The “pechka,” a heating appliance born from the wisdom of northern peoples, is a type of stove that combines the functions of a fireplace and a stove. It has evolved uniquely in different regions. In Scandinavia, stone pechkas, primarily made of granite due to its low thermal conductivity, are characteristic. It is believed they maintained consistent room temperatures by leveraging the stone’s heat retention properties.

In Russia, brick pechkas became dominant, often featuring elegant decorations while maintaining practicality. Records from mansions in St. Petersburg, the capital, document the existence of pechkas beautifully adorned with decorative tiles.

The pechka culture in Manchuria is considered to have been formed through a confluence of historical factors. The presence of Russian communities who settled in northeastern China, the influence of engineers involved in the construction of the Trans-Siberian Railway, and the arrival of Japanese migrants all intertwined to cultivate a distinctive style.

In the 1920s, Manchuria was in the midst of significant social transformation. The warlord conflicts following the Xinhai Revolution, the influx of Russian immigrants after the Siberian Intervention, and Japan’s full-fledged management of Manchuria created a historical landscape where different cultures met and merged.

During this period, the South Manchuria Educational Association commissioned the creation of songs for Japanese children living in the area. In response, KITAHARA Hakushuu wrote the lyrics and YAMADA Kousaku composed the music. It is said that during their visit to the region, they were exposed to a rich musical culture where Russian folk songs, Chinese folk songs, and Japanese songs intermingled, with the pechka as a central gathering point.

Later, the pechka was also introduced to Hokkaido. Documents from the Colonial Ministry record that Russian engineers, invited by the Meiji government, provided guidance, and the pechka was modified to suit the lives of Japanese people using locally available materials. Today, pechkas can still be seen in places like the Historical Village of Hokkaido, the former NAGAYAMA Takeshiro Residence, and the former Mitsubishi Mining Dormitory. In recent years, the thermal efficiency and heat retention of the pechka have garnered renewed attention due to environmental concerns, and new research incorporating the latest technologies has begun.

People gather around its warmth, engaging in casual conversations. One of the few joys of a cold winter is found around the pechka. The lyrics and music that evoke such scenes continue to be loved by many, even 100 years after their release.

The song “Momiji” is a traditional piece that symbolizes the beauty of autumn in Japan. The word “Momiji” (紅葉), written in Kanji, also has another reading, “Kouyou,” which refers to the changing colors of autumn leaves, a phenomenon highly appreciated in Japanese culture. This word reflects the broader cultural significance of the season and the aesthetics of nature in Japan. The appreciation of “Kouyou” is not only a modern pastime but is deeply rooted in Japanese literature and art.

One of the most popular activities during the autumn season is known as “Momiji-gari” (紅葉狩り), which literally means “hunting for autumn leaves.” However, the term does not imply actual hunting, but rather refers to the practice of traveling to scenic spots to view and admire the changing colors of the foliage. Similar to how people gather to enjoy cherry blossoms in the spring (a practice known as “hanami”), “Momiji-gari” is a cultural activity where people go out to appreciate the beauty of nature in its autumnal form. This tradition is deeply embedded in Japanese culture, reflecting a unique way of connecting with the seasonal rhythms of the natural world.

In Japanese poetry, especially in the form of waka and haiku, the transition from summer to autumn is a recurring theme, often symbolizing the impermanence of life, a concept central to Japanese aesthetics. The falling leaves of deciduous trees serve as a poignant metaphor for the fleeting nature of existence, known as mono no aware. This philosophical reflection is central to classical Japanese literature and contributes to the deeper emotional resonance of autumn imagery in the arts.

autumn leaves and Nishikigoi carp

Despite the profound themes underlying the song “Momiji,” the lyrics themselves are remarkably straightforward and accessible, which is why it has been cherished by people of all ages for generations. Even children can grasp its meaning, which adds to its widespread popularity and enduring appeal. This balance between simplicity and depth is a hallmark of much Japanese cultural expression.

The lyricist, TAKANO Yasuyuki, drew inspiration from the spectacular autumn foliage he witnessed near Kumanotaira Station, a location that had already been abandoned at the time. The contrast between the station’s deserted state and the vivid beauty of the surrounding leaves reflects a sense of nostalgia and the passage of time, further enriching the song’s emotional depth.

Kouyou in Arashiyama, Kyoto, like a pastel painting

In Japan, the progression of autumn colors follows what is known as the “autumn foliage front,” which moves gradually from the northern to the southern regions of the archipelago. This is a reverse of the “cherry-blossom front” observed in spring, where the blooming of cherry blossoms travels northward. The arrival of autumn foliage, therefore, serves as a natural prelude to the coming of winter, marking the cyclical rhythm of the seasons that plays a significant role in the Japanese connection to nature.

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“Momiji” has rightfully earned its place as one of the “100 Best Japanese Songs,” a distinction that highlights its importance in the cultural and musical heritage of Japan. The song not only encapsulates the beauty of autumn but also serves as a reminder of the intricate relationship between nature, time, and human emotion that is deeply ingrained in Japanese culture.

Kamakura, near Kyoto and Tokyo, is also famous for its autumn leaves.

The Medaka: A Tiny Fish with a Gentle Soul

The medaka, known by its scientific name Oryzias, is a tiny fish less than 5 centimeters long, inhabiting mainly freshwater and slightly brackish waters across East and South Asia. It prefers calm, slow-moving streams, ponds, and rice paddies—settings that evoke peaceful rural landscapes. Because of its habitat, it has been dubbed a type of “killifish,” a term derived from the Dutch word kilde, meaning “brook” or “small stream.” Yet, to Japanese ears, the presence of the word “kill” in “killifish” feels oddly jarring when associated with such gentle, charming creatures.

An alternative and more culturally resonant name is “Japanese Rice Fish,” which paints a fitting image of the medaka gracefully darting between stalks of rice in flooded paddies. This term aligns beautifully with the sensibility of Japanese aesthetics, which often celebrate the quiet beauty of nature and small lifeforms that thrive within it.

A Wartime Memory Behind the Lyrics

There’s a touching anecdote tied to the lyrics of the medaka-themed children’s song. During the Second World War, lyricist CHAKI Shigeru evacuated from Tokyo to Odawara, a coastal town in Kanagawa Prefecture, bringing along his young son. One day, while relaxing by the riverbank, CHAKI casually looked into the water and saw a school of medaka swimming peacefully.

Suddenly, a noise startled the fish, and they vanished in an instant. CHAKI voiced his disappointment, only for his son to comfort him by saying, “Don’t worry, they’ll come back soon. This river is like a school for medaka.” This innocent remark, though seemingly offhand, left a strong impression on CHAKI. While later accounts confirmed that this charming episode was a fictional backstory, it still offers a heartwarming glimpse into how the imagination can shape creative work.

The Power of Repetition: A Composer’s Touch

Interestingly, the well-known second line of the song—“Sotto nozoite mite goran” (“Take a peek quietly and see”)—was not originally repeated. It was NAKADA Yoshinao’s fiancée who suggested that the line be sung twice, adding a lyrical softness and childlike echo to the melody. This gentle repetition became a defining feature of the song, typically sung in a subdued, hushed voice that mirrors the quiet act of peeking into a stream without disturbing its delicate life.

A Childhood Mishearing That Lingers

As a child growing up in the Showa era, I distinctly remember mishearing the third verse of the song. The line “Mizu ni nagarete tsuui tsui” (“Drifting in the water, slipping along”) was something I confidently believed to be “suui sui”—a phrase that sounded more fluid and natural to my ears at the time. Even after consulting various lyrics archives, it turns out “tsuui tsui” is indeed the correct version. It’s a small yet delightful reminder of how children’s ears often interpret lyrics through their own imaginative filters.

A Medaka Renaissance in Modern Japan

In recent years, Japan has witnessed an unexpected “medaka boom.” Enthusiasts have selectively bred medaka to create stunning varieties with shimmering colors, unusual fins, and unique patterns. These designer medaka, some of which command high prices, are now beloved among collectors and hobbyists alike.

It’s quite possible that this quiet renaissance in medaka appreciation will extend overseas—much like how BONSAI, once a humble Japanese art form, now enjoys global admiration. The medaka, with its gentle charm and poetic presence in Japanese culture, might one day swim into the hearts of people around the world.

100 Best Japanese Songs

Thefts of high-end medaka killifish on the rise – Japan News Yomiuri