June is already entering its second half. The 2026 FIFA World Cup has begun, and the excitement around soccer is growing all over the world. In Japan too, I have been seeing more news and social media posts about the matches.

Are many people in your country watching the World Cup as well?

Tomorrow, June 21, 2026, is the summer solstice.

In the Northern Hemisphere, the summer solstice is the day when the daylight is longest and the night is shortest. In the Japanese calendar, it is one of the seasonal markers known as 二十四節気（nijūshi sekki）, the twenty-four solar terms. These include 春分（shunbun）, the spring equinox, 秋分（shūbun）, the autumn equinox, 冬至（tōji）, the winter solstice, 立春（risshun）, 立夏（rikka）, 立秋（risshū）, and 立冬（rittō）. They divide the seasons according to the movement of the sun.

In the past, when farming and daily life were closely connected to the movements of nature, these calendar words helped people read the seasons. Even today, they still appear in weather forecasts, news reports, and seasonal greetings. They are not something most people think about every day, but when we hear them, they help us sense where we are in the year in a way that the numbers on a calendar alone cannot show.

When people hear the words “summer solstice,” many may imagine strong sunlight and a bright sky.

In Japan, the summer solstice comes during the rainy season. Even when the sky is covered with clouds, or when fine rain is falling, the evening light remains for a long time. This is the season when we can enjoy the beautiful evening sky for a little longer.

At this time of year, water fills the rice fields, and young rice seedlings are planted in rows. The timing of rice planting differs by region, but in June, rice field scenery is common in Japan. The surface of the water reflects the sky, and the thin green seedlings move in the wind.

The summer solstice is a turning point of the sun. But in Japan, the June solstice is also close to rice fields, water, rain, and the growth of plants. Rather than feeling the season only through the sun, we can sense the approach of real summer in the flooded rice fields and in the young seedlings beginning to grow.

While writing this article, I also looked a little into how the summer solstice is observed overseas.

For example, in England, many people gather at Stonehenge to see the sunrise on the summer solstice. Stonehenge is known as a place deeply connected with the solstice sunrise. In Sweden, Midsummer is cherished as an important annual event. People make flower crowns, gather with family and friends for meals, and dance around a maypole.

It is interesting how the same summer solstice can be experienced so differently depending on the country or region. In some places, people celebrate the sun. In others, they gather with family and friends.

Japan also has Shinto rituals connected with the summer solstice.

At 二見興玉神社（Futami Okitama Jinja） in Ise City, Mie Prefecture, a summer solstice festival is held.二見興玉神社（Futami Okitama Jinja） is well known for 夫婦岩（Meoto Iwa）, a pair of sacred rocks standing in the sea.

According to the shrine, preparations begin on the day before the solstice. On the day itself, a ritual is held before sunrise to pray for the happiness and health of the participants, as well as for world peace. At sunrise on the summer solstice, participants perform 禊（misogi）, a purification ritual in the sea, and receive the divine power of 日の大神（Hi no Ōkami） and 興玉大神（Okitama Ōkami）.

日の大神（Hi no Ōkami） refers to a solar de

ity and brings to mind 天照大神（Amaterasu Ōmikami）, the sun goddess. On the morning of the summer solstice, people pray to the sun rising between 夫婦岩（Meoto Iwa） and enter the sea to purify themselves. I think of it as a Shinto ritual in which the sun, water, and prayer come together, rather than merely a seasonal event.

In Japan, mountains, seas, and rivers have long been seen as more than scenery. People have regarded them as presences beyond human power. The direction of the sunrise, the water of the sea, the shape of rocks, the form of mountains. People have sensed something sacred in such parts of nature.

The summer solstice festival at 二見興玉神社（Futami Okitama Jinja） is one example of a calendar day becoming connected with a Shinto ritual. Rather than saying that Japan as a whole celebrates the summer solstice in a large way, it may be closer to say that in certain places, prayers connected with the sun and water remain.

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Across Japan, there are also foods that have been eaten around the time of the summer solstice.

In the Kansai region, for example, there is a custom of eating octopus. The solstice season overlaps with the time of rice planting, and it is said that people ate octopus with the wish that the roots of the rice plants would spread firmly like the legs of an octopus.

In Nara, there are rice cakes known as 半夏生餅（hangeshō mochi） and さなぶり餅（sanaburi mochi）. These were made around the time when the wheat harvest and rice planting were coming to an end, and they are foods connected with the turning point of agricultural work.

Other examples include grilled rice cakes made with newly harvested wheat in the Kanto region, 水無月（Minazuki） in Kyoto, a wagashi eaten around the time of 夏越の祓（Nagoshi no Harae） at the end of June, 半夏生サバ（hangeshō saba） in parts of Fukui, and いちじく田楽（ichijiku dengaku） in parts of Aichi.

Rather than having one fixed dish for the summer solstice, Japan has regional food cultures connected with rice planting, harvests, preparation for the heat, and wishes for good health.

And this year, June 21, 2026, is not only the summer solstice. It is also Father’s Day.

Father’s Day began in the United States. The first Father’s Day event was held in Spokane, Washington, in 1910, after a woman named Sonora Smart Dodd wanted to create a day to express gratitude to her father, who had raised his children after their mother died.

Father’s Day later spread across the United States and was eventually introduced to Japan. In Japan, Father’s Day Council was established in 1981. The following year, it began the Father’s Day Yellow Ribbon Campaign and the Best Father Awards. The yellow flowers and yellow ribbons now associated with Father’s Day in Japan are connected with these activities.

As the third Sunday of June approaches, Father’s Day gifts appear in supermarkets, department stores, and online shops. Alcohol, wagashi, 鰻（unagi）, meat, shirts, handkerchiefs, and health related items are common. The gifts are a little different from what we often see for Mother’s Day.

My earliest memory of Father’s Day is drawing a portrait of my father in kindergarten. I remember bringing it home and giving it to him, feeling a little embarrassed. For a child, too, Father’s Day was a day to put gratitude into a visible form.

In Japan today, each family spends Father’s Day in its own way. Some people send gifts. Some invite their fathers out for a meal. When families live far apart, a phone call or message may be enough to share their feelings. In families with small children, portraits and letters are still common Father’s Day gifts.

In Japan, people do not often say “I love you” directly to their families. Daily hugs between parents and children, or between spouses, are also not as common as they are in many Western cultures. I think affection is often shown more through everyday actions than through words or physical gestures.

Working every day. Picking someone up. Preparing meals. Helping when help is needed. There can be affection in these actions.

Father’s Day gives people a chance to express feelings that can be hard to put into words in daily life. Rather than being a day for expensive gifts, it is a day to give shape, even briefly, to gratitude and affection for family. A short message, a phone call, a portrait, flowers, or food can all become ways to share those feelings. I hope it will continue to be valued as a day for expressing what we often leave unsaid.

A calendar turning point based on the movement of the sun, and a modern day for expressing gratitude to family. This year, the two fall on the same day.

How do you spend the summer solstice in your country?

Do you have foods connected with the solstice, or customs for spending time with family? I would love to hear about them.

Finally, to go along with this season of longer days, I made a vlog of a day when I started early in the morning and ended by seeing a beautiful sunset. It connects a little with the feeling of the “long day” I wrote about in this article. I hope you will enjoy watching it as well.

—Written by Sumire

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Near the Asano River, this area is lined with teahouse architecture with latticed facades, stone-paved streets, and shops selling gold leaf and traditional sweets. For those who want to take photographs that feel unmistakably Kanazawa, Higashi Chaya District is a very attractive place.

Higashi Chaya District was established in 1820, the third year of the Bunsei era, as a chaya district east of the Asano River with the permission of the Kaga Domain. Today, it is designated as the Higashiyama Higashi district of Kanazawa and has been selected as a national Important Preservation District for Groups of Traditional Buildings.

The buildings facing the street have latticework on the first floor, while the second floors are built high. Rows of machiya townhouses with guest rooms, typical of a chaya district, still remain here. Many people may have seen this scenery before in articles or videos introducing Kanazawa.

Near the Asano River, there is another memorable chaya district. This is Kazuemachi Chaya District.

Teahouse buildings stand along the Asano River, giving the area a different expression from Higashi Chaya District. The sight of buildings continuing along the river has the beauty of a town shaped by the water beside it.

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Kazuemachi is thought to have developed as a chaya district during the Meiji period. Today, it is designated as the Kazuemachi district of Kanazawa and has been selected as a national Important Preservation District for Groups of Traditional Buildings. The townscape, closely connected with the Asano River, creates a charm that belongs uniquely to this place.

I also enjoy spending time in well-known places. Popular sightseeing spots are popular for a reason. Both Higashi Chaya District and Kazuemachi Chaya District are places that make you want to walk through them when you visit Kanazawa.

At the same time, I feel that Japan’s deeper charm often remains in the alleys beside famous places and in the roads that receive less attention in sightseeing guides. This is exactly the kind of perspective I want to value in Spiritual Japan Journal. Along with well-known sites, I want to find the Japan that appears when you walk just a little farther, using my own feet to discover what lies beyond the usual landmarks.

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In Japan, there are incense sticks made for enjoying scent. There are also incense sticks offered at butsudan, Buddhist altars kept in the home. And when summer comes, another kind of incense stick with a distinctive shape appears in daily life.

It is the spiral-shaped katori senkō, a mosquito coil used to keep mosquitoes away.

When it is lit, it burns little by little from one end. A thin line of smoke rises, and its distinctive smell spreads through the air. It is not made to enjoy as a fragrance. It is a practical tool used in summer to deal with insects.

By mid-June, insect repellent products begin to fill the shelves of supermarkets and drugstores. There are sprays, hanging insect repellents, battery-operated devices, and the old-fashioned spiral-shaped mosquito coils. When I see these products in the damp air of the rainy season, I feel that preparations for summer have begun again.

The history of katori senkō goes back to the Meiji period. Ueyama Eiichirō, the founder of Dainihon Jochugiku, now known as KINCHO, worked on developing mosquito coils using pyrethrum. Pyrethrum is known as a plant that contains insecticidal compounds. The first mosquito coils were stick-shaped, but they are said to have changed into a spiral shape so that they could be used for a longer time.

The spiral form allows a long incense stick to fit into a limited space. If stretched out straight, it measures about 75 centimeters and is said to burn for about seven hours. This shape, which could be used while people were sleeping, spread through Japanese daily life.

Readers who like Studio Ghibli films may have seen mosquito coils before. Katori senkō appears in My Neighbor Totoro and When Marnie Was There. In Japanese anime and television dramas, it is often used as a small prop to show a summer scene. Many people may have seen it placed inside a pig-shaped incense holder.

Alongside wind chimes, the sound of cicadas, mugicha barley tea, engawa verandas, and sudare bamboo screens, katori senkō has become one of the symbols of summer in Japan.

Katori senkō is used not only at the entrance of homes and in gardens, but also outdoors. Japan is famous for onsen hot springs, and when you visit facilities with rotenburo open-air baths, you may find mosquito coils or insect repellent products placed in outdoor rest areas or along walkways. At hot spring inns in the mountains, by rivers, or surrounded by forest, nature is close, and so are insects.

Some people who work in gardens or fields, go camping, or go fishing carry mosquito coils in special cases. There are types that can be attached to the waist, hung from a bag, or used with a string. To people from overseas, the sight of someone walking around while carrying a smoking mosquito coil may look a little amusing.

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Of course, delicious seasonal foods are also an important part of what tells us summer is coming. Around this time of year, river fish begin to come into season.

I once posted a photograph of ukai on Substack Notes. Ukai is a traditional fishing method that uses cormorants to catch river fish. Along Japanese rivers, there are scenes where fishing techniques, food culture, and the seasonality of the riverside come together.

When people think of summer river fish in Japan, ayu may be the most familiar. Ayu is known as a symbol of summer, and because of its distinctive aroma, it is also called kōgyo, meaning “fragrant fish.” It is often eaten grilled with salt. When I see the word ayu at riverside restaurants, ryokan inns, roadside stations, or on seasonal menus, I feel that summer is getting closer.

Salt-grilled ayu is a summer dish that is easy to recognize by sight. The fish is skewered and grilled, and it may be served with salt on the tail and fins. It is a dish that lets you enjoy the aroma of river fish and the lightness of its flesh. Many people may encounter it as part of a meal while traveling.

Other river fish are also enjoyed in cold mountain streams, such as iwana, or char, and yamame, or masu salmon. In some regions, amago, a type of river trout, is also well known. Nijimasu, or rainbow trout, is often seen at fishing areas and aquaculture farms. In areas closely connected with lakes and watersides near rice fields, koi carp, funa crucian carp, and namazu catfish also appear in local food culture.

The Japanese archipelago stretches a long way from north to south, with many mountains and rivers, so the kinds of river fish eaten vary by region. Even when we use the single term “river fish,” the connection to daily life differs between fish eaten in mountain streams, fish eaten near lakes, and fish connected with waterways around rice fields.

Unagi is also popular overseas as part of Japanese cuisine. In Japan, unagi is often treated as a high-end fish, and it is deeply connected with Doyō no Ushi no Hi, the Day of the Ox in the summer doyo period.

Some people may not immediately recognize the word unagi, but they may have heard of dishes such as hitsumabushi or unajū. Both are dishes made with eel.

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Unagi is a delicious fish, but Japan has long depended on wild eels, and the pressure on those populations has become a serious issue. Today, research and efforts toward the practical use of fully farm-raised eel are moving forward in Japan. In 2023, the Kindai University Aquaculture Research Institute became the first university in Japan to achieve the complete aquaculture of Japanese eel. Also this year, through efforts by the Japan Fisheries Research and Education Agency, Marino-Forum 21, Yamada Suisan, and others, kabayaki made with fully farm-raised eel was test-sold to the general public in limited quantities.

Unagi is also considered a food that gives stamina, and it is something many people want to eat in summer, when the heat can make the body feel tired. It is a high-end ingredient and not something most people eat every day, but it is one of the dishes I would like visitors to Japan to try.

This time, I followed the change of the season through incense sticks and river fish. As summer gradually approaches, mosquito coils begin to appear in shops, insect repellents are seen at hot springs and in gardens, and river fish dishes slowly begin to catch the eye. We also start seeing the words ayu and unagi more often.

The shop shelves, the dining table, and the scenery outside are all moving little by little toward summer.

In your country, what do you begin to see when summer approaches? It does not have to be a special event. If there is a scent or food in daily life that makes you feel that summer has arrived, I would love to hear about it.

When people think of the pleasures and seasonal sights of summer in Japan, they may think of fireworks, festivals, yukata, rivers and the sea, and summer foods. From here on, I will continue to share the summer scenes of Japan that I see in my own life as directly as I can. I will bring you Japan not as a tourist destination cut into images, but as a summer that continues here and now as everyday life. Please look forward to the Saturday Life in Japan series.

Thank you for reading.

—Written by Sumire

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The Japanese word ryū（龍）overlaps with that image in some ways, but it also has a different cultural breadth. In Japan, dragons have often been connected with water. Rain, clouds, rivers, ponds, lakes, and the sea. Water is necessary for human life, yet at times it cannot be stopped by human power. Japanese people have projected both sides of water’s power onto the form of the dragon.

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In Japan, June is also called Minazuki（水無月）.

This is one of the old Japanese names for the months. Today, Japan uses numerical month names such as January, February, and March. But in the old calendar, each month also had a name that reflected the season. January was Mutsuki（睦月）, March was Yayoi（弥生）, May was Satsuki（皐月）, and June was Minazuki（水無月）. These names were not simply words for counting the months. They were seasonal names connected to nature, farming, and everyday life.

At first glance, the kanji for Minazuki（水無月） can look as though it means “the month without water.” But in this name, the character 無 is commonly understood not as “nothing” or “without,” but as part of an old expression that points to “the month of water.” It is the month when water is drawn into the rice fields. It is the month when water becomes necessary for rice planting. In that sense, the name Minazuki fits the Japanese season of June very well.

As I mentioned in last week’s article, Japan is now entering a season with a great deal of rain. Typhoons, heavy rainfall, and flooding can occur during this period, so water arrives both as a blessing and as something that requires caution. For those of you living in countries or regions with a similar climate, please take care during typhoon and hurricane season as well.

When the season of Minazuki arrives, green ume begin to appear near the entrance of Japanese supermarkets. They are often sold by the kilogram in bags. Nearby, you will find rock sugar, shōchū, and large glass storage jars. When those jars, which are not usually so prominent, begin to appear in visible places, I feel that ume season has arrived again.

In Japan, June is the season when umeshigoto（梅仕事） begins. Umeshigoto means the seasonal work of preparing ume. People use fresh ume to make umeshu（梅酒, ume liqueur）, ume syrup, umeboshi（梅干し, salted pickled ume）, ume jam, and other preserved foods. Every year around this time, this seasonal handwork appears around the kitchen and dining table.

Firm green ume are used for umeshu and ume syrup. Yellow, ripened ume are better suited for umeboshi and jam. The fragrance of ume is very distinct. Green ume have the scent of young fruit, while ripened ume have a sweet fragrance close to peaches. Even just walking near the boxes or bags, you can tell that ume season has arrived.

The easiest places to begin are ume syrup and umeshu.

Ume syrup is made by placing ume and sugar in a storage jar. It becomes ready to drink after a few weeks, so it is one of the easier ume preparations to enjoy as the weather begins to heat up. Mixed with sparkling water, it becomes a refreshing drink for summer. Since it contains no alcohol, it can also be enjoyed by people who do not drink and by children, which makes it a common seasonal preparation at home.

Umeshu is made by placing ume, rock sugar, and white liquor such as shōchū in a storage jar. It takes longer than ume syrup and usually needs about half a year before it is ready to drink. Umeshu prepared in June captures the beginning of summer inside a jar and becomes ready around winter. By the following summer, the flavor becomes deeper and more rounded.

If made and stored properly, umeshu can be enjoyed for many years. Over time, its color deepens and its taste becomes softer.

This is umeshu I made four years ago.

Even now, after four years, it still has a good fragrance, and I sometimes enjoy it in the evening. It is common to make umeshu with rock sugar and white liquor, but that year I made mine with brown sugar and Japanese sake. Being able to choose your own sugar and alcohol is one of the pleasures of making it by hand.

※When making umeshu or other fruit liqueurs at home in Japan, there are strict legal requirements. The alcohol used must have an alcohol content of at least 20% and must already be subject to liquor tax. Ordinary Japanese sake is usually around 15–16% alcohol, but the sake I used was a higher-alcohol sake intended for making fruit liqueurs.

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Among the different kinds of umeshigoto, umeboshi may be the one that feels most distinctly Japanese.

Many people overseas may have heard of umeboshi. If you are interested in Japanese food, you may have seen it as a red, sour preserved food. In Japan, umeboshi can be bought at supermarkets and convenience stores, and it is also a classic filling for onigiri.

Homemade umeboshi has a different kind of deliciousness from store-bought umeboshi. The ume are carefully washed, their stems are removed, and they are packed with salt. After several days, liquid begins to come out of the ume. This liquid is called umezu（梅酢, ume vinegar）. Even after the umezu rises, the umeboshi are not finished right away. The ume are left in the umezu for about a month so the flavor can settle. After that, they are dried under the strong summer sun for about three days.

Umeboshi takes time to make. That is why homemade umeboshi can taste especially good. Old-fashioned umeboshi made with enough salt have remained in Japanese homes as a food that can be preserved for a long time. Umeshigoto is not only about enjoying seasonal fruit in the moment. It is also a way of keeping the season inside jars and crocks.

At my grandmother’s house, I remember seeing many jars of umeboshi lined up in the basement. I still remember that scene from childhood. I loved the salty, sour umeboshi my grandmother made.

Umeboshi is also deeply connected to Japan’s bento culture.

In Japan, many people bring bento to school or work. A Japanese bento is often not just a sandwich or a light snack, but a proper meal packed with white rice and side dishes. Tamagoyaki, grilled fish, fried chicken, and vegetable side dishes are placed inside a small lunch box and eaten as lunch. Bento appears in many parts of Japanese life, from school events and club activities to lunch breaks at work and train journeys.

In bento, umeboshi is a very familiar presence.

A bento with one red umeboshi placed in the center of white rice is called Hinomaru Bento（日の丸弁当）. It is named this way because the red umeboshi in the middle of white rice resembles the Japanese national flag. For Japanese people, it is a well-known bento style that is immediately recognizable.

Umeboshi brings out the flavor of plain white rice. Because it has a strong sourness and saltiness, it can make rice easier to eat even during the hot season, when the appetite may be low. Ume is also a classic filling for onigiri sold at convenience stores and supermarkets. There are many kinds of onigiri fillings, such as salmon, kombu, and tuna mayonnaise, but ume feels especially Japanese to me.

When I eat ume onigiri after hiking or walking for a long time, the saltiness and sourness seem to reach my body. After sweating, there are moments when I want the sharp sourness of ume more than something sweet. After walking under strong sunlight, an ume onigiri is such a simple food, yet it can feel as if the body has received exactly what it needed.

Umeboshi has long been loved in Japan not only because it tastes good, but also because it is considered good for the body. It contains organic acids such as citric acid, which gives it its sourness, and it also contains salt, making it a familiar food for seasons when people sweat. Umeboshi is often associated with preventing summer fatigue and heatstroke, and in recent years it has also drawn attention for its possible relationship to dieting and gut health.

Although umeboshi has long been eaten as part of everyday wisdom, its components and effects have also become the subject of research. Components found in ume, such as citric acid, polyphenols, ume lignans, and vanillin, have been discussed in relation to fatigue, lipid metabolism, and the intestinal environment. It is also interesting that compounds found in heated umeboshi have attracted attention for their possible action on fat cells.

The fact that we crave ume onigiri on hot days, that the sourness of umeboshi helps rice go down when our appetite is low, and that its saltiness can feel right after sweating, may have reasons beyond old household experience. Umeboshi is a food where Japanese family wisdom and modern research overlap.

June is an important time in Japanese life for preparing the body and the home for summer. The rain increases, and the heat approaches. Before the height of summer arrives, people prepare ume, pay attention to humidity, and bring sourness and saltiness into the daily table. In these small preparations, we can see how Japan receives the changing seasons.

In a previous SJJ article, I wrote about Japanese “grandmother’s wisdom.” When I look at umeshigoto, I am reminded of the kind of household wisdom I wrote about in that article. Long before such knowledge was explained as theory, people watched the seasons, chose ingredients, preserved food, and cared for the bodies of their families.

Do you have foods in your country that are prepared before summer begins, or seasonal wisdom passed down through your family? If you have never tried umeboshi, I hope you will try it someday when you visit Japan. It is sour and salty, and it may surprise you at first. But inside that small piece of umeboshi, Japan’s June way of life is tightly packed.

—Written by Sumire

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In situations where it would be much easier to use a fork, it makes Japanese people happy when someone chooses to use chopsticks. It shows a willingness to experience Japanese food culture.

It is natural to feel unsure about how to hold chopsticks. You may not be able to pick up food well, and you may drop something. Even among Japanese people, there are differences in how chopsticks are held. Being good or bad at using chopsticks is not the issue. However, there are some manners that I truly hope you will avoid. A single movement can remind people in Japan of offerings for the dead or funeral customs.

This time, we will look at the history and value of chopsticks, and the manners worth knowing at the Japanese table.

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The wheat has turned golden, and beside it, young rice seedlings have been planted in water-filled paddies. In early summer in Japan, fields ready for harvest and paddies just beginning to grow can sometimes appear within the same landscape.

A full week has already passed since I shared that article. When I write while following the seasons, I feel the speed of time more clearly than usual.

From tomorrow, Japan’s 72 micro-seasons will enter Mugi no toki itaru（麦秋至）. This is a phrase in the Japanese calendar that describes the time when wheat ripens and reaches the harvest season.

The character for “autumn” appears in the phrase, but the season is early summer. The fully ripened wheat will soon be harvested and transformed into familiar foods such as bread, noodles, sweets, and barley tea.

The Japanese calendar contains many small seasonal words like this, and they are very interesting.

May is almost over. June is approaching.

In your country, what comes to mind when you hear the word June? In Japan, I think many people would answer, “the rainy season.”

Tsuyu（梅雨）, the rainy season, is a seasonal phenomenon that comes as spring shifts into summer, bringing many rainy and cloudy days. Every year in Japan, the Japan Meteorological Agency announces the beginning of the rainy season by region. The season begins in the southern regions first, then gradually moves northward through the Japanese archipelago.

This year, Okinawa and Amami already entered the rainy season in early May. Meanwhile, from Kyushu to Tohoku, the rainy season is expected to begin later than usual. Southern Kyushu is expected to enter the rainy season in early June; Shikoku, the Chugoku region, Kinki, Tokai, and other areas in mid-June; and Tohoku in late June.

The rainy season is essential when talking about Japan’s seasons. But it is not simply a time to enjoy the rain. It is also a season when people need to be careful about heavy rain, rising rivers, and landslides.

If you are planning to visit Japan in June, it is important to prepare not only for rain, but also for heat and humidity. A folding umbrella, water-resistant shoes, quick-drying clothes, and a way to stay hydrated can make your trip much easier. On days of heavy rain, it is better not to pack your schedule too tightly. Checking transportation updates and weather information will help you move around safely.

Many visitors to Japan are surprised not only by the summer temperature, but also by the humidity. For many people, the humidity is what they feel most strongly.

If you look only at the temperature, you may think it is not so different from summer in your own country. But from the rainy season into summer, the air in Japan holds a great deal of moisture. Depending on the day, even indoor humidity can rise above 70 percent. The air can feel heavy, almost like a bathroom after a hot bath, clinging to the skin.

This humidity affects both the body and the home.

Laundry becomes difficult to dry. Moisture gathers in shoes, bags, closets, and bathrooms. If people are careless, mold can appear on clothing, leather goods, furniture, and even around walls. In Japanese homes at this time of year, moisture absorbers, dehumidifiers, air conditioners set to dry mode, ventilation, and laundry detergents for indoor drying all become useful.

Drugstores and supermarkets also begin to show signs of rainy-season preparation. Moisture absorbers, mold-prevention products, raincoats, folding umbrellas, cooling goods, sweat wipes, and many other items appear on the shelves.

In an earlier article, I introduced some of the heat-protection goods used in Japan. If you are planning to visit Japan from June onward, that article may help you prepare.

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There is one region in Japan where the beginning of the rainy season is not announced.

That is Hokkaido, where I was born and raised.

Hokkaido does not have the rainy season in the same way that Honshu and Kyushu do. Even in June, it is relatively comfortable, and the heaviness of the air feels very different. Of course, in recent years, Hokkaido has also had more hot days because of climate change. Even so, compared with regions that have a rainy season, the feeling of June is very different.

I grew up without experiencing the rainy season. Later, I moved to Kyushu. Last year, when I spent the rainy season in Kyushu for the first time, I was truly surprised by the humidity and the amount of rain.

I realized how different the same country can feel.

Japan is sometimes imagined as a small island nation. But between northern Hokkaido and southern Kyushu, the experience of the seasons is completely different. The cold of winter, the humidity of summer, and the way rain falls cannot be fully explained with a single description.

If you are traveling in Japan in June, Hokkaido can be one good option. For people who are not comfortable with rainy-season humidity, it is a relatively easy region to visit.

But June in Japan is not only a season of high humidity and rain.

There is a flower that blooms beautifully across Japan at this time of year: Ajisai（紫陽花）, hydrangea.

Gaku-ajisai（ガクアジサイ）, one of the original forms of hydrangea, is considered native to Japan. After the Edo period, it was taken to Europe, where it was selectively bred and spread as Western hydrangea. Today, the hydrangeas seen in Japan include older Japanese varieties, varieties that were developed overseas and returned to Japan, and many other cultivated forms.

Hydrangeas are plants that love moisture. A hydrangea in the rain shows a different expression from one seen on a sunny day. Water droplets gather on the parts that look like petals, and the blue, purple, white, and pink colors can appear deeper.

The rain of the rainy season can sometimes make daily life feel heavy. But the fact that there is a flower that becomes beautiful in that rain is also part of June in Japan.

There are many well-known hydrangea spots across Japan.

Meigetsu-in（明月院） in Kamakura, Kanagawa Prefecture, is widely known as an “ajisai temple.” The blue hydrangeas that fill the temple grounds are often called “Meigetsu-in Blue,” and many people visit during the season.

Yata-dera（矢田寺） in Yamatokoriyama, Nara Prefecture, is another place known as an “ajisai temple.” Many varieties of hydrangeas are planted throughout the temple grounds, and visitors can enjoy the flowers from mid-May into summer as different kinds bloom in succession.

Kibitsu Jinja（吉備津神社） in Okayama City, Okayama Prefecture, is also a place where hydrangeas can be seen. When I previously visited Kibitsu Jinja for reporting, I photographed hydrangeas blooming within the shrine grounds.

Kibitsu Jinja is also known for its long corridor and its connection to the legend of Momotaro. If you are interested not only in the hydrangeas, but also in the shrine’s history, architecture, and the stories that remain in the land, you can also read the article.

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Hydrangeas are often seen in the grounds of temples and shrines.

One reason is the environment. Temples and shrines are often built on mountain slopes, in green places, or on land that holds moisture, and these conditions can overlap with places where hydrangeas grow well. Hydrangeas are also relatively hardy plants, so they are thought to have been easy to use as plantings in temple and shrine grounds or on slopes.

Hydrangeas are also sometimes connected with the Buddhist idea of shogyō mujō（諸行無常）, the teaching that all things continue to change. Because hydrangea colors change, it is easy to place the flower beside that way of thinking.

Hydrangeas have also been spoken of in connection with memories of illness and prayers for the dead, partly because they bloom during the rainy season. They are beautiful flowers, but they have also stood near human prayer and sorrow.

Hydrangeas seen at temples and shrines look a little different from hydrangeas seen on ordinary streets. Stone steps, old trees, wet ground, and the greenery along an approach all change the way the flowers appear. In such places, hydrangeas show the rainy season in Japan very clearly.

As beautiful as hydrangeas are, their flower meanings include some surprising words.

The general flower meanings of hydrangea include “changeable heart” and “infidelity.” These meanings are said to come from the way the flower’s color changes.

On the other hand, meanings by color can be more positive. For example, blue and purple hydrangeas are sometimes associated with “patient love,” white hydrangeas with “tolerance,” and pink hydrangeas with “energetic woman.”

Change, instability, beauty, and patience all exist within the same flower. In that sense, hydrangeas may be a fitting flower for the rainy season in Japan.

At the end of May, wheat ripens in Japan, water enters the rice paddies, and preparations for the rainy season gradually begin. Inside the home, people deal with humidity. Outside, hydrangeas bloom in the rain.

There are still many June topics and landscapes in Japan that I would like to share with you: the rain of the rainy season, early summer flowers, seasonal foods, and the changes in daily life that appear only at this time of year. I will continue introducing them little by little in upcoming articles.

What kinds of events or seasonal topics do you have in June in your country? There may be landscapes completely different from Japan, or customs that feel unexpectedly similar. Please tell me in the comments.

Whether you are in a hot region or a cold one, please eat well and take good care of yourself.

—Written by Sumire

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Alongside Mount Fuji, there are other mountains that have long been revered as sacred. These are Tateyama and Hakusan. Mount Fuji, Tateyama, and Hakusan have been known as the Three Sacred Mountains of Japan.

In Japan, mountains have been understood not only as beautiful natural landscapes, but also as presences that produce water, nurture forests, irrigate fields, and support people’s lives. Mountains bring blessings. At times, they also show a severity beyond human control, through snow, storms, and landslides. People have directed both gratitude and awe toward that immense power.

This reverence for mountains as sacred presences is called sangaku shinkō（山岳信仰）, or mountain worship, in Japanese.

Hakusan is an important mountain for understanding this form of worship. Hakusan is a sacred mountain spanning Ishikawa Prefecture and Gifu Prefecture, with its highest peak, Gozenmine, rising to 2,702 meters, or about 8,865 feet. Hakusan National Park also extends across Ishikawa, Fukui, Gifu, and Toyama Prefectures, protecting the rich natural environment centered on Hakusan.

Located near the center of the Japanese archipelago, Hakusan has long been known as a mountain that holds deep snow. In winter, snow accumulates on the mountain. As the seasons change, that snow turns into water and descends the mountain. Becoming rivers, the water passes through villages at the foot of the mountain, irrigates fields, and eventually reaches towns further downstream. Water from the Hakusan area has supported life across a wide region through rivers such as the Tedori River, the Kuzuryū River, the Nagara River, and the Shō River.

The mountain holds snow, produces water, grows crops, especially rice, and sustains human life. At the root of Hakusan worship is this cycle.

At the center of the worship of Hakusan as a sacred mountain stands Shirayama Hime Shrine（白山比咩神社）in Hakusan City, Ishikawa Prefecture.

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The second half of May has arrived, and time seems to be passing so quickly. In Japan, May brings Children’s Day, Koinobori carp streamers, and the first heat that makes summer feel close.

The spring flowers have ended, and the fresh green is growing deeper. The sunlight feels stronger now, and when I walk outside, I can feel summer approaching in my body. Japan stretches a long way from north to south, so the seasons do not arrive in the same way everywhere. Still, by late May, signs of early summer begin to appear in many places. There is moisture in the air before the rainy season, the greenery is still young, and the fields and rice paddies are moving toward their next form.

Among these landscapes, the color of wheat stands out.

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In a landscape full of green, a slightly dry yellow begins to appear. When the light touches it, the color can look almost golden. It has a different kind of beauty from cherry blossoms, which draw people together in large numbers. It is also different from autumn leaves, which can color whole mountains. A wheat field turning gold has its own quiet force, belonging only to this short time between spring and early summer. When that color suddenly enters my view from a car window, or from the side of a road as I walk, I feel that the season has shifted.

In Japanese, there is a word called Bakushū（麦秋）. It is written with the characters for “wheat” and “autumn.”

Although the character for autumn is included, this word refers to the early summer period when wheat ripens and moves toward harvest. Rice ripens in autumn. Wheat turns gold in early summer. The soil is prepared in autumn, the seeds are sown, and the wheat grows through winter. In spring, the stalks rise and the ears appear. Around May and June, the harvest season arrives. In a field of ripened wheat, the time from winter to early summer is gathered into one color.

Wheat fields in Japan are heavily concentrated in Hokkaido. Hokkaido also has the largest planted area for wheat, while Fukuoka and Saga are also major producing regions. Hokkaido in the north, and Kyushu closer to the south. It feels a little mysterious, and interesting, that wheat is grown in regions with such different climates.

There is more than one kind of wheat or barley. There is wheat, barley, naked barley, and other types, each used in different ways. Wheat is used for bread and noodles, while barley is used for beer and barley tea. In particular, two-row barley used for beer is grown in large quantities in Tochigi and Saga.

The wheat field I photographed this time is in Saga. Since Saga is one of the major producing regions for two-row barley, this field may be growing a type used as an ingredient for beer.

If you visit Japan, please try draft beer here. Beer served in an ice-cold glass is very good.

Around the same time, water begins to enter the rice paddies.

Rice paddies show a completely different expression from wheat fields. While wheat moves toward a dry golden color, the paddies hold water and reflect the sky. In fields where rice planting has just finished, thin seedlings stand in rows in the water. The green is still small, and the landscape is only beginning to grow.

At this point, the surface of the water is more visible than the rice plants. But in summer, the paddies will be filled with blue-green rice. When the wind blows, the seedlings will move. Soon the rice plants will grow taller, and by autumn the heads of rice will begin to bend. Until harvest, the paddies will show a different face almost every week. Watching that change is one of the pleasures of this season.

When water enters the paddies, the sounds around them also change a little. In the evening, the color of the sky falls onto the water, and in some places, frogs begin to call. The wheat fields hold the dry light of daytime. The rice paddies reflect the season through water. Side by side, they show two different moments of early summer: ripening and beginning.

One of the sights that belongs to this time of year is fireflies.

In southern regions, firefly events are beginning around this week. As June arrives, the best viewing season spreads to Kansai, Chūbu, and areas at higher elevations. Fireflies live in many regions around the world, but in Japan, they have long been loved as a seasonal sign of early summer nights, watersides, rice fields, and rural landscapes.

For readers overseas, it may feel a little curious that people go out to the water to see fireflies, and that viewing events and festivals are held for them. In Japan, people have long valued seasonal sights that can only be seen for a short time. Cherry blossoms, autumn leaves, snow scenes, and the glow of fireflies. People go to see them because their time is brief. This is one way Japan enjoys the seasons.

Fireflies have also appeared in Japanese literature and art for centuries. In famous old works such as Makura no Sōshi（枕草子, The Pillow Book）and Genji Monogatari（源氏物語, The Tale of Genji）, we can find scenes connected with fireflies. Their brief glow, summer nights, and the movements of the human heart have long been linked in the Japanese imagination. Fireflies have been seen not only as glowing insects, but also as beings that carry the feeling of passing seasons and human emotion.

In the Edo period, going out to see fireflies, called Hotaru-gari（蛍狩り）, became a summer pleasure. Ukiyo-e also preserved scenes of women in yukata and children watching or chasing fireflies. Going out to the waterside on a summer night and waiting for small lights was a seasonal pleasure for people in the past as well.

Modern firefly viewing has changed somewhat from the Hotaru-gari of the past. Today, it is important to see fireflies in their place and protect the environment that allows them to return. Firefly viewing events and festivals continue in the same places each year because those places still have the conditions fireflies need.

In particular, Genji-botaru（ゲンジボタル）spend their larval stage in clean flowing water and grow by eating small freshwater snails called Kawanina（カワニナ）. They need flowing water, aquatic plants, and a river where Kawanina can live. They also need grassy or earthen banks, and fewer strong artificial lights. Behind the glow of fireflies, there are waterside conditions and the care of local people.

That is why, in well-known firefly areas, people continue to clean rivers and waterways, manage grassy areas, and encourage proper viewing manners. Going to see fireflies is a chance to witness a beautiful early-summer scene, and also to encounter a waterside that has been carefully maintained.

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The season that appears in daytime through wheat fields and rice paddies takes another form at night. After the sun sets, people gather by the water and wait for small lights. Firefly viewing belongs to this brief season. It remains in literature and art, is protected by local communities, and is passed down each year as a seasonal pleasure.

One of the well-known firefly events in Japan is the Shinshū Tatsuno Hotaru Matsuri（信州辰野ほたる祭り）in Tatsuno Town, Nagano Prefecture.

Tatsuno calls itself “Japan’s No. 1 firefly village,” and the festival will mark its 78th year in 2026. It is held in early to mid-June, when fireflies are at their best, and many people visit during the festival period. The number of visitors is said to reach around 100,000.

Behind this well-known festival is a long history of local effort. There was once a time when the number of fireflies dropped sharply, and water pollution brought them close to a critical situation. Since then, local people have continued cleaning and conservation work, leading to the firefly scenery seen today. The festival is not only a chance to see beautiful light. It is also a reminder that this annual sight depends on the care of the place itself.

Another firefly event that caught my attention this year is the Haha River Firefly Festival（母川ほたるまつり）in Kaiyō Town, Tokushima Prefecture.

In 2026, it is scheduled to be held around the Haha River from June 6 to 13. During the festival period, Takasebune（高瀬舟）boats operate, allowing visitors to view fireflies from the river.

The evening wind carries moisture. The surface of the rice paddies reflects the sky. The color of the wheat deepens day by day. At night, people wait by the water for small lights. Each of these scenes belongs to Japan in late May, as the country moves toward summer.

After seeing the wheat fields turning gold, I look at the water in the rice paddies and think of the firefly nights ahead. After the season of spring flowers and before the full strength of midsummer, there is a short period of early summer. This year, I am feeling that season through the color of wheat and the glow by the water.

At Spiritual Japan Journal, I will continue to visit and write about Japan not only as a travel destination, but as a place where daily scenery changes with the seasons, and where culture remains in people’s lives. If there are places, events, or aspects of Japanese culture you would like SJJ to cover in the future, please let me know in the comments.

A paid subscription helps make this fieldwork and writing possible. It allows SJJ to keep visiting shrines, temples, festivals, seasonal landscapes, and the small scenes of everyday life across Japan, and to share them with care. Your support helps me continue going out to see these places and tell their stories thoughtfully.

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—Written by Sumire

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Zashiki-warashi are mysterious beings in the form of children, known mainly in the Tōhoku region, especially around Iwate Prefecture. Unlike supernatural beings said to appear deep in the mountains or in graveyards, zashiki-warashi have been said to appear inside the home. In zashiki rooms, inner rooms, corridors, and old houses. This small presence has been spoken of as something close to the places where people live.

The word zashiki（座敷） refers to a room in a traditional Japanese house. In the past, such rooms were places for receiving guests, and they could also show the status of a household. In that space, there is a warashi（童）, a childlike being. The idea of an unknown child being inside the house can feel frightening, but zashiki-warashi have been spoken of as good beings that protect the home and bring fortune. Those who see one are said to receive good luck. A house with a zashiki-warashi is said to prosper. But if the zashiki-warashi leaves, the fortunes of the house are said to decline. People have spoken of zashiki-warashi as beings that protect the home, bring good fortune, and sometimes signal the rise or fall of a household.

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The first source to mention when speaking about zashiki-warashi is Tōno Monogatari（遠野物語） by Yanagita Kunio（柳田國男）. Yanagita Kunio is known as one of the central figures who established Japanese folklore studies. He did not focus only on the political records and wars preserved in history books. He turned his attention to stories passed down in villages, homes, and mountain communities, and to the beliefs and customs that remained in people’s everyday lives. How did Japanese people see nature? How did they think about the dead? How did they speak about gods and yōkai? Yanagita sought clues to these questions in local traditions and daily life.

Tōno Monogatari was published in 1910. Tōno（遠野） is an inland region of Iwate Prefecture. In this mountain-surrounded land, many mysterious events have been passed down through stories, including tales of kappa, Oshirasama, mountain people, spirit abductions, and the dead. Tōno Monogatari is a book in which Yanagita Kunio recorded stories that had been passed down in the Tōno region, based on what he heard from Sasaki Kizen（佐々木喜善）, who was from Tōno.

Many of the stories in the text include specific names of places, people, and households. In other words, Tōno Monogatari can be read not as a book of distant folktales told in the form of “once upon a time, in a certain place,” but as a record of traditions tied to the memory of specific lands and people. Among them, there remain unforgettable stories in which zashiki-warashi are said to have changed the fate of a household.

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From May 16, the Japanese calendar enters the micro-season known as Takenoko Shōzu（竹笋生）.

The seventy-two micro-seasons divide the year into periods of about five days, giving names to small seasonal changes. Takenoko Shōzu refers to the time when bamboo shoots begin to grow up from the soil. Within the twenty-four solar terms, it is the final micro-season of Rikka（立夏）, the beginning of summer. In the traditional Japanese calendar, we are already within summer.

Bamboo shoots spend time growing beneath the ground, and at a certain point, they push up through the soil all at once.

The name of this micro-season carries the energy of nature moving from spring toward summer. Young green leaves, damp earth, plants reaching upward. In Japan, early summer has long been sensed through these small, familiar changes.

Japanese summer has many charms.

Summer festivals held across the country. People walking in yukata. Fireworks rising into the night sky. Kakigōri, shaved ice eaten on hot days. Suikawari, the summer game of splitting a watermelon with family or friends. On some nights, food stalls line the grounds of shrines or town squares, and the sounds of drums and flutes can be heard.

In the scenery of summer festivals, yukata, and fireworks, traces of older Japanese culture still remain. For visitors from overseas, summer is also a beautiful season when they can encounter scenes that feel deeply Japanese.

But this beautiful summer is also a season of severe heat.

By mid-May, the number of midsummer days, when temperatures reach 30°C or higher, was expected to increase mainly from eastern to western Japan. On May 17, central Tokyo, Nagoya, and Osaka were also forecast to experience their first midsummer day of the year, and the Japan Weather Association called for caution against heatstroke.

In Japan, May still carries traces of spring. The morning air has a softness to it, and the green of the trees is beautiful.

But by midday, the sunlight suddenly becomes strong. You begin to sweat after only a short walk, and even during a brief wait at a traffic light, heat remains on the skin.

One reason Japanese summer is often described as difficult is the humidity, in addition to the high temperature. Those who have visited Japan in summer may understand this deeply, but Japanese summer is not a season that can honestly be called easy to endure.

In countries with dry heat, sweat evaporates and body heat can escape more easily. In Japan, summer humidity is high, body heat does not escape easily, and the air itself can feel as if it is clinging to the body.

You may look at the temperature and think it does not seem that high, then step outside and suddenly feel your energy taken away by the humidity and sunlight. Japanese summer has that kind of heat.

And year by year, this heat is increasing.

According to the Japan Meteorological Agency, Japan’s average summer temperature has been rising over the long term. The summer of 2025 recorded the highest value since statistics began in 1898, marking the third consecutive summer of record-breaking heat.

The phrase “It’s hot again this year” is no longer just a seasonal greeting. For people living in Japan, summer has become a season to enjoy, and also a season that requires preparation to protect the body.

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Why Do People Carry Umbrellas When It Is Sunny?

When walking through a Japanese city in summer, there is one sight that may seem strange to people from overseas.

People walk with umbrellas, even though it is not raining.

In front of stations, at pedestrian crossings, in shopping streets, on the roads leading to shrines. On sunny days, white and black umbrellas appear one after another.

They are not rain umbrellas. They are higasa（日傘）, parasols used to block the sunlight.

In the past, parasols were often seen as a form of UV protection for women. Today, more people use them regardless of gender, as a tool to protect the body from heat. In recent years, parasols designed for men, as well as lightweight umbrellas that can be used in both sun and rain, have become increasingly common in Japan.

A parasol is not simply a visual custom. It is a practical way to deal with heat.

The Ministry of the Environment promotes the use of parasols as a way to reduce heat stress from early summer through summer. It has also been reported that using a parasol reduced the amount of sweat by about 17% compared with wearing only a hat.

From an overseas perspective, carrying an umbrella on a sunny day may look a little unusual.

But in Japanese summer, it is a very practical form of everyday wisdom.

Protection from ultraviolet rays is also necessary. The Japan Meteorological Agency explains that when UV levels are high, measures such as wearing a hat or long-sleeved clothing are effective.

In Japan, sunscreen is increasingly being seen less as a beauty product and more as a basic preparation for spending summer safely.

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What You Find in Japan’s Summer Goods Sections

In drugstores and department stores, products for spring pollen allergies gradually decrease, and summer heat-protection goods begin to stand out instead.

Sunscreen, sweat wipes, cooling sprays, portable fans, cooling towels, rings that cool the neck. In Japan, you can tell summer is approaching simply by looking at the shelves.

One item often seen in recent years is clothing and towels made with material called sesshoku reikan（接触冷感）, or contact-cooling fabric. It is designed to feel cool when it touches the skin, and is used in many products, including T-shirts, innerwear, towels, and bedding.

When you go outside on a hot day, the clothing itself feels a little cooler.

When you come home, you touch cool sheets.

A towel around your neck feels cooler than ordinary fabric.

Japan’s heat-protection goods have developed less around cooling the whole body with one large device, and more around reducing small discomforts one by one.

Cooling rings worn around the neck have also become common in summer streets. Some are chilled in a refrigerator or freezer before use, while others solidify at a certain temperature and can be used repeatedly.

Cooling the neck can slightly change how difficult it feels to walk outside. The Japan Weather Association also introduces neck coolers, ice packs, and portable fans as heatstroke-prevention items.

Another item often seen in Japanese summer is the small fan. Some types are held in the hand, while others are worn around the neck to send air toward the face. You often see people using them on station platforms, in lines at tourist spots, and at outdoor events.

Small fans do not create cold air. But by sending air onto the body, they make sweat evaporate more easily and can slightly soften the way heat feels. When you want to keep both hands free, the type worn around the neck is convenient. Some people use them together with parasols or cooling rings.

There are also instant cooling packs that become cold when you hit the bag.

Because they can be used even when there is no freezer nearby, they are useful for outdoor events, sports watching, and long periods of travel. They are also convenient at fireworks displays and summer festivals, where there are many people and it may be difficult to move immediately to a cooler place.

Heat Protection Is Also Preparation for Enjoying Japanese Summer

There are many places in Japan that I hope people will visit in summer. Blue seas, green mountains, old townscapes, shrines and temples, festivals and fireworks held at night. There are landscapes in Japan that look beautiful precisely because it is summer.

That is why it is important not to underestimate the heat when walking through Japan in summer. Drink water. Avoid direct sunlight. Use a parasol or hat. Apply sunscreen. Carry cooling goods. Rest before you feel unwell. These preparations are practical ways to enjoy Japanese summer in good health.

If you visit Japan in the coming months, try stopping by the summer goods section of a drugstore or general goods shop before heading to a tourist destination. Parasols, cooling rings, sweat wipes, small fans. There, you will find the many small ways Japanese people have learned to face the heat.

Japanese summer is a beautiful season. To enjoy that beauty with peace of mind, please make preparation for the heat part of your journey.

—Written by Sumire

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Japan has countless shrines, and many different deities are worshipped there. In Spiritual Japan Journal, I have often written about shrines connected to Japanese mythology and ancient forms of faith. These are places that enshrine deities passed down through Japanese mythology and belief, such as Amaterasu Ōmikami（天照大神）, Izanagi no Mikoto（伊弉諾尊）, and Munakata Sanjojin（宗像三女神）.

These deities have long been spoken of within Japanese culture and cherished as objects of prayer.

But the kami enshrined at Japanese shrines do not take only one form. Some shrines enshrine real historical figures as deities.

For example, Tenmangū（天満宮）shrines enshrine Sugawara no Michizane（菅原道真）, who is known as the deity of learning. Tōshōgū（東照宮）shrines enshrine Tokugawa Ieyasu（徳川家康）, the founder of the Edo shogunate.

Both are widely known shrines in Japan. But for readers overseas, the idea that a person who was born as a human being, lived through history, and eventually died could later be enshrined at a shrine may feel a little unfamiliar.

Oyama Shrine（尾山神社）, the place I visited this time, is one of those shrines that enshrine real historical figures.

The deities enshrined at Oyama Shrine are Maeda Toshiie（前田利家）, the first lord of the Kaga Domain, and his wife, Omatsu no Kata（お松の方）. The Kaga Domain was a large domain that ruled over the region centered on what is now Ishikawa Prefecture during the Edo period. A domain was a unit of regional rule in the Edo period, different from today’s prefectures. The daimyō who governed such a domain was called a domain lord.

Maeda Toshiie was not a god from mythology. He was a real person deeply connected to the history of the city of Kanazawa.

So why did a human being who actually lived become someone enshrined at a shrine? Who is remembered in this way?

As we walk through Oyama Shrine, we will look at that question.

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As I mentioned in a previous article, Japan was entering its major holiday period in May. Across the country, tourist spots, train stations, and event venues were filled with people—those traveling with family or friends, returning to their hometowns, or spending time close to home. At the same time, this year brought unstable weather in some regions, and many people had to change their plans or chose to stay indoors instead of going out.

May 2 marked Hachijūhachiya（八十八夜）, the 88th day counted from Risshun（立春, the beginning of spring). In Japan, this day is considered one of the seasonal turning points and has long been used as a guide for agricultural work, especially as a signal for the start of the new tea season. When freshly harvested tea begins to appear in shops, it becomes possible to feel, in everyday life, that spring is coming to an end and early summer is beginning.

The liveliness of the holiday, the uncertainty shaped by the weather, and the quiet sense of the season moving forward all overlapped during this week.

During this holiday, I visited Ōkawachiyama（大川内山）in Imari City, Saga Prefecture. This area was once home to the official kiln of the Saga domain and remains a place where the kilns of Nabeshima ware（鍋島焼）are gathered.

Surrounded by mountains, with rows of kiln shops along stone-paved paths, flowing streams, and greenery, it feels like a small, self-contained settlement shaped by the tradition of ceramics.

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Nabeshima ware was not originally made for everyday use. It was a special type of porcelain produced under the authority of the Saga domain, primarily as tribute for the shogun’s family. It was not something freely sold in markets, but rather a refined and valuable object created for a limited group of people, embodying the domain’s technical skill and aesthetic standards.

Understanding this history gives a different meaning to walking through the kilns and choosing pieces by hand today. Techniques and designs that were once out of reach for ordinary people have been preserved and are now connected to everyday life. Nabeshima ware also carries a history of approximately 350 years, with its system established in the late 17th century, and that lineage continues in this place today.

During Golden Week, Ōkawachiyama hosts the “Nabeshima Domain Kiln Market.” This annual event brings together many kilns, allowing visitors to pick up and compare pieces directly. Special pricing is often offered during this period, which draws a large number of visitors.

This trip also coincided with my birthday. When I thought about how I wanted to spend it, I realized I wanted to visit the kilns I had long been interested in and choose pieces that I could use in my daily life. Rather than spending the day somewhere extravagant, I wanted to spend time selecting something that would remain with me in my everyday routine.

Walking through the area, I found more kilns than I had expected, each with its own distinct character. Some pieces stood out for their translucent white porcelain, others for their delicate hand-painted designs, and some seemed to naturally fit into everyday dining. Visiting more than twenty shops, I realized that the act of looking at these pieces was also a way of understanding the place itself.

Among them, I chose pieces from Kanemon（瀬貞陶窯寛右エ門）and Kōzan Kiln by Ichikawa Kōzan（光山窯・市川光山）. The weight in the hand, the thinness of the rim, and the way the dishes would look with food on them were easy to imagine. Choosing these pieces felt like quietly shaping my future daily life.

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After that, I visited the Mikawachi Sarayama area in Sasebo City, Nagasaki Prefecture, where the “Mikawachi Ware Hamazen Festival（はまぜん祭り）” was being held. Mikawachi ware has a history as the official kiln of the Hirado domain. This festival is held to express gratitude for the “hama,” the ceramic supports used during firing, and to foster connections between the kilns and the local community. During the event, even workshops that are not usually open to the public can be visited, and it is possible to see pieces before firing and the stages of decoration.

Some of the finely decorated pieces are quite expensive, and many are chosen more as objects for appreciation than for everyday use. I purchased a clay pot from Heibei Seitosho（平兵衛製陶所）. Among all types of tableware, a clay pot is especially close to daily life—it is used to cook, then brought directly to the table, creating moments shared with others.

The pieces I purchased—a curry plate, versatile small plates, soba cups, a clay pot, and a large serving plate—have already become part of my daily life. None of them are for special occasions; they are meant to be used every day. I have already served a meal on the curry plate, and simply changing the plate made the same dish feel slightly different. The other pieces will gradually appear on my table again and again. Choosing tableware is, in a way, choosing the moments of meals that will follow.

I also recorded parts of this experience in my personal vlog. The atmosphere of the streets and the feeling of the place may be conveyed more directly through video.

At the same time, in Japan, this period is also associated with a term called Gogatsu-byō（五月病 / “May sickness”）. It is not an official medical condition, but rather a term used to describe the fatigue and stress from adapting to new environments in April that begin to surface after Golden Week. People who have been trying to adjust to new schools, workplaces, or relationships may suddenly feel a loss of motivation or physical discomfort.

Spring is often described as a bright season of new beginnings, but some people struggle with the weight of these changes. Sadly, this is also a time of year when the number of people who take their own lives tends to increase in Japan. While it is a season of renewal, it is not always an easy one for everyone. This reality exists behind the word Gogatsu-byō.

Each person carries their own challenges, including burdens that may not be visible to others. That is why, at this time of year, I find myself wishing that each person’s daily life might be even slightly more peaceful.

I hope that this spring will be a calm and gentle time for you. Even within busy days or moments of uncertainty, I hope there are small moments—sharing a warm meal, encountering something you love, or taking a moment to care for yourself. I hope those small moments can support your days.

—Written by Sumire

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In Spiritual Japan Journal, I have often written about the Kojiki（古事記） and the places connected to Japanese mythology. Amanoiwato（天岩戸）, Izumo Taisha（出雲大社）, and ancient shrines across Japan.

Through these field visits, I have come to feel that these places cannot be described simply as “tourist sites.” They offer clues for understanding how the gods of Japan have been spoken of, and how they have been connected to nature, land, and the lives of people.

To understand Japanese culture deeply, the Kojiki is an essential entry point. The stories recorded there offer important clues to how people in ancient Japan understood the land, nature, life, and death.

Among these stories, the gods deeply connected to the birth of the land and the gods are Izanagi Ōkami（伊弉諾大神） and Izanami Ōkami（伊弉冉大神）. In the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki（日本書紀）, these two deities are described as the gods who carried out Kuniumi（国生み）, the birth of the land, and Kamiumi（神生み）, the birth of the gods. They are said to have given birth to the Japanese islands and to many of the gods connected to them. They are also indispensable for understanding the mythological flow that later leads to Amaterasu Ōmikami（天照大御神）.

The place deeply connected to these two deities is Izanagi Jingū（伊弉諾神宮） on Awaji-shima（淡路島）. Awaji-shima has long been described as the island said to have been born first in the Kuniumi myth. And Izanagi Jingū is a special shrine that enshrines these two deities.

Why did this story become connected to the real island of Awaji-shima? And why does it still remain today in the concrete place of worship known as Izanagi Jingū?

With the landscapes I photographed, walked through, and experienced on site, I will trace that history.

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Awaji-shima and Izanagi Jingū

Izanagi Jingū is located in Taga, Awaji City, Hyōgo Prefecture. It is known as the Ichinomiya（一宮）, or highest-ranking shrine, of the former Awaji Province, and it is an old shrine whose name also appears in the Engishiki（延喜式）.

In the Kuniumi myth recorded in the Kojiki, Izanagi and Izanami stir the sea with the Amenonuboko（天沼矛）, the heavenly jeweled spear. The drops that fell from the tip of the spear are said to have formed Onogoro Island（淤能碁呂島）. The two deities descended to that island and began the birth of the land.

The first island they are said to have created was Awaji-no-ho-no-sawake-no-shima（淡道之穂之狭別島）, the island understood to correspond to present-day Awaji-shima.

What matters here is that Awaji-shima was not only a stage in myth. Since ancient times, it was also an important island in terms of maritime routes and food culture. Bronze objects such as dōtaku（銅鐸） have also been excavated on the island, showing that Awaji-shima is important when considering ancient history. It also held the role of Miketsukuni（御食国）, a region that supplied food to the imperial court.

Walking around the island, I noticed that traditions connected to mythology still remain. Izanagi Jingū should also be seen within that context. The two deities who gave birth to the land in myth are still enshrined as part of the faith of Awaji-shima. Through this, the stories of the ancient texts and the actual land begin to appear connected.

The myth of the island of beginnings. The lives of people who have lived with the sea. Traditions that remain in different places. Visiting Izanagi Jingū was also a way of confirming, with my own feet, the memory of Awaji-shima as a land where these layers overlap.

Walking Through Izanagi Jingū

When you arrive at Izanagi Jingū, the first thing that comes into view is the large torii gate standing at the front. It is about 8.2 meters high. Among shinmei-style torii gates made of granite, it is said to be one of the largest in Japan.

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At first glance, these may look like nothing more than anime character names or English words placed side by side. Yet all of them have actually been given as names to children in Japan.

There are other examples as well, such as Prince (王子) and Pooh (黄熊), names so unusual that many people would not even recognize them as names at first sight. In recent years, such examples have sparked major public debate in Japan.

Around the world, it is not uncommon to hear news of actors, singers, athletes, and other celebrities giving highly distinctive names to their children.

Japan, however, is somewhat different.

Put dramatically, it can feel as though someone wrote a single letter like “X” and declared that it should be read as “Jackson.”

You look at the characters and cannot read them. You hear the pronunciation and still cannot know which kanji are being used. In Japan, there was long a cultural freedom for parents to place their own readings onto characters according to meaning and personal intention.

Then, in 2025, a major turning point arrived in that unusually complex history of naming.

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This week, alongside the feeling of Japan today, I would also like to share a little about a new personal challenge of my own. If you are interested, I speak more about it later in this article.

April in Japan is a season of many changes. Schools begin their new academic year, companies enter a new business year, and many people step into new environments. School entrance ceremonies, new jobs, transfers, moving homes. In the streets, many people wear expressions of quiet tension, and within the spring air, there is a sense that new stories are beginning to move forward.

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As I mentioned in a previous article, many children in Japan enter school in April. Seeing them dressed in brand-new uniforms or carrying new randoseru backpacks, standing beside their families for commemorative photographs, is one of the scenes that belongs to this season. For adults as well, April is often a turning point. Many begin life in a new workplace, a new department, or with a new title.

Yet every new beginning brings fatigue as much as expectation. Unfamiliar relationships, days filled with things to learn, and rhythms of life different from before. Apart from the brightness of spring, small burdens begin to gather in both mind and body.

That is when Golden Week arrives. In Japan, several national holidays fall between late April and early May, allowing many people to take an extended break. The length of the holiday changes each year depending on how the holidays align with Saturdays and Sundays, and whether people choose to take leave on weekdays in between. In some years, it becomes a break of four or five days, while in others it can stretch to nearly ten days.

The main holidays during this period are Shōwa Day（昭和の日）on April 29, Constitution Memorial Day（憲法記念日）on May 3, Greenery Day（みどりの日）on May 4, and Children’s Day（こどもの日）on May 5. There is also a system known as Kokumin no Kyūjitsu（国民の休日）, in which a weekday between national holidays becomes a holiday itself, sometimes extending the break even further depending on the calendar.

The name “Golden Week” is not an official legal term. It is said to have spread in the 1950s as a commercial phrase used by the film industry, after noticing that cinema attendance and revenue rose sharply during this holiday period. It later became widely established in everyday society, and today it is Japan’s best-known name for a long holiday season.

Some people travel with family or friends, while others return to their hometowns. Some may simply look forward to resting quietly at home without making any special plans. For many, it is finally a chance to pause after working hard through the first weeks of a new life. Crowded stations and airports, and news reports of traffic jams on expressways, are also familiar scenes of this season.

Just as April in Japan is a month of beginnings for many people, it was the same for me.

In an article in January, I wrote that I had left the job I had held for many years. Leaving a place where I had spent so much time brought uncertainty, but it also became an opportunity to think again about how I want to use my time, and how I want to live.

Now, I am gradually exploring a way of working outside a company structure. It is not yet a finished shape. I am still trying, learning, and reconsidering things as I go. It may not be the most stable path, but there is a different kind of reality in days that I choose for myself and take responsibility for myself.

And this spring, I began something new. I started a personal vlog on YouTube.

This is a separate personal project from Spiritual Japan Journal. Through SJJ, I research and write about aspects of Japan that are not often fully conveyed in ordinary travel magazines: Japanese culture, history, shrines and temples, and the landscapes of regional Japan.

In the vlog, however, I record daily life in Japan from a more personal perspective. If Spiritual Japan Journal is a place where I share Japan through reporting and writing, this is a small record where people can see my everyday life through film.

For those who are interested, you may also find my vlog here:

Through beautiful visuals and words, I preserve fragments of the day’s atmosphere and ordinary life. Time spent at home, time spent going to work, small things that catch my eye within the changing seasons. Even in such ordinary moments, I feel that something distinctly Japanese appears naturally.

I wanted to share, in another form, the hours of daily life that never appear in guidebooks, and the feeling that someone is truly living in this country. For those who are interested, it may be another way to experience Japan, different from reading my articles.

Recently, more new readers have found this place, and I am truly grateful. To those who have been reading for some time, and to those who have only just arrived, I wanted to share a little of the changes in my own life this spring, which is why I wrote this piece today.

Through writing and through film, I hope to continue sharing Japan in many different forms.

What kind of season has this spring been for you? Have you started something new, or is there something you hope to begin soon? If you would like, I would love to hear the story of your life right now.

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—Written by Sumire

The person who brought the word Bushido to the world was Nitobe Inazō (新渡戸稲造). Born in 1862, he lived through the transition from the end of the Edo period to the beginning of modern Japan. He stood at a turning point, when the age of the samurai was ending and the shape of the country, along with its values, was changing dramatically.

In 1900, Nitobe published Bushido in English. Behind it was his wish to convey Japan’s moral outlook to the outside world. One of the questions that led him to write it came from the Belgian scholar Émile de Laveleye: “In a country where religious education is not strongly emphasized, how do people learn morality?”

In many countries, religion plays a major role as the foundation of ethical values. In Japan, by contrast, many people do not think of themselves as belonging to a specific religion. Even so, people overseas continue to express surprise at Japanese politeness, respect for time, public order, and calm behavior.

One of the answers Nitobe arrived at in order to explain that background was Bushido. It was not simply an old code for samurai. It was also a word that reflected what the Japanese people had regarded as virtue over a long span of time.

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Why did the samurai’s way of life, built on risking one’s life, endure beyond its own age?

Bushido was not originally a moral code for all Japanese people. It began as an ethic required of the samurai class.

The responsibilities placed upon them were heavier than most of us today can imagine: loyalty to one’s lord, the honor of one’s house, obedience to orders, and the resolve to give one’s life without hesitation. In an age of warfare, hesitation could lead to defeat, and betrayal could lead to the destruction of an entire family line.

For samurai, honor was not an ornament. It was something close to the very reason for living.

One symbol of this, known overseas as well, is seppuku (切腹). To take one’s own life in order to accept responsibility and wipe away shame seems extraordinarily severe from a modern perspective. Yet in samurai society of the time, there truly existed a way of thinking that valued honor above life itself.

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Did you know that at this time of year in Japan, fish can be seen swimming through the sky? In home gardens, at schools and kindergartens, in parks and shopping malls, fish of all sizes sway in the wind.

Their name is Koinobori（鯉のぼり）, carp streamers.

In a previous article, I introduced Hinamatsuri（ひな祭り）.

It is a familiar scene of spring in Japan, where hina dolls are displayed and prayers are offered for the healthy growth of girls.

If there is a day associated with wishing for the growth of girls, then of course there is also a day associated with wishing for the growth of boys. That is the approaching Tango no Sekku（端午の節句）. During this season, koinobori are displayed, and homes are decorated with kabuto helmets and Gogatsu Ningyō（五月人形）, May dolls.

May 5, the day of Tango no Sekku, is now a national holiday known as Children’s Day（こどもの日）. By law, it is defined as a day to respect the character of children, promote their happiness, and express gratitude to mothers.

However, this day was originally celebrated as Tango no Sekku, a day to pray for the healthy growth of boys. For that reason, even now, many people still hold the impression that Hinamatsuri is for girls, while May 5 is for boys.

At this time of year, koinobori begin to appear across the Japanese sky. Black, red, blue. The carp are arranged like members of a family, swelling in the wind, and they seem as if they are truly swimming overhead.

When speaking of the meaning of koinobori, the best-known reference is the Chinese tale of Tōryūmon（登竜門）. It tells of a carp that climbs a rushing waterfall and becomes a dragon. From this story, the carp came to symbolize overcoming hardship, growing stronger, and achieving success. People place that wish into the form of these fish, hoping children too will grow strong and resilient.

Yet the origin of koinobori is not explained by this tale alone. In Edo-period Japan, society was divided by class, with different roles and ways of life. The warrior class governed politics and military affairs, while townspeople lived in cities as merchants and artisans. Where people lived, what they wore, and what they could own also differed greatly. Even within the same town, daily life could look very different.

Tango no Sekku was originally an especially important occasion in warrior households. When a boy was born, banners and streamers were raised in front of the home to celebrate the birth of an heir and pray for his healthy growth. For warrior families, the growth of a son carried great importance, as it meant continuing the household line and protecting the family name.

As Edo cities prospered and merchants and artisans built lives of increasing comfort, townspeople also came to wish to celebrate the growth of their own children. However, displaying crested military banners or armor in the manner of the warrior class was not realistic for them. Instead, they turned to the carp, a creature associated with good fortune and familiar to ordinary people, and began raising decorations shaped like carp.

In that sense, koinobori were born when the seasonal customs of warrior society were transformed into a new form within the townspeople culture of Edo. What began as a celebratory scene in samurai households gradually spread into the sky as the wishes of ordinary townspeople.

For that reason, the koinobori that swim above Japan today carry not only the hopes of families wishing for the growth of their children, but also the layered history of a changing society.

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Inside homes, some families also display kabuto helmets and Gogatsu Ningyō. They are especially common in households with boys, and the helmet carries the meaning of protecting a child from misfortune. In the past, many families displayed large, elaborate sets, but today smaller pieces that fit on a shelf, along with simpler designs suited to modern homes, have become more common.

Walking through the city, one can also sense changes in the form of koinobori themselves. In earlier years, it was common to see large carp streamers raised in home gardens. In urban areas today, smaller versions for balconies have become more common. Some still swim across wide open skies, while others move gently beside apartment windows. In both forms, the wishes of each family seem to remain.

At the same time, there are places where this tradition continues to be preserved by the whole community.

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Last year, I visited Tsuetate Onsen（杖立温泉）in Kumamoto Prefecture. This area is loved for the quality of its hot spring waters, the steam rising from the ground, and the nostalgic atmosphere of its old-fashioned hot spring town. It is also known for the scale of its spring koinobori display. Around 3,500 carp streamers are raised above the Tsuetate River that runs through the town.

I remember watching the carp swim as though weaving through the pure white steam rising from the riverside inns. The scent of sulfur mixed with the sound of the streamers snapping in the wind, and the sheer power of the scene was unforgettable.

Koinobori displayed at home carry the wishes of a family. The koinobori of Tsuetate Onsen carried the joy of an entire community welcoming the season. It felt like a place where tradition was being preserved while also nurtured into a new landscape. I introduced it in more detail in last year’s article as well.

Scenes like these remind me that Japanese seasonal traditions are not simply preserved unchanged from the past. They adapt to changing homes, gain new charm through local creativity, and settle naturally into modern life.

In March, hina dolls are displayed. In April, new lives begin. In May, carp streamers swim through the sky. Spring in Japan is a season in which scenes wishing for the growth of children continue one after another.

Looking up at the koinobori overhead, I find myself hoping that children will grow up healthy, and that the families watching over them may live peaceful days. Even as times change, perhaps the wish for children’s happiness continues to be passed on unchanged.

Are there seasonal traditions where you live that wish for the growth of children or the happiness of families? If so, I would love to hear about the spring scenes of your own country.

—Written by Sumire

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At that time, I was far away from Ishikawa.

I was not directly affected myself. Yet I still remember the repeated images from the disaster area shown amid what should have been a celebratory New Year atmosphere: collapsed buildings, severed roads, and people spending anxious hours in evacuation shelters. At a time when words of celebration should have filled the air, many people were facing hardship.

I felt helpless being so far away, and it deeply pained me.

Time passed, and this year, I visited Ishikawa.

The first thing that made me happy on this journey was seeing so many international travelers at the airport and at Kanazawa Station. I heard English spoken in many different accents, from the United States, the United Kingdom, Australia, Canada, and beyond. A bright sense of travel had returned to the city.

Of course, it would be wrong to say that Noto, the region most affected, has fully recovered. There are still areas where lives are being rebuilt and infrastructure restored. The earthquake has not become a thing of the past.

Even so, when people visit Ishikawa, dine here, stay here, experience its culture, and carry home memories of its charm, that surely becomes a source of strength for the region. Tourism is not only leisure. It is also a practical cycle that supports local communities.

What I saw on this journey was not only Ishikawa as a tourist destination.

I saw a place that continues to protect beauty.
A place that rebuilds what has been lost.
A place that cultivates new value for the future.

Through three places—兼六園（Kenrokuen）Kenrokuen Garden, 金沢城公園（Kanazawa-jō Kōen）Kanazawa Castle Park, and 石川県立図書館（Ishikawa Kenritsu Toshokan）Ishikawa Prefectural Library—I would like to share what I felt there with all of you.

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兼六園（Kenrokuen）Kenrokuen Garden

Japanese gardens are a cultural form developed to express natural scenery within a limited space, to feel the changing seasons, and to calm the mind while walking through them. Samurai families, court nobles, and temples created gardens not only to receive guests, but also to engage with nature and seek spiritual richness.

That aesthetic vision did not remain within Japan. It spread widely overseas as well. Japanese gardens have been created in countries such as Canada, Australia, the United Kingdom, and Germany, often in places with deep ties to Japan or Japanese communities. Many of these gardens are cherished both as symbols of friendship between nations and as places where local people can experience Japanese culture.

Kenrokuen Garden is one of the finest examples. It is known as one of Japan’s Three Great Gardens, alongside Kairakuen in Mito and Korakuen in Okayama, and it was developed over many years by successive lords of the Kaga Domain.

The name “Kenrokuen” comes from the Chinese classic Luoyang Mingyuan Ji and refers to six qualities considered essential to an ideal garden: spaciousness, seclusion, human care, antiquity, abundant water, and fine views. The name itself contains the ideals this garden sought to embody.

Because of our filming schedule, we entered the grounds early in the morning. With few people around, Kenrokuen had a calmness different from the daytime hours.

Sunlight filtered through the trees, light shimmered across the pond, and we walked through the clear morning air. That time itself felt like an experience.

What I noticed again and again while walking was that every direction formed a complete scene.

The placement of bridges, the breadth of the pond, the height of the trees, the curve of the paths, the arrangement of stones. Much of what appears accidental was in fact shaped through human design. Yet it never felt artificial. Wind moved through it, light entered it, trees grew, and moss spread. Nature had added its own force.

The beauty shaped by human hands and the beauty added slowly by time and nature came together to create the landscapes of Kenrokuen.

One of the garden’s most famous sights is 徽軫灯籠（Kotoji Tōrō）, standing beside Kasumigaike Pond. This stone lantern has a distinctive two-legged form and is said to be named after its resemblance to the bridges of a koto, the traditional Japanese zither. It has become one of the most recognizable symbols of Kenrokuen.

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This week in Japan, entrance ceremonies for elementary schools were held across the country. In many parts of the world, it may not be common to celebrate entering school as such a large formal occasion. In Japan, however, the entrance ceremony is one of the defining scenes of spring, and it is regarded as an important milestone for both children and their families.

Japan uses an age-based school system, so children who are six years old as of April enter the first grade of elementary school at the same time. From there, everyone advances together each year. This system is one reason why the entrance ceremony is widely seen as a shared starting line across Japanese society.

On this day, a special atmosphere surrounds the schools. Children stand beside their families dressed in formal clothes, wearing small suits or dresses, with slightly nervous expressions. Parents accompany them in formal attire, and it is not unusual to see grandparents there as well. In front of the school gates, signs reading “Entrance Ceremony” are placed, and families line up one after another to take commemorative photographs. The sight of families smiling around their children can be seen throughout Japan at this time of year.

In recent years, even live television broadcasts have reflected a change in attitude. Celebrities and announcers sometimes say, “I will join a little late because of my child’s entrance ceremony,” and many viewers accept it naturally. I believe this growing respect for family events is also part of the reason entrance ceremonies continue to hold such importance in Japanese society.

I still remember my own entrance ceremony day. It was many years ago, but I walked to school with my parents wearing a blazer, feeling proud, as though I had stepped a little closer to adulthood. I still clearly remember taking a family photograph in front of the school gate.

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Surrounded by spring cherry blossoms, children stand in line with their new randoseru backpacks on that bright and celebratory day. Then, from the very next morning, a new daily life begins. In Japan, walking to school is the standard form of commuting for elementary school students. Many children make their way to school on their own, without their parents accompanying them. At this time of year, local volunteers stand at crosswalks to watch over first graders who are walking the route for the first time. It is also common to see older students walking beside younger ones, adjusting their pace to match them.

The fact that children can ride public transportation alone or walk to school by themselves is also a symbol of Japan as a relatively safe society. There is a system in place in which not only schools and families, but the wider local community also supports children. At the same time, changes have begun to appear in that sense of safety. Whenever incidents or troubling news involving elementary school children are reported, many parents feel anxiety. More families are giving children GPS devices or driving them to school, reflecting the complex realities facing Japan today.

And spring also brings its own difficulties. While many bright and pleasant days continue, there are increasing days when the air appears hazy. The outlines of distant mountains and buildings blur, and the blue sky sometimes looks faintly white. The causes are fine particles such as yellow dust and PM2.5. In addition to seasonal pollen allergies, concerns about the health effects of airborne particles such as yellow dust and PM2.5 seem to be growing year by year.

Spring should be a season that makes people want to step outside, yet it is also a time when we must face issues of air quality. Watching children begin their new lives, I am reminded how much I hope for a society where they can walk freely beneath clear skies without anxiety. Children commuting safely, and families quietly watching over their growth. I hope such ordinary days will continue into the future.

In the place where you live, what kinds of worries or seasonal challenges come with spring? Is it pollen, changing weather, or perhaps a completely different landscape? If you would like, I would love to hear the story of spring where you are.

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—Written by Sumire

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