then everyone eats however many beans for however many years they’ve lived–an 8-year-old would stop at eight beans, but an 80-year-old would have to eat eighty of them.

This was how I celebrated my first Setsubun last year, just hanging out with friends.

However, Setsubun can be a big deal for many shrines and temples, too. In Matsue, the biggest Setsubun festivities are at Kumano Taisha. Like Sada Shrine, it’s historically had a strong influence on the region and has close ties to Izumo Taisha.

This is one of the famous shrines dedicated to Susano-o (he’s a pretty big deal in the San’in region). Not only did he rid Japan of the terrible Yamata-no-Orochi, but he taught the earthy inhabitants of the lands how to create fire using tools. Hence, Kumano Taisha is known as a special place for the spirit of fire, and is also famous for its Sanka-sai Fire Festival in mid-October. There is an auxiliary hut on the shrine grounds dedicated to this, known as the Sanka-den.

Speaking of auxiliary shrines, Izanami–both considered Susano-o’s mother and the mother of many other lands and gods–who was killed giving birth to fire has a pretty sizable one here. She’s also kind of a big deal in the San’in region.

Ah, and those vermillion torii gates mark a spot for Inari, too. Commonly known as the fox god (though not necessarily a fox), this kami is thought to provide good harvests and riches, and the Matsudaira clan that ruled over the Izumo domain through most of the Edo period was especially dedicated to him (but sometimes argued “her”). One of the old men at the shrine this day awaiting the Setsubun festivities excited asked if I could read the sign over there. “Do you know this kami? It will give you lots of money! Haha!”

So just what were some of the festivities going on? Setsubun is like the sequel to the Hatsumode New Years visits, with a special emphasis on making sure you’re totally rid of all the impurities or bad luck or illness or disasters that piled up over the course of the previous year. It’s sort of like resetting your luck to start with a clean slate. As part of that, old good luck charms from the previous year are deposited at the shrine to be burned.

Some of the faithful pay to undergo a purifying ritual before the main event starts, while others just make their offerings and say their prayers.

Alcohol is useful for purifying things, so sake is served.

And household hygienic products are useful for similar illness-warding measures, so upon arrival everyone was given a lottery ticket to see what kind of cleanly item they would get to take home. I got soap-scented toilet disinfectant.

As the people gathered in anticipation, I overheard some interesting conversations. Some of the people who received big boxes of tissues complained, “how am I supposed to catch things while I’m holding this?” A man had brought his adult daughter who kept her hoodie on in the light rain, and demonstrated while he suggested how they should dive for fallen items in the crowd. She just have him a flat “no way” in response. Someone who seemed to be in-the-know instructed a guy with a camera about angle the first item would come and where it would hit the crowd. However, no one looked as fired-up as the elderly people, who turned out in the greatest numbers. That may have been because it was a weekday, it may have been because they’re really serious about their Setsubun and have years of perfecting their prize-catching techniques.

The sounds of the drums and flutes within the shrine grew louder, and the priest and the procession of dignitaries wearing traditional Japanese garb on top of their business suits entered the auxiliary hall beside the main hall. The prizes started with an arrow, a traditional good luck charm to pierce through evil influences, shot out into the audience at precisely the angle and distance I had overheard predicted, and people scrambled for it like a home run ball in a baseball stadium. A second arrow was fired after that one.

Then the mayor of Matsue Masataka Matsuura (say that five times fast–I do quite a bit when I’m interpreting) and other dignitaries starting tossing bags of dried soy beans (mame) and small pounded rice cakes (mochi) things got crazy. I couldn’t help but be reminded of our Friendship City, New Orleans, and the shouts of “throw me something, mister” at Mardi Gras. Sure, the scale was different, but the seriousness in catching throws and pocketing as many as you could was perhaps just as enthusiastic. The old people had to make sure they’d take home enough mame to match their years, after all!

As for the mochi, it was still edible but had grown a little hard by then. You know how I know this? Just as I was thinking, “hmm, this is perhaps a little scary” I got smacked in the forehead with a bag of them. Somebody snatched that bag before I could, though. It didn’t hurt, but it was a little red after that (which thankfully cleared up before the TV news crew interviewed me later. I tend to be reporter bait at these kinds of events). At last when the man in front of me bend out to pick something up, I was able to snatch the bag that was on his back, and then I retreated for a better view.

I’m not sure how long it lasted, maybe only ten minutes or so, but they went through a lot of mame and mochi in that time.

When being interviewed on my thoughts later, I was asked what I wished for this year. What? I was still supposed to be making wishes? I just wanted to get my mame! One of the reporters filled in with a typical local catch phrase, “Maybe some En-musubi?” “Uh… sure, yeah!”

Too bad those poor oni don’t get to make any New Year wishes.