Summer boat festival

When I was a child, every summer in my hometown there was a county fair. Since it was a farming community, there were exhibits by the 4-H, pens with prize-winning calves, mountains of Blue Ribbon produce, and a parade through town with fire engines and tractors. It was an event that brought out the entire populace and was talked about for months afterwards.

With those memories as part of my roots, I appreciate local festivals very much. Happily where I live now in Japan, there are many such summer events because this area is surrounded by paddies on one side and the ocean on the other. Last year I went to a festival featuring farmers, so this year I elected to head towards the sea.

I arrived in mid-afternoon, just as things were getting started. The entire harbor was lined with boats, some for fish, others for shell, octopus or squid. Each one was majestically decorated with a huge bamboo pole, down the length of which ran vibrant flags of all sorts. People mirrored the glory of the vessels by wearing traditional brightly colored summer kimonos. Women, children, and men also wore high wooden sandals that allowed them to teeter their way down the street, as if they were keeping in sync with the rocking boats.

At exactly 3 p.m. a few fireworks blasted the sky, easily awakening the gods who might be sleeping. Since this was a festival for them, it was imperative that they be invited to participate in the day’s activities.

Once that bold announcement had been made, an ensemble of Japanese taiko (kettle drums) players started the ceremonies with their shouts, leaps, and rhythmic throbbing of their drums. And then the boats, rippling with flags, paraded past the crowd and set out for the wide-open waters. They wanted to pay their respects to the gods of the sea, who had provided their kith and kin with a livelihood for generations.

While the men were away, the older women of the village, dressed in festive costume, danced a traditional number with waving arms and gestures of filling nets and catching fish. They made a long triple queue down the main street, which was lined with respectful bystanders, even though their efforts were rather uninspiring in this day and age that worships speed and individual creativity.

After that bit of entertainment, there were some rather long gaps when nothing planned seemed to happen. So, people headed to the stalls to buy food and beer. Kids ran and played, recently mature young folks flirted and acted Japanese-ly shy, grandparents took afternoon naps on bright blue mats, and of course, everyone checked everyone else out. These ordinary activities were punctuated by an occasional tinny sounding announcement or by wobbly recorded music that had known better days.

Since this type of festival is Shinto, the religion indigenous to Japan in which the spirits of the gods are found in all manifestations of nature, priests of that persuasion arrived in full garb. There was an altar with white flowers, piles of grapefruits and cakes, candles and incense. There were also special drums (not taiko) and cymbals, which the priests struck as they droned out their hypnotic prayers.

Then at 6 sharp the taiko players boarded a beautifully decorated boat and pounded out their gratitude to the sea for another year of bounty as their vessel wound its way round the small, but important harbor.

As dusk fell, smaller boats filled with paper lanterns, all lit with real candles, set out to place their thousand points of light upon the lapping waves. And as they bobbed and drifted, colorful fireworks painted the night sky, to the delight of young and old alike.

As I watched those throngs, seeing the sedate priests, the lean muscular musicians, the families with grandparents and teeny children, tired parents, newly weds, lovers, school kids, and of course, the sturdy fishermen, I felt very much anchored in that place at that time. I could sense people’s deep, deep roots that stretched back for centuries. And on that day I sensed a special moment that allowed them to step beyond their habitual shyness and reclusion, and to say with genuine confidence and arching pride, “I am Japanese!”