The Quiet Sweetness of a Tochigi Winter 

It’s July during a bearably humid Tochigi summer sometime in the late-2000s, and the owners of the local meat shop share their imo furai (Tochigi-style deep fried potato skewers) to sundrenched and joyful natsu matsuri (summer festival) goers. On the days surrounding, I routinely peek my head out the window of the tabako yasan (tobacco shop) my grandmother once owned, bathed by the evening wind and pink sunsets, watching the cars and people of the city drift away as fast as the summer days go by. One sip of melon soda after another, I am confident it’s going to be sunny forever (surely, it can’t be the sugar talking). 

The golden gift of a grandparents’ home is that when you’re in it, nothing else is remotely interesting enough to persuade you to leave. Be it their arms blanketed around you, or the homely food (in this world, a bowl of jagaimo miso soup), they seem to provide sustenance enough for what feels like the rest of a life. They’re the whole and hopeful world you once knew — one you just feel lucky to be in, feeling like you belong somewhere, finally, and for once.

Years later, now that my grandparents have both passed,  the future I always feared has somehow and so quickly arrived at my door step. I am no longer peeking out the shop window in Tochigi, but still longing to feel its wind. So hello, again (you’ve changed a lot) Tochigi, but I’m willing to go back to you and get to know you anew. Without them, beyond them, and for them. 

Strawberry Fields Forever

It’s February now, and peak strawberry season in Japan, so I crave them habitually, which often finds me buying Fukuoka’s amaou (my apologies to Tochigi) at the grocery store near my home in Kichijoji. Albeit, I always yearn for the Tochigi varieties, so despite the snow forecasted for the weekend ahead, I take the Utsunomiya line from Akabane Station and travel north to Tochigi just for a taste.

On the train ride back, I look down at my fingertips and admire my ichigo-themed nails, timely to my most recently published piece, ‘In Japan, people pack everything they love on their nails’. The strawberry lover in me can’t argue otherwise. In the spirit of the Beatles: “Cause I’m going to strawberry fields,” I just had to do it. 

The following morning, my uncle and I drove 15 minutes from Oyama Station, to pick up our top-choice for strawberries: bright and red Tochiaika, at Merry Berry Farm. This small shop permits six customers at a time, and runs out of stock quickly, so on a late Saturday morning, we were lucky enough to grab a quality box. Their fully-ripe strawberries are sourced directly from their farm in Ninomiya in Moka, Tochigi and picked fresh daily. Moka is known as the largest strawberry producing city in Japan, with a pride for their wide varieties including: Tochiaika, Tochiotome, Skyberry, Tochihime, and Milky Berry.

As I bite into my first taste of Tochiaika of the year, captured by its deep sweetness and acceptable tartness, I think of Li-Young Lee’s poem, From Blossoms. 

O, to take what we love inside,

to carry within us an orchard, to eat

not only the skin, but the shade,

not only the sugar, but the days, to hold

the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into   

the round jubilance of peach.

I take in the round and red jubilance of this strawberry, and the memories held within it, like laughter shared with obaachan over strawberry stained smiles. She taught me to enjoy the fruit from top to bottom, saving the sweetest part for the very last.  

The Familiar Taste of Sano Ramen

We regulate our sweet tooth post strawberry excursion with a bowl of Sano-style ramen at Akatsuki-Shoten, known for their clean soy sauce broth, cursive, bouncy noodles and large gyoza.  I think of my salary-man, late-ojiichan, whose idea of a satisfying day out was a cycle ride to our local ramen shop and a post-lunch karaoke session. He was fond of the reliable and the familiar. 

Sano ramen toppings are usually a simple combination of chaashuu, naruto and menma, but this time, I added an aji-tama with ginger and green onions (its specialty). It was the usual foundation, but a tad elevated, which would be acceptable according to my ojiichan, or so I hope.  Itadakimasu, I say, which means, “I humbly receive this food.” So with it, I take in the familiar, and the reliably cozy.

In the Spirit of Trying Again  

After indulging in Moka-sourced strawberries, we were called to drive in the city’s direction in the afternoon, and head towards Hakuja Benzaiten Shrine. Known as Hebi Jinja (the snake shrine), locals come to pray here for wealth and good fortune. It is considerably busy during Hatsumode season in January, but on a frigid Saturday afternoon in February, the shrine surrounded by the sky’s gloom had little to no visitors. 

Encircled by snake statues, I am reminded of the heaviness of the past year of the snake, and in an attempt to rewrite the coming months, I purify myself with incense smoke, and purchase a snake-shaped omikuji (charm). Opening it up, I came to find that I would be blessed with kichi (general luck) this year, so I’ll take it slow and steady with no particular extravagance, just a step forward at a time. 

Celebrating Family in Tochigi

“Baba (obaachan) used to like this place, so let’s go here,” my uncle says, so we drive from Hakuja Benzaiten to Kubo Auditorium for the Hinamatsuri Festival display produced by the Moka City Tourism Association. Displaying a 26-tier Hina doll display, the venue brings together local craftspeople’s work to celebrate Japan’s upcoming and annual Girls’ Day on March 3. 

We stroll quietly around the venue, and never once utter “I miss her.”  We melt into a mutually understood and quiet grief, and stand stoically in the beautiful place she once adored. 

From afar, I see a family of three snap photos with what looked like their six-month-old baby girl, in front of the Hina doll display. Their grandparents stand behind the camera brimming with pride, with their eyes deeply rooted in the hope of their new grandchild. 

There is no question that’s how my grandparents once saw us in this quiet and green prefecture we once called home. Today, I am enveloped by their love’s continuation and I hope they’re still proud. 

Despite the shuttered shotengai (Japanese shopping streets) and the changes aplenty, there is a community and a cozy culinary world still alive and well in Tochigi Prefecture. There is home in my memories, and home I will always return to, to make more. 

Featured image: Olga Kovalski