The song’s lyrics, with the tempo of a round, lovely apple murmuring, are perfectly matched with a melody tinged with shame and melancholy.

The lyricist, TAKEUCHI_Toshiko, is said to have written the lyrics while gazing at the apple on his bed, which he received as a visit during her hospitalization. This was in the early Showa period. Farmers, especially those in the Tohoku region where apples were grown, were in a difficult situation, and many families sold their daughters. This song may have depicted such a situation. When the lyrics are read with the historical background in mind, they can be taken as the words of a daughter who was sold to a brothel in the city to make ends meet, murmuring about her hometown. The background of the song is painful, but the melody has a lightness to it that makes it all the more sad.

At the lined-up shops from various places…Meiji Era

Yoshiwara Yuukaku in 1930s

Daughter Peddling Counseling Center Posting

Considering such a historical background, one cannot help but be struck by the sadness of the daughters who look up at the sky and think of their hometowns without complaining.

The song “Mushi no koe,” published as a Ministry of Education song in 1910, celebrates the rich and varied sounds of insects chirping in the autumn grass. This song embodies the unique Japanese aesthetic sense of “furyu,” which appreciates the elegance of nature. While in the West, insect sounds are often considered noise, in Japan, they have long been cherished as a refined way to enjoy the arrival of autumn.

For Japanese people, the sounds of insects are not just noises but essential elements that signify the change of seasons. This sensitivity is frequently depicted in ukiyo-e (Japanese woodblock prints), which often feature insects and their habitats. In Kanazawa’s Higashi Chaya District, traditional teahouse buildings with beautiful lattice windows called “kimusuko” remain. The term “kimusuko” itself, meaning “wooden insect cage,” symbolizes elegance and reflects the Japanese aesthetic that values the sounds of insects. Such architectural designs also illustrate the Japanese appreciation for the beauty of insect sounds.

歌川広重 – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 41.469_IMLS_PS3.jpg, パブリック・ドメイン, リンクによる

A machiya with a “kimusukago” design, characterized by fine, regular slits that look like insect cages. At Higashi chayamachi , Kanazawa.

The song’s lyrics use onomatopoeia to vividly express the sounds of insects, creating a unique rhythm and resonance that deeply touches the listener’s heart. For instance, the phrases “chinchiro chinchiro chinchororin. Rinrin rinrin riinrin.” and “kirikiri kirikiri kirigirisu. Gachaya gachaya gachaya gachaya kutsuwamushi. Chon chon chon chon suitchon.” are used. However, there is an anecdote about how the scientific observation that “kirigirisu (katydid) does not chirp ‘kiri kiri,’ but it is the cricket that does” led to a correction in the lyrics, demonstrating an intriguing conflict between scientific accuracy and literary expression.

However, the advancement of modernization and urbanization has led to a decline in the appreciation of such elegant sensibilities. The increase in residential areas and environmental changes have reduced the habitats of insects, making it harder to hear their sounds. Despite this, there has been a recent resurgence of interest in this refined pastime, driven by a return to traditional Japanese values.

松岡明芳 – 投稿者自身による著作物, CC 表示-継承 3.0, リンクによる

“Mushi no koe” is a song that reminds us of the Japanese spirit of elegance. Through this song, we hope to help people rediscover the beauty of nature and the changing seasons, and revive the fading appreciation for these subtle natural sounds.

There is a saying in Japan, “Autumn days are like the falling of a tsurube”. The autumn sun sets and sets as early as the falling of a well bucket. It is a metaphor for the early dusk of autumn.

tsurube ido

Children are chasing dragonflies in the clear blue autumn sky and shining sunlight, losing track of time. Then, in no time at all, it is sunset time. Such was the scene that poet and physician NUKAGA Seishi saw on his way home from a house call four years after World War II. The passage of time, which had finally come and gone in a leisurely and tranquil way, is expressed by comparing it to the sun reflected in the large eyes of a dragonfly.

Otento sama in the story is an ancient Japanese term for the sun, another meaning of which is “god,” who watches over humans to prevent them from doing bad things. A typical example is the phrase “Otento sama ni kaomuke ga dekinai,” which is used when one has done something bad or embarrassing.

It has been selected as one of “100 Best Japanese Songs”.

“Makka na Aki” (which translates to “Bright Red Autumn”) is a beloved Japanese children’s song that reflects the emotions of children who want to continue playing outside, even as the autumn days grow shorter and the evening approaches earlier. The song captures a moment of childhood innocence and joy, where the change of seasons from summer to autumn brings new experiences and colors, yet also signals the end of long, sun-filled days.

When this song was first introduced in the 1960s, Japan was undergoing a significant period of transformation. The nation was rapidly modernizing, and the rural, natural landscapes known as satoyama (a term used for traditional rural areas where people live in harmony with nature) were starting to decline. This shift was partly driven by the economic growth that followed Japan’s post-war recovery, and the successful hosting of the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, the first ever held in Asia. These events symbolized a turning point for Japan, moving toward urbanization and industrialization, and consequently, the natural environment that children once played in was gradually disappearing.

Despite this trend, the song’s lyrics celebrate the beauty of a fully developed autumn landscape, rich in vibrant colors. The imagery of bright red leaves and crisp autumn air reminds listeners of the nature that still surrounded them in those times, offering children spaces to run and explore. The song can be seen as a tribute to the fleeting moments of nature that were still accessible in a rapidly changing world.

The song was written by lyricist SATSUMA Tadashi and composer KOBAYASHI Hideo, both born in 1931 in Tokyo. When “Makka na Aki” was first broadcast in 1965, both were 34 years old. Their childhood had been marked by the hardships of World War II and the destruction that came with it. Tokyo, the city where they grew up, had been devastated by air raids, and in the years following the war, it underwent a process of reconstruction and modernization. Given this context, it is possible that both creators felt a deep sense of nostalgia for the pre-war natural landscapes of their youth. They may have longed for a time when children could run freely in the countryside, before the pressures of modernization began to alter the city and its surroundings.

Water tank truck in Tokyo under the serious water crisis in 1964

This sense of nostalgia, combined with a recognition of the inevitable changes Japan was undergoing, may have influenced the creation of “Makka na Aki.” The song, therefore, does more than just celebrate autumn—it reflects a longing for the innocence of childhood, the beauty of nature, and the sense of freedom that was slowly being lost as the country modernized.

It depicts the joy of snowfall from a child’s point of view.

The song is a cheerful depiction of snow falling in a rhythmic, incessant manner.
As the lyrics of the second verse suggest, the dog running happily around the yard can be compared to a child, and the cat curled up against the cold in a kotatsu, a table-type heater that has been loved in Japan for centuries, can be compared to an adult.

The official world record for the deepest snowfall, by the way, is about 12 meters, which was observed on February 14, 1927, at the weather station on Mount Ibuki (1377 meters above sea level) in Maibara, Shiga Prefecture, Japan. It is almost the same height as the Ootorii (second shrine gate) of Meiji Jingu Shrine.

By 江戸村のとくぞう (Edomura no Tokuzo) – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0,

Setsubun is the day that divides the seasons. Originally, it existed for each of the four seasons, but now only Setsubun remains to divide winter and spring, which falls on the day before the vernal equinox in early February (February 3 in 2024). This is the time of seasonal change, when the bad energy of the year is most accumulated. In addition, the cold weather makes it easy to fall ill. Therefore, it has taken root as an event to purify bad qi and pray for good health throughout the year. As a result, the custom of scattering beans and decorating holly and sardine heads was born to ward off evil spirits. The spiritual meaning of Setsubun is to purify one’s negative emotions and thoughts, and to prepare for the new season with a positive attitude.Many shrines and temples hold Setsubun events.

By – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, Link

On Setsubun day, families generally eat dinner together. After dinner, they prepare beans for throwing and demon masks, and throw beans towards the inside and outside of the house while chasing the demon role wearing the mask. When throwing, it is customary to say “Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi!” (Demons out! Luck in!). After the bean-throwing is over, they pick up and eat the same number of beans as their age. This is a charm to stay healthy for a year.

Holly and sardine heads are amulets to ward off evil spirits. Holly has many thorns and is said to prick bad energy. Sardine heads are said to find bad energy because sardines have large eyes. By decorating holly and sardine heads at the entrance or window, it is said to protect the house.

Ehoumaki, a sushi roll eaten on Setsubun day, is one of the pleasures of the day. The origin of Ehoumaki is a custom that began in Osaka during the Edo period. It is a custom to silently eat Ehoumaki while facing the lucky direction (ehou) of the year to wish for good luck. Ehoumaki contains seven ingredients named after the Seven Lucky Gods. Ehoumaki became a nationwide phenomenon from the 1990s to the 2000s. During this time, convenience stores and supermarkets launched campaigns to sell Ehoumaki. It is said that this was a strategy of the distribution industry to attract customers during the Setsubun season.

“Haru yo koi” is a children’s song that depicts a little girl named Mii-chan eagerly awaiting the end of the snowbound winter and longing to play outside. Mii-chan is believed to be the model for this song, the daughter of the lyricist SOUMA_Gyofuu, who was just two years old when the song was released in 1923. Gyofuu, the father, never spoke about it, but according to the mother, he once showed them the “tiny, tiny red straw sandals that were the first gift Mii-chan ever received.”

After attending Waseda University in Tokyo and working as a university lecturer while engaging in literary activities, Gyofuu returned to his hometown of Itoigawa City in Niigata Prefecture in his mid-thirties. From then on, alongside his creative pursuits, he also delved into the study of Ryoukan, a local monk and poet. Ryoukan was known for his love for children, and his famous anecdote of playing with them until sunset. “Haru yo koi” reflects Gyofuu’s unique perspective and empathy towards Ryoukan.

By Yoshio Kohara, CC BY 3.0, Link

Although Itoigawa City, situated along the Sea of Japan, rarely experiences an average temperature below freezing in February, Niigata Prefecture is renowned as one of the world’s leading snowfall areas. The song beautifully captures the emotions of children eagerly anticipating the arrival of spring, even in this snowy region.

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 

“Oboro zukiyo” – A Famous Song Symbolizing Japanese Spring

“Oborozukiyo” (Hazy Moonlit Night)… On a spring evening, when you look up at the sky from a field of rape blossoms at dusk, you can see the moon dimly appearing and disappearing through thin clouds. Such a moon is called “Oborozuki” (hazy moon) and has become an elegant symbol representative of Japan.
The hazy moon is deeply connected to traditional Japanese aesthetic concepts such as “mono no aware” (the pathos of things) and “wabi-sabi.” The beauty of something unclear or incomplete lies at the heart of Japanese aesthetics. Descriptions of hazy moons can be found in literary works dating back to the Heian period, and many poets and haiku masters have celebrated its phantasmal beauty.

TAKANO Tatsuyuki – Creator of “Oborozukiyo” and the Background of Its Creation

TAKANO Tatsuyuki, a renowned lyricist and Japanese literature scholar, was born in Toyoda Village (now Nakano City) in Nagano Prefecture and spent some time as an elementary school teacher in neighboring Iiyama City. The entire Hokushin region of Nagano Prefecture, which includes Iiyama and Nakano cities, has been a thriving rapeseed cultivation area since the Edo period (1603-1867), and fields of rape blossoms spread all over the area in spring. It’s commonly believed that Takano used this scenery as the motif for “Oborozukiyo.”
However, since rapeseed is cultivated throughout Japan, some say that Takano was reminded of his hometown while living in Yoyogi Uehara, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo in his later years, and wrote about the rape fields there. In Nozawa Onsen Village, Nagano Prefecture, there is a memorial museum called “Oborozukiyo no Yakata HANZAN Bunko,” named after Takano’s pen name, HANZAN.
This song was published in elementary school textbooks in 1914 (Taisho 3) and composed by Teiichi Okano. Its simple yet distinctly Japanese melody has become a masterpiece that remains in the hearts of many people. It beautifully expresses the Japanese sensibility for the four seasons and nostalgia for hometown landscapes.

高野辰之記念館（長野県中野市）に屋外展示。以下、土台銘板より。題号 – 『高野辰之博士像』著作者名 – 原田治展長野県下水内郡豊田村（現・中野市）の村政40周年記念事業として1996年（平成8年）9月製作。, 日本著作権法46条／米国フェアユース, リンクによる

The Charm of Nozawa Onsen as a Hot Spring Resort

By the way, the hot springs in Nozawa Onsen are wonderful and definitely worth visiting.
Nozawa Onsen is a historic hot spring town located in northern Nagano Prefecture, with a history spanning approximately 1,300 years. It features 13 public bathhouses (soto-yu) that are carefully maintained by local residents. It is also internationally known as a ski resort in winter and was even a venue for the 2022 Winter Olympics.
The hot spring town has many traditional inns and restaurants where you can enjoy local cuisine, and it’s also famous as the birthplace of “Nozawana” (a pickled leaf vegetable). It’s a place where you can enjoy the natural beauty of the four seasons and traditional Japanese hot spring culture.

“Oboro” – The Japanese Affection for Ambiguity

Incidentally, the word “oboro” means unclear or vague in outline. The Japanese “fondness for ambiguity” may be reflected in products such as “oboro-dofu,” which remains popular today for its soft texture of tofu scooped out before it fully solidifies.
Japanese culture tends to emphasize “ma” (space) and “yohaku” (blank space), with an aesthetic that values leaving room for imagination by not expressing things explicitly. The beauty of the hazy moon is not in the brightness of a clear full moon, but in the soft light veiled by clouds—a special beauty appreciated by Japanese people.
This concept of “oboro” can be seen in many aspects of Japanese art, literature, and daily life, forming a uniquely Japanese aesthetic sensibility that contrasts with Western cultures that tend to value clarity.

It has been selected as one of the “100 Best Japanese Songs.

The Tea-Picking Season Heralding Early Summer

“Cha-tsumi” is a famous Japanese song that depicts the season from late spring to early summer. The “tea” mentioned in the song refers to Japanese tea. Japan’s representative “green tea” is an unfermented tea that doesn’t undergo fermentation, which has the benefit of preserving the natural freshness and nutrients of the tea leaves while retaining abundant antioxidants. In contrast, “Oolong tea” is semi-fermented, and “black tea” is fully fermented, all made from leaves of the same “tea plant.” These young leaves plucked from tea plants transform into our familiar beverages through various processing methods.

Qwert1234 – Qwert1234’s file, パブリック・ドメイン, リンクによる

The Significance of “Hachijyu Hachiya” and Agricultural Culture

The “Hachijyu hachiya (Eighty-Eighth Night)” sung in this song refers to the 88th day after “Risshun” (Beginning of Spring), one of the twenty-four solar terms, when the weather stabilizes, making it easier for tea picking. This important agricultural milestone, usually falling around May 2nd each year, signals the full-fledged beginning of farming activities. During this period, there is a risk of late frost called “Osojimo” occurring from chilly nights to dawn, potentially damaging crops. Despite this frost risk, tea picking is conducted during this time because the new buds contain the richest umami components and nutrients like catechins, producing aromatic high-quality tea leaves. Moreover, this “first flush” tea harvested during this period is particularly valuable and serves as a crucial source of income for tea farmers. A few days after Hachijyu hachiya comes “Rikka” (around May 6th), the beginning of summer according to the calendar. The song gently conveys the arrival of an extremely busy season for farmers.

painted by 長谷川等伯, calligraphy by 春屋宗園 – 1. Brill.com [1], 2. Omotesenke.com [2] , Omotesenke Fushin’an Foundation, パブリック・ドメイン, リンクによる

Tea Culture and Its Historical Development

The culture of enjoying tea has a long history, dating back to the reign of Emperor Shoumu in 729 AD, as recorded in ancient texts. Initially, it spread widely among the warrior class and became material for feasts. However, the concept of “Wabi-cha,” which sought simplicity and the spirit of Zen, emerged, leading to the spread of “Cha-no-yu” by figures like Sen no Rikyu. This tradition has been passed down to modern times as “Sa-do” (the Way of Tea).
In Sa-do, Matcha—now popularly used in chocolates and ice cream—is served as ground tea leaves. On the other hand, Sencha, which uses whole leaves without grinding, is commonly sold even in PET bottles. Naturally, the price varies greatly depending on the quality of the leaves and processing methods. Japanese tea culture has thus evolved with the times while maintaining its essential values.

不明 – “Letters from Japan” by Mrs. Hugh Fraser, New York, The Macmillan company; London, Macmillan & co., ltd.. 1904, パブリック・ドメイン, リンクによる

Origins and Spread of the Tea-Picking Song

According to one theory, this song is said to have roots in Uji City, Kyoto Prefecture, and the parts enclosed in quotation marks are considered citations from tea-picking songs sung there since ancient times. However, even after research by local historians, there is still no evidence to support this claim. Since tea harvesting requires intensive labor, there have always been migrant workers known as “Chatsumi musume” (tea-picking girls). As the timing of harvesting varies from region to region, it’s also speculated that the song spread gradually as workers moved from early harvesting areas to later ones.
This song is also known for its rhythmic nature, often accompanied by hand movements, and enjoyed in places like kindergartens and elderly care facilities. Its simple yet pleasant rhythm has become an important cultural asset that remains in the hearts of Japanese people across generations.

Tea-Producing Regions Throughout Japan

While Shizuoka Prefecture is famous as a tea-producing region, places like Yame in Fukuoka Prefecture, Chiran in Kagoshima Prefecture, and Sayama near Tokyo in Saitama Prefecture are also well-known. The soil and climate conditions of each region produce teas with distinctive flavors. In modern times, these traditional tea-producing areas have also gained attention as tourist destinations, with increasing numbers of visitors enjoying tea-picking experiences and the scenic beauty of tea fields. Japanese tea has transcended being merely a beverage to become a symbol embodying Japan’s natural features and culture.

100 Best Japanese Songs.

This is the third most famous tea plantation in Japan, closest to Tokyo.

“Palm fruit” is also called “Yashi no mi” in Japan.

YANAGITA Kunio, a folklorist who spent one summer in the Meiji Era at Cape Irago in Tahara, Aichi Prefecture, told his literary friend about an episode in which he found a “palm fruit” washed ashore while taking a walk on the beach.

It was a time when knowledge of foreign countries was scarce. And the Japanese, surrounded by the sea, are thought to have long felt a romantic sense of “what kind of world there is outside the sea. This is probably the reason why people still refer to foreign countries as “kaigai,” which means “outside the sea. SHIMAZAKI Touson, a well-known literary giant of the Meiji period, was inspired to write these lyrics by a palm tree that had drifted ashore on a journey across the sea. He said to YANAGITA, “Give me the story. Don’t tell anyone.

The beautiful poem and melody, written in “Japanese for literature,” which is not used today, has been selected as one of the “100 Best Japanese Songs.

Many people take the one-hour ferry from Cape Irago to Ise-Shima to visit the Ise Jingu Shrine.

Photo by (c)Tomo.Yun

Summer Memories — The Birth of a Musical Treasure in Post-War Japan

Picture Japan in 1949, just four years after World War II had ended. The country was rebuilding, and people were searching for ways to bring families together again. It was during this time that NHK, Japan’s national broadcasting corporation, launched an innovative program called “Radio Kayou” (Radio Songs). This wasn’t just another music program – it was born from a deep desire to heal and unite. Perhaps reflecting on how wartime propaganda songs like “Kokumin Kayou” had once stirred nationalistic fervor, NHK now wanted to create something entirely different: gentle melodies that families could gather around their radios to sing together in the comfort of their homes.

From this thoughtful initiative emerged “Natsu no Omoide” (Summer Memories), a song that would capture the hearts of generations of Japanese people. Today, this beautiful piece remains one of the most cherished examples of Douyo-Shouka – traditional Japanese songs that blend folk melodies with poetic lyrics. What makes this song so enduringly popular isn’t just its haunting melody, but its ability to paint vivid pictures of Japan’s pristine natural beauty through music and words.

A Lyrical Journey Through Japan’s Hidden Paradise

The song takes us on a poetic journey to Oze, a breathtaking highland marshland that feels like stepping into a fairy tale. This remarkable wetland ecosystem stretches majestically across three prefectures – Fukushima, Niigata, and Gunma – and holds the prestigious designation of being both a national park and one of Japan’s 100 most scenic spots. When you imagine Japan’s natural wonders, you might think of Mount Fuji or cherry blossoms, but Oze represents something equally magical yet more intimate.

The area is renowned for its incredibly strict environmental conservation policies, which have kept this wilderness virtually untouched for decades. Visitors must follow wooden boardwalks that wind through the marshland, ensuring that every footstep respects the delicate ecosystem. This careful preservation means that when you visit Oze today, you’re experiencing the same pristine beauty that inspired the song’s creation over 70 years ago. The commitment to protecting this natural sanctuary reflects the Japanese philosophy of living in harmony with nature – a theme that resonates deeply throughout the song.

Hatomachi Touge (Pass)　By Σ64 – Own work, CC BY 3.0, Link

The Story Behind the Words: A Wartime Memory Transformed

The woman who penned these evocative lyrics, EMA Shouko, has a fascinating story that adds layers of meaning to the song. In 1944, as World War II was reaching its devastating climax, she was evacuated to the Oze region for safety. Instead of dwelling on the hardships of wartime displacement, EMA found herself captivated by the area’s otherworldly beauty. Her lyrics were born not from a casual tourist visit, but from the deep, contemplative experience of someone who had time to truly observe and absorb the subtle rhythms of this highland paradise.

This personal connection explains why the song feels so authentic and emotionally resonant. EMA wasn’t just describing a pretty landscape – she was sharing a profound experience that had sustained her spirit during one of the darkest periods in modern Japanese history. The song became her love letter to a place that had offered solace and wonder when the world seemed broken. This backstory transforms “Natsu no Omoide” from a simple nature song into something much more profound: a testament to the healing power of natural beauty and the human capacity to find hope in the midst of despair.

Mt.Shibutsu and Ozegahara, Katashina Vill.,By Σ64 – Own work, CC BY 3.0, Link

The Beautiful Mystery of Seasonal Poetry

Here’s where the song becomes wonderfully intriguing: the star of “Natsu no Omoide” is the Mizubasho (Asian skunk cabbage), a plant whose large white petals create stunning displays across Oze’s wetlands. However, these magnificent flowers actually bloom from late May through June, right after the snow melts – not during the height of summer that the song’s title suggests. When curious fans pointed out this apparent contradiction to EMA Shouko, her response was both poetic and revealing: “I call the wonderful season of Mizubasho in Oze ‘summer’.”

This beautiful explanation opens up a window into the Japanese appreciation for seasonal subtlety. In traditional Japanese culture, seasons aren’t rigid calendar categories but fluid, emotional experiences. According to the classical seasonal calendar used in poetry and literature, Mizubasho is indeed considered a summer season word, reflecting an ancient understanding that nature’s rhythms don’t always match our modern calendar divisions. Even beyond the famous Mizubasho season, Oze continues to enchant visitors throughout the year with its ever-changing tapestry of colors: the fluffy white Watasuge (cotton grass) dancing in summer breezes, the bright yellow Nikkoukisuge lilies, and the spectacular Kusamomiji – the autumn transformation when grasses turn brilliant shades of red and gold, creating their own version of fall foliage.

100 Best Japanese Songs.

Tanabata sama — When Summer Stars Come Alive in Song

“Tanabata-sama” is more than just a children’s song – it’s a musical gateway to one of Japan’s most enchanting summer traditions. This beloved melody celebrates Tanabata, a festival that transforms the ordinary evening of July 7th into something truly magical. The name itself tells a story: written in kanji as “七夕” (literally “seven evenings”), Tanabata is also known as the Star Festival, and for good reason. As twilight descends on this special night, families across Japan gather to look up at the summer sky, searching for the celestial drama that has captivated hearts for over a millennium.

The festival represents a beautiful blend of ancient Chinese legend and distinctly Japanese customs, creating a celebration that feels both timeless and intimate. What makes Tanabata particularly special is how it connects the vastness of the universe with the simple hopes and dreams of everyday people. When children sing “Tanabata-sama,” they’re not just performing a cute song – they’re participating in a tradition that links them to countless generations who have gazed at the same stars and wished upon the same cosmic love story.

A Love Story Written in the Stars

At the heart of Tanabata lies one of the most romantic tales ever told, a story so beautiful it has inspired countless songs, poems, and festivals. Picture Orihime, the weaving goddess whose star we know as Vega in the constellation Lyra. She was so dedicated to her craft – creating the most exquisite fabrics in all of heaven – that she never took time to care for her own appearance or seek companionship. On the other side of the celestial realm lived Hikoboshi (known to us as Altair in the constellation Aquila), a diligent cowherd who spent his days tending cattle and working the heavenly fields with unwavering dedication.

The gods, moved by the loneliness of these two hardworking souls, arranged for them to meet through the mediation of Deneb in the constellation Cygnus. Together, these three stars form what astronomers call the “Great Summer Triangle,” a brilliant celestial landmark that dominates the summer sky. When Orihime and Hikoboshi met, it was love at first sight – a romance so powerful it literally changed the heavens. Their wedding was celebrated throughout the cosmos, and for a brief, shining moment, perfect happiness reigned in the celestial realm.

But love, as beautiful as it can be, sometimes comes with consequences that even the gods didn’t foresee.

When Love Disrupts the Universe

The newlyweds were so intoxicated with their happiness that they completely abandoned their duties. Orihime’s loom fell silent, and no more beautiful fabrics graced the heavens. Hikoboshi’s cattle wandered aimlessly while he spent his days gazing lovingly at his bride. The cosmic order itself began to unravel as these essential workers forgot everything except each other. The supreme deity, witnessing this celestial dereliction of duty, made a decision that would break hearts across the universe.

In divine anger, he separated the lovers, placing them on opposite sides of the vast Milky Way – Orihime in the west and Hikoboshi in the east. The silver river of stars that had once seemed so beautiful now became an insurmountable barrier, keeping the lovers apart for eternity. Or almost eternity. Moved by their tears and genuine remorse, the gods granted them one precious gift: once each year, on the seventh day of the seventh month, magpies would form a bridge across the Milky Way, allowing the lovers to reunite for a single, precious night.

This is why Tanabata carries such a bittersweet beauty – it celebrates not just love, but love that endures separation, distance, and the inexorable passage of time. Every July 7th, as people across Japan look up at the summer sky, they’re witnessing this eternal love story play out among the stars.

From Ancient Legend to Modern Celebration

Today’s Tanabata has evolved into something wonderfully accessible and family-friendly, though it retains all the magic of its ancient origins. What makes this festival particularly special is how it brings joy to children across Japan. In kindergartens and preschools throughout the country, little hands eagerly grasp crayons and markers to write their innocent wishes on colorful strips of paper called “tanzaku” – perhaps hoping for a new bicycle, asking for their pet hamster to stay healthy, or wishing to become a superhero when they grow up. These precious handwritten dreams are then carefully tied to bamboo branches, creating wish trees that flutter like prayer flags in the summer breeze.

The festival has also become a cornerstone of Japan’s early summer atmosphere, transforming ordinary spaces into magical wonderlands. Shopping malls compete to create the most enchanting Tanabata displays, with elaborate decorations cascading from ceilings and bamboo groves appearing in unexpected corners. These commercial celebrations serve a beautiful purpose – they bring the ancient tradition into modern daily life, allowing busy families to pause and participate in this timeless ritual of hope. You’ll find these charming displays everywhere during Tanabata season, from grand installations at department stores to simple bamboo branches in local supermarkets, each one representing someone’s heartfelt hopes for the future.

Interestingly, weather forecasters have become unofficial participants in the Tanabata tradition. Every year on July 7th, they invariably comment on the evening’s weather conditions, and there does seem to be an unusually high probability of rain on this night. With a twinkle in their eyes, meteorologists often explain this as “the tears of Orihime and Hikoboshi” – either tears of joy at their reunion or tears of sorrow at their brief time together. While we might laugh at the idea that earthbound weather has anything to do with cosmic romance, there’s something delightfully poetic about the notion that even the skies participate in this ancient love story.

The most spectacular modern Tanabata celebrations take place in Sendai City, Miyagi Prefecture, where the entire downtown area transforms into a wonderland of colorful streamers and elaborate decorations. But perhaps the true magic of Tanabata lies not in the grand festivals, but in those quiet moments when families gather to sing “Tanabata-sama” and look up at the summer stars, connecting their own hopes and dreams to a love story that has been unfolding in the heavens for over a thousand years.

A Song That Bridges Ancient Poetry and Modern Melody

“Natsu wa Kinu” (Summer Has Come) stands as one of Japan’s most sophisticated art songs, a piece that perfectly captures the exuberant spirit of early summer while showcasing the extraordinary depth of Japanese literary tradition. The song arrives with the season of Rikka (立夏) – literally “the establishment of summer” – one of the 24 seasonal divisions in the traditional East Asian calendar that marks the official beginning of summer around May 5th or 6th. What makes this song truly remarkable is how its soaring, expansive melody seems to embody the very essence of summer’s arrival, with musical phrases that rise and fall like warm breezes across open fields.

However, beneath this accessible and joyful melody lies something far more complex and intellectually demanding. The lyrics are written in classical literary Japanese, a formal, poetic language that even many native Japanese speakers find challenging today. This isn’t a song you can simply hum along to without deeper study – it’s a sophisticated work of art that requires cultural knowledge and literary understanding to fully appreciate. Think of it as the Japanese equivalent of an opera aria: beautiful to hear, but rich with layers of meaning that reward careful study.
The song has earned such respect among musicians and scholars that it was selected as one of “100 Best Japanese Songs,” a prestigious recognition that places it among the nation’s most treasured musical works.

The Scholarly Mind Behind the Poetry

To understand why “Natsu wa Kinu” is so linguistically sophisticated, we need to know about its remarkable creator, SASAKI Nobutsuna (1872-1963). Born into what could be called Japanese literary royalty, Sasaki came from a family where poetry and classical literature weren’t just hobbies – they were a way of life passed down through generations. His family had dedicated themselves to the study and preservation of Japanese literature for centuries, making young Nobutsuna heir to an incredible wealth of classical knowledge.

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SASAKI’s expertise was so profound that he became one of Japan’s leading authorities on the Man-you-shuu, an 8th-century poetry collection that represents the very foundation of Japanese literature. The Man-you-shuu contains over 4,500 poems and is considered the oldest existing collection of Japanese poetry, making it roughly equivalent to what Homer’s epics represent to Western literature. For his groundbreaking scholarly work in preserving and interpreting these ancient texts, SASAKI was awarded the Order of Cultural Merit, Japan’s highest honor for cultural achievement – think of it as the Nobel Prize for Japanese cultural scholarship.

This background explains why “Natsu wa Kinu” reads more like classical poetry than a typical song lyric. SASAKI wasn’t just writing a summer song; he was creating a work that would demonstrate the continuing vitality of Japan’s ancient poetic traditions in a modern musical context. For contemporary listeners, appreciating this song fully requires what might be called “cultural literacy” – a deep understanding of Japanese literary history and classical references that were once common knowledge among educated Japanese but have become increasingly rare in our modern world.

The Intricate Architecture of Five Tanka Poems

What makes “Natsu wa Kinu” structurally unique is its sophisticated poetic construction. Rather than using conventional song verses, SASAKI crafted five complete tanka poems, each following the traditional Japanese poetic pattern of 5-7-5-7-7 syllables. Tanka is one of Japan’s most ancient and respected poetic forms, predating even haiku, and mastering it requires not just technical skill but deep cultural understanding. Each of the five tanka tells part of the summer story, and they’re woven together so skillfully that they create both individual moments of beauty and a cohesive narrative arc.

The first tanka introduces us to “Unohana” (deutzia flowers) blooming alongside the song of the “Hototogisu” (lesser cuckoo). This pairing has been a beloved symbol of early summer in Japanese poetry since the Man-you-shuu era – imagine how Western literature might pair roses with nightingales. However, SASAKI adds a subtle twist that reveals his deep knowledge: this particular combination is slightly “off-season,” and when the hototogisu sings at unexpected times, it’s called “shinobine” (yearning song) – a cry filled with longing that adds emotional depth to the natural imagery.

The second tanka contains one of the song’s most complex references, drawing from “Eiga Monogatari” (A Tale of Flowering Fortunes), a Heian period historical narrative from around 1000 CE. The original passage describes women “Taue”(planting rice) with their hakama (traditional split skirts) wet from early summer rains, while praying for the emperor’s reign to last a thousand years. SASAKI transforms this historical scene, changing “Shizume” (women of low status) to “Saotome” (rice-planting maidens) in 1932, perhaps reflecting changing social sensibilities. “Saotome” remains a common Japanese surname today, connecting this ancient imagery to contemporary life.

Classical Wisdom and Natural Beauty Intertwined

The third tanka draws from Chinese classical literature, specifically the famous story “Keisetsu no kou” about a poor student who studied by firefly light because he couldn’t afford oil for lamps. This tale was so well-known to prewar Japanese that it was immortalized in the graduation song “Hotaru no Hikari” (Light of Fireflies), which generations of Japanese students sang at school ceremonies. By including this reference, SASAKI gently reminds listeners not to waste the long summer days – a message about diligence and self-improvement that resonates with traditional East Asian educational values.

The fourth tanka presents a quintessentially Japanese summer scene: the “Ouchi” (Japanese bead tree, or Melia azedarach) blooming near a riverside gate, where a “Kuina” (water rail) can be heard calling. This isn’t just pretty nature imagery – it’s a sophisticated reference to classical literature including “Genji Monogatari ( The Tale of Genji ),” where the kuina’s distinctive call is compared to the sound of someone tapping at a gate, creating an atmosphere of mystery and anticipation. For readers familiar with these classical works, this single image evokes entire worlds of literary association.

The fifth and final tanka serves as a masterful summary, weaving together key elements from the previous four poems while introducing “Satsuki Yami” (May darkness). This refers to the deep darkness that characterizes the rainy season, when thick clouds block out light even during what should be the bright days of early summer. It’s a uniquely Japanese seasonal concept that captures how the rainy season creates an almost mystical quality of light and shadow.

Finally, for those learning Japanese, it’s worth noting that “Natsu wa Kinu” doesn’t mean “summer never comes” as English speakers might initially read it. In classical Japanese, “kinu” is the past tense of “kuru” (to come), making the title mean “Summer Has Come” – a joyful announcement that the season has finally arrived, bringing with it all the natural beauty and cultural richness that SASAKI so masterfully celebrates in his five interconnected poems.

This famous poem was selected as one of the 100 Best Japanese songs.