Japan pt. 4: Hirohakama, Christmas Mochi making
I don't typically celebrate Christmas. At least my celebrations aren't very decadent, In fact, a majority of the holidays I've had since leaving home are spent solo. Aside from casual dinners with my father (usually followed by a movie). So the Idea of spending it with Family and friends of which making Mochi in a Farmhouse outside Tokyo sounded both delicious and relaxing. It was very long bus ride back from Shin-akawago and a late arrival back to Shinjuku, groggily commuting home to Hirohakama I barely slept. Instead using the travel time back to edit photos and attempt some writing. Something I've gotten more accustomed to doing. the silence and comfort of Japanese buses an amazing workspace, given the opportunity. It was a crisp morning as we headed to the neighbors house, A family that has owned farmland in the area far before Tokyo crept further into the rural areas. Now their land is spread between a couple fields along the cemented in creek that flows through the town centre.
There's a number of family members already hard at work cooking, stoking the wood fires and changing the bamboo steaming baskets. The smell of warm rice hangs in the cold air, creating a homely sense to the perfectly manicured yard. The placement seems odd, an old style house with terraced fields stuck in the middle of streets and buildings, So much of the new has been mixed in with the old like all of Japan. Between office towers, there are shrines and temples. Along cemented creeks and streets a farmhouse growing rice. A short exchange of "hellos", "Happy new year"s and introductions in a very broken Japanese and I'm quickly adopted into the process. Everyone seemed to be fairly surprised that a foreigner likes Mochi and Red bean paste so much. My passion, however, seemed to pay off, as everyone was very impressed with how well I could roll the mochi into flat square bags ( a system that was very particular.). The bags made to be divided amongst family, friends and some of us helping out for the day.
The day felt much like any other family gathering, even though I couldnt pick up any of the conversation and nobody except my aunt and uncle could speak english the feeling was there. Everyone was included, generations gathered and caught up, laughing about stories and jokes. Enjoying the Gai-jin helping them make Mochi. It was a wholesome time, and I ate a lifetime's worth of mochi in one day. The people in Japan are passionate about what they love, whether its fashion, technology or farming they do it with their whole hearts. They put everything they have into their passion and love to share it with others. I was so happy to be a part of what these people had here, the love they had for growing and making good food, sharing it with the people around them. As I took a break from rolling mochi my uncle comes up and tells me to grab my camera, were going to the fields. I wasnt sure what we where doing until we arrived, a small field just five minutes drive from the house. Rows and rows if daikon lined the cold soil, massive and green. The farmer pointed at the daikon and gestured for me to pick one, and a big one at that. We wandered the rows until one jumped out at me. The daikon was the size of my head, Big and fat. Enough for a month of Daikon salad and soup. It wasn't enough, he led us over to the other side of the field. My uncle told me he said we could pick another, one of the much more expensive and difficult to grow round Daikon. The generosity was amazing and I thanked our new friend for it, finding the biggest Daikon I could. Heaving it out of the soil to find it the size of my head. Give me a month in Japan and I've come to love the vegetable.
Who am I kidding, I love all vegetables. By the time we came back to the house we were about ready to start making the red bean mochi. The highlight of the day. The mochi I had been truly waiting for. Although the savory mochi flavors where revolutionary, Red bean was still my favorite. As we all shuffled the Mochi around the red bean, a process much harder than they made it look, we all laughed as the struggle seemed to be communal aside from the veterans. A mixture of pinching and, the best I can describe it, shuffling the mochi dough to fold it around the center. Careful not to make it too thin, or lumpy, or get too much of the starch on the outside. Thankfully we got to eat the ugly ones. There where plenty to go around.
As we all sat eating Mochi and cold soba, joking about I played with the young kid one mother had brought. She must have been in kindergarten, shy but curious about the girl speaking English. Excited, she spoke a couple of English words she learned in school. Apple and Hello. I laughed and replied back in Japanese. It was fun playing with someone who had the same understanding of english as I had for Japanese.
Though the day came to a close, and my eyes were struggling to stay awake. The long travel day previous truly taking me down a few notches. Saying our thank yous and goodbyes, arms full of Daikon and Mochi, we left the sweet little farm, the family I felt so connected with here regardless of the fact we didn't really speak. Making Mochi on christmas day was a tradition I will probably never be able to re-create, but will cherish forever.
