Village festival

Sasaya is a small rural village in Northeastern Japan. It consists of one street with houses on both sides. Behind these long narrow homes runs a river, which considerately divides itself to flow on both sides of the street. The water is crisp and cool, coming straight off the mountain. Locals use it as is for drinking and cooking. And since it never freezes, despite the rugged winters in that area, it is appreciatively used year round.

Behind this small fast-flowing river are huge vegetable patches bursting with summer produce that bring tomatoes and cucumbers, onions and squash, daikon and potatoes to the family table. Since the one and only supermarket is a long drive away, homegrown food is a fact of life, as it has been for centuries.

There is a graveyard and community center at one end of this hamlet and a Shinto shrine at the other. Everyone’s family name is Suzuki and everyone is related in some way. Except for the brides that come into this close-knit little haven, everyone pretty much resembles each other, too.

As in most rural areas in Japan, young folks are leaving, but most from this village do not go too far. A few go over the mountain to the closest small town. Others venture a two-hour drive to live near the sea, and an occasional few get as far as Sendai, the biggest city in the area. No matter how far they go, however, they all flock home for holidays, making the place swell up to about fifty souls --- at most.

Summer festivals are big all over Japan. Most are Shinto related, which means they involve thanking the gods and spirits of nature for their life-giving gifts. It is very important to hold these yearly events. Otherwise the Great Unseen Forces would become upset and could cause considerable damage. No one wants to disrupt the proper functioning of nature; there are too many risks involved. So, everyone religiously follows ancient rituals to keep heaven and earth in happy balance.

Of course, Sasaya holds its yearly summer festival, too. All family members, from near and not-quite-so-near, congregate. On the first evening, folks go to the community center to celebrate. This festivity used to be held at the shrine, but since it is held during the rainy season and was often rained out, in recent years it has been transferred to inside. Not as nature-connected, but more sure.

There are games for kids, like “hit the watermelon with a bat” (when blindfolded) or “catch a goldfish in a tub” (with a small very weak net that breaks easily). There are snow cones that turn tongues purple, orange, red and black. And grilled hot dogs that kids eat on a stick. There is a lot of running around and screaming, of course. And the adults appreciate a few cups of delicious sake or cool, refreshing beer. Men drink, women chat, kids race around. Everyone knows everyone, accepts everyone, and has a great time.

At the end there are prizes. The kids get notebooks and pens for school or a bag of sweets. Adults get things like sunbonnets and hoes for garden work, sturdy plastic boxes for storing things, and large round woven baskets for drying vegetables in the sun. All very practical. All very useful. All very appreciated.

After these gems are awarded, everyone staggers home at about 9 p.m.

The celebrating continues the following day, but with a hint of a religious dimension. Everyone puts on short blue jackets with a bright red character on the back saying, “Matsuri”, Festival. They amble up to the small shrine, which has been opened for this special occasion. An old visiting priest totters in, sounds the drum, drones prayers, swishes blessings over all with a leafy branch, and then departs.

But the festival is far from over. There is an elaborate portable shrine, which is carried on two poles by two strong men. The space between the men is packed with eager kids of all ages. A pick-up truck holds the drum and leads the way. The wonderful deep, low sound of this “taiko” is followed by sharp cracks as the stick taps the rim. Booooom. Booooom. Clickity-click. Booooom. Booooom. Clickity-click.

Ever so slowly this little band winds its way down the row of houses. The altar swings and rocks, the two men chant, “Wash-ai. Wash-ai. Wash-ai”, as the kids chime back. As this procession passes, grandpa and grandma hobble out, smile, nod their heads, and then sit down for a rest. Relatively younger members stand around and chat.

Every year three houses are designated to provide refreshments. So after about ten minutes of excitement and great effort, the little parade comes to a halt, the altar is gently placed on a stand, and everyone heads for the snacks. At one home there might be salt-pickled cucumbers (great for summer heat), eggs and muffins. At another there are usually rice balls, candies, and more pickles. The final stop may have more muffins, fruit, and yes, salted pickles once again. And of course, there are soft drinks, green tea, beer and sake.

The rest stops are much longer than the marching. Kids run around stuffing themselves silly. Women fly around after them wiping mouths and runny noses and snapping photos. The men vociferously enjoy their beer and sake as kids race around them or climb up on their laps. On really hot occasions, someone opens up the fire hoses, and throws buckets of water over everyone to the screams and delight of the youngsters.

It takes the entire morning for this little entourage to work its way from one end of the hamlet to the other and back again. By that time everyone is stuffed with food and spirits (of one form or another), and definitely ready for a nap. People fold up the banners, put away the drum and small altar, return the truck to its owner, and settle down with a tremendous sense of having done things properly and well.

This delightful little festival is always a marker that holds the community even more closely together. The bonding includes not only the human inhabitants, but the Hidden Forces as well. And in this day and age, human and spiritual bonding is a very great and needed privilege indeed. Wouldn’t you agree?