Nagahama

In Kinomoto, one senses that wisdom and memory—expanding both vertically through time and horizontally across space—are passed down through physical objects and everyday acts that transcend the lifespan of any single individual.
Walking through the streets of Kinomoto, where a brewery with over 400 years of history stands alongside the Honjin Pharmacy, which has remained for over 200 years since its reconstruction, one is enveloped in the sensation that the vast stretches of time, usually confined to textbooks, are breathing in the present.
Amidst the overwhelming presence of this accumulated time, our first stop was Myōrakuji Temple of the Shinshū Ōtani sect standing in the heart of the town. We were warmly welcomed into the kitchen by Noriko Fujitani, the bōmori (坊守, temple caretaker's wife). She is one of the leaders of "Scrum," a group of local okan (おかん, mothers/matriarchs) active in this kitchen, who work to share the flavors and wisdom of fermented foods passed down through generations of women. Recipes nurtured within individual households in Kinomoto have mingled and evolved through community gatherings such as memorial services and shared meals. Changing with the seasons, available ingredients, and the times themselves, the dishes that appear on these women’s tables are now shared with contemporary lives through initiatives such as the “Okans’ Fermentated Food Delivery” and workshops.

Moving deeper into the kitchen, past unfamiliar manual tools like machines for grinding soybeans, we found a collection of jars tucked into a corner of the vast doma (土間, earthen-floor area). Noriko describes this spot as the place the "microbes like best." Here, local residents bring the food they have prepared themselves and return periodically to tend to them. Among these jars is a ten-year-old, jet-black Kinomoto-zuke (木之本漬け, pickles unique to this region), originally started by an okan who has since passed away, which the members of Scrum continue to unearth, re-pickle, and maintain every year. Ineffable flavors and labor are inherited jar-by-jar across generations, continuing to ferment slowly and steadily.

Far longer than any pickle, buried underground for centuries before being unearthed and still cherished by the people of today, is the Imo Kannon (いも観音, Potato Kannon) enshrined at the nearby Kuroda Annenji temple. Inside a small hall surrounded by lush greenery stand ten Bodhisattva statues with rounded, uneven surfaces. The Imo Kannon is said to have watched over the people since the Heian period. During the Warring States period, the statues were buried in rice paddies to shield them from the flames of war, remaining hidden until they were later rediscovered in the Edo period. They are said to have earned their name after being washed clean in the Yogo River like potatoes (imo). Until relatively recently, children would even use the statue as a float while playing in the river — an anecdote that speaks to how closely this Kannon has lived alongside the people, as a familiar and beloved presence.

These stories teach us that wisdom and memory are not always neatly codified into words, nor do they simply travel in one direction along a linear timeline. Instead, they reveal a mode of succession where the fūdo itself becomes the bearer of heritage; they can be triggered by a memory or resurface unexpectedly and take shape anew through tangible objects like buildings, pickles, and Buddhist statues, as well as through the rhythmic, repeated acts of daily life.

One of the vital lessons from Kinomoto was the richness that emerges when we truly place value in the "process". At our midday destination, Akatani-so (a former center for rural women’s independence), we were invited to step into the daily work of several local practitioners: Masami Horie, who balances publishing with running Kyuhou Kissaten (a cafe serving regional dishes like fermented Lake Biwa fish); the members of Tsunagu, who research and preserve regional food culture; and Yukari Watanabe of Shitateya to Shokunin (Tailor and Artisan), who, along with her fellow artisans, transforms kimonos tucked away in family chests into new garments.
In a kitchen reminiscent of a school home-economics room, we followed the lead of Horie-san and the Tsunagu team. Together, we repurposed the ii (飯, the rice of narezushi (熟鮓, lactic-fermented fish and rice)) from our lunch into a dinner spread of curry, fritters, and even cheesecake.

Meanwhile, in the second-floor tatami room, Watanabe-san was unravelling the beautiful kimonos she had received along with their cherished memories. We helped iron and cut the fabric into widths suitable for shirts. She explained that even the smallest scraps are used, with ongoing experiments to transform them into high-quality paper. Every object and material exists in a state of continuous process, harboring the hidden potential to transform into something unexpected and remarkable.

The key to unlocking this potential was a posture of "entrusting" the process to the people, living beings, objects, and stories gathered in that space. The production process at Shitateya to Shokunin is a perfect example; their work involves a diverse array of people, including local farmers' wives. As we sat around a low table to unravel the kimonos, each person’s hand movements and the rhythmic "slip, snap" of the threads being pulled were entirely unique.
We felt this same posture in the yuzu shio-kōji (塩麹, salt-fermented rice malt) dressing Horie-san taught us to make for our dinner salad. While the ingredients—shio-kōji, olive oil, and yuzu juice—were fixed, there were no set proportions. The dressings created by three different participants, guided by their own senses, each possessed a distinct flavor. Even the mojito prepared at the end of the day by Eriko Arai, who had connected us to so many people and places in Nagahama, was a spontaneous creation: she combined Yamaji Sake Brewery’s kuwazake (桑酒, mulberry leaf liquor) with some fresh basil leaves that happened to be on hand.
By entrusting—and being entrusted—what emerged was more than just something special and fresh to that specific moment; it was a warmth that embraced imperfection, difference, and change. In retrospect, the rounded, gentle expression of the Imo Kannon—shaped by the touch of earth, water, air, and countless living beings—seemed to radiate that same warmth.

In Nagahama, we also gained insights into the spaces and systems necessary to value "process" and to connect things that cannot be easily articulated or seen.
A prime example is the business model behind Shitateya to Shokunin’s "Shanari Shirts." Many of the kimonos that Watanabe-san receives as donations were once passed down through generations, worn as daily attire or for formal celebrations. Even if there are few opportunities to wear them today, many feel a sense of unease simply selling these cherished items to recyclers or tossing them into collection bins. To honor the memories accumulated in these garments, Shitateya to Shokunin created a "Memory Sheet" for donors to fill out, and a labeling system that allows the history of each kimono to be traced as it is reborn into a shirt. Through this business, they have created a process and a space where donors can properly say goodbye to their kimonos, allowing the garments to “jōbutsu” (成仏, find peace/ come to rest/ reach Buddha attainment). At the same time, this is a practice that can only be sustained by meticulously weaving threads of mutual trust.

Akatani-so, where we spent the latter half of the day, is another such space. Originally established in 1980 as a hub for improving the status and nutrition of rural women, it became a beloved site for learning and developing local cuisine traditionally shared at family and regional events. Although the facility was transferred from Nagahama City to a private company in 2023, management proved difficult, and it was regretfully closed in 2024. To preserve this vital space that has sustained the flavors of the Kohoku region and Lake Biwa, Horie-san and the members of Tsunagu took over the facility. We were fortunate to visit just as they had resumed operations in the summer of 2025.
In an era where traditional family dynamics and regional rituals are fading, spaces and times that allow these culinary techniques and wisdoms to "ferment" are also maintained at Myōrakuji, the temple where the fermentation okan (mothers) are active. The project grows directly out of the region’s pre-existing social and physical fabric. It finds its base in the temple’s kitchen and earthen floor where the okan used to prepare meals for memorial services, and the local custom of bringing homemade pickles to restaurants to share wisdom.
Their activities now connect beyond Kinomoto through new communication infrastructures, such as LINE Open Chat groups for sharing daily life, "Okans’ Fermentated Food Delivery" and crowdfunding. Under these systems, diverse wisdoms intermingle to create new forms, such as fermented sandwich recipes. One can easily imagine that these flavors will leave something precious for generations far into the future.
Through these efforts, yochi (余地, margins or openings) are created, as spaces where things often buried or stagnated by logic, capitalist economy and clock-time can begin to circulate once again.