My most recent July15th-August 15th report for Fulbright (but quite extensive in some parts, which you might all appreciate more or less than the Fulbright commission):
As with last month, this month's report also picks up just where the other left off. In fact, the morning after I submitted my report last month I took off on bike again. This time, however, my goal was to finally visit the Chikoronai reforestation project I mentioned previously. The project was started by an Ainu man, Koichi Kaizawa, with the goal of restoring the original temperate deciduous forest that had been replaced by pine plantations. Of particular importance is an elm species (Ulmnus laciniata) called “ohyou.” As explained before, I had met Kaizawa-san's son at an Ainu music concert in the town of Nibutani, and asked about coming to visit the reforestation project. I wanted, if possible, to come help in whatever way would be useful, in return for the opportunity to learn more about the project. Since that time, I had communicated with his son through the rather tenuous method of facebook, which he had informed me was his preferred method of contact. The weekend before, it had been vague whether or not he had received his father's permission for me to come help. In fact, scarce minutes before I had been about to set out on bike from Sapporo to the forest—after hearing neither a confirmation or a decline—I at last heard back. It turned out that he had not had a chance to ask his father (though the story I was initially told was that they wouldn't be doing any weeding that weekend and would contact me when they planned to.) Kaizawa's son, Taichi, is a very cheerful, friendly man but tends to take his time in responding to messages. Looking at a calendar, I realized that my weekends were quickly running out. If I was going to go visit, it would need to be soon or never. I am very fortunate and happy to say that since then, I have indeed been able to visit. It is one of the more ridiculous and entertaining adventures I have had—as well as one of the most meaningful--and so while a few of you have heard pieces of the story, I think it worthwhile to share. Not wanting to bother Taichi-san, but also feeling that it was something very important to me to visit if there was any possibility whatsoever, I asked later that week if the coming weekend might not be too much trouble. I did this in the guise of a “bike trip”, stating that I would be passing through Nibutani (instead of the truth, that I was specifically biking TO Nibutani). Although Taichi had generally seemed optimistic about my visiting when I met him in person, his lack of concrete communication with me made arranging such a visit complicated and fraught with uncertainty. I was constantly unsure if I was causing inconvenience with my request. I figured there may be less pressure if I construed my request in terms of something less specific, such as a bike trip—it gave plenty of leeway for the Kaizawas to decline if they were too busy, or to accept without having to keep me around very long. Having sent my question, thanks to facebook's technology I was aware that it had been read, but awaited a response. By Sunday morning, I still had not been told yes or no. Since I had construed the request in terms of a bike trip, I decided to go anyways. This was a nerve-wracking step, knowing the potential inconvenience and intrusion I could cause if unwelcome, and also the fact that it is an approximate 110km bike ride. I did not even know if anyone would be home, much less happy to see me. Koichi Kaizawa, the founder, was initially described to me as gruff and somewhat unfriendly (at least to those who are not on his good side). This made me all the more apprehensive. Nonetheless, I packed a small daypack and, as I said it would be a bike trip, I decided I should tie my sleeping bag to my bike. Not just to stick with the story, but also in case I was turned away and had to sleep outside that night. I set out, and it was a blustery, harsh headwind from the start. Combined with my apprehension, the first part of the bike was not particularly enjoyable. It is an irksome tangle of streets, unaware pedestrians, dangerously inept bikers, and busy traffic to escape the frustrating net that is the city of Sapporo, and during this part I contemplated many times if I should turn back. Finally, reaching the city limits, I decided stubbornly (and probably foolishly) to continue even though I now felt a heavy pull to turn back. But I had found the road, and I stuck to it. If nothing else, good exercise, I decided! The farther I biked from the city, the more open the land became. Nonetheless, I was biking into complete mystery as far as how things would work out. In Minnesota, I would consider it extremely rude to show up (mostly unannounced) to someone's home. I had no way of knowing if Taichi-san had said anything to his father. I had no way of knowing my reception. I focused on the fields and farms around me, the trees and skyline, the battle against the wind, and the transformations of the road. The skies were grey, but finally about 2/3 of the way the atmosphere started to feel more cheerful. The sun peaked out, and the land became more green with tumbling forests, little homes, streams, and fences tucked into the countryside. I checked once more to see if I had received any response to my message. Nothing. It was now about 11:30AM, and I estimated when I might arrive. I sent one last-ditch message saying that I had left Sapporo on my bike trip and would be passing through Nibutani in a couple hours. The land became rolling, covered with green tumbles of forest. I saw road signs that I was nearing Nibutani, I was also not certain of the precise location of the reforestation site. Pedaling along, I passed a tiny sign that I thought said 'chikoronai.' I saw a fenced field, with a few people out pulling weeds. I continued on, feeling that perhaps this had been it, but too nervous to stop. I came into Nibutani proper and asked an older lady in a shop if she knew of the forest or Kaizawa-san. She confirmed that I had passed it. Back-tracking, I hopped off my bike and walked nervously up the drive. No one had seen me or heard me and I paused, standing next to my bike in worry. After a few moments, and still no one had looked up from their work, I figured it would be better for me to announce myself than for someone to turn and be shocked to find a bedraggled foreigner watching them. Timidly, I called 'sumimasen,' my mind racing to think what my next step should be. Koichi Kaizawa stood up and turned around, giving me what I can only describe as the clearest angry, exasperated expression of “Oh jeez.” I gulped as he approached. His glare was harsh and I fumbled to think of some way to explain my presence. “I was just wondering...I was just biking through...I was hoping I could see the forest?” I stuttered. He scoffed. “No. We are working until 5pm. I can't show you the forest until then,” followed by a blunt. “Dou suru?” I floundered. “Oh, I see, ah...Well, can I work?” I asked a little shakily. Luckily, shortly after Koichi Kaizawa had come over to talk to me, the others in the field had gradually made their way over. Coming down from the dirt path was Koichi-san's wife with a bag of snacks. It seemed that I had arrived only minutes before they were going to take a break from working. Koichi-san walked aggitatedly over to his car and sat down. I could hear him mumble something about being a “meiwaku.” I cringed. Just at that moment, his son Taichi-san had approached and said lightheartedly, “Oh! Hi Jamie! You came! Sorry I didn't respond to your message.” He turned to his father and said with a laugh “what do you mean 'meiwaku.' That's not true.” The other workers were Koichi-san's daughters and family members. We began to talk, and I explained that I had biked there. Everyone was impressed—even, I think, Koichi-san. Gradually, the air became less tense. I even caught a smile or two on Koichi-san's face, and got him to laugh. His wife had brought icecream cones and insisted that if I was going to help work, I had to eat an icecream cone. They asked curiously about where I'm from, how long it had taken to bike, if I was tired, etc. Although I was tired, I didn't want to be turned away from helping work. I said oh no, I'm just fine. They asked where I had planned to stay. I gestured to my sleeping bag, “someplace along the road, a bus stop, in the forest,” I explained bashfully. “I like sleeping outdoors.” Everyone balked. Koichi-san's wife said offhandedly, “well, if she works, what about the log house?” The Kaizawas have a log house on their land, that guests sometimes stay in. Secretly, I had know this, and had hoped very much that things would go smoothly enough that I would be invited to stay. Although Taichi-san had said they would not be doing any weeding or such work, it was clear that was precisely what they had been working on. So for the next few hours I crouched in the dust and dirt and pulled weeds, then collected rocks to remove from the field. My legs were not too happy, I was sunburned, and now my legs were covered in dirt. But I was in a state of disbelief at the incredible turn of events. I had not been chased away. Here I was, weeding just as I had hoped. What was more, there was an Ainu language lesson that night, and Taichi-san had asked me if I was interested in attending. Both he and his mother were going. I was shocked, of course I would like to attend! At last, 5pm rolled around and the field work was finished. I climbed into the back of the truck with one of the daughters and we went back to their house. When I took of my shoes to come inside to wash up, my socks and feet were black with dirt. The daughter literally hosed of my legs in the bathroom! Then, Koichi-san himself pulled up outside the house in his truck. He was waiting to give me a tour of the forest! Taichi-san loaned me a pair of his shoes (many times too large) since mine were muddy and soggy. I couldn't believe it! I got into the truck with Koichi-san and he drove along the bumpy, dirt road. “You see,” he said. “It would be impossible to bike through here.” I agreed, still unbelieving at the situation. We passed through many fences, some of them electric. “The deer,” said Koichi-san. The deer eat the seedlings and strip the trees. He was in a light mood, and although I'm rather shy, I tried to keep a conversation. Reaching the peak of the path, Koichi-san parked and pointed across the forest showing me the boundaries. Shika deer yelped in the trees, and Koichi-san in good humor would shout “urusai” back at them. I spoke of my own hopes to help with reforestation projects, and my hopes to protect the earth. I explained that in Minnesota, the forests are beautiful, but nothing like here. In Hokkaido, everything is so lush. There is so much biodiversity, I said. When we got back to the house and he parked the car I said “if I were to live in such a place, I would be happy for the rest of my life!” Koichi-san especially laughed at this. I think, maybe, I got on his good side. A much better place to be. He asked me jokingly if I was going to learn to speak Ainu at the class. I said I would do my best! I was rushed into the next car, and Koichi-san's wife handed a homemade bento to me and told me to eat up! We had to hurry to make it by 6pm. Although the language lesson was far more advanced than what I could understand, and quite linguistically technical, I was still in awe at the situation. I listened attentively to the language recordings, tried to follow along to the text of songs, to follow the grammar questions. I was very touched to be welcomed into the small group of adults that had gathered. The songs and reading were punctuated by light conversation and tangents—including a discussion on Ainu name meanings and some current names, followed by questions about the origin of my own name, etc. I was somewhat dazed by the end, the many hours of biking and hot sun catching up to me. Afterward, returning to their house, Koichi-san asked me if I could now speak Ainu. I said not yet! Koichi-san's wife invited me to take a bath. Of course, I wanted to, but I knew that it was a Japanese bathroom and that everyone would be sharing the bath in turn. I had already caused such an intrusion, I didn't want to make everyone wait to take their baths. I said if I could just shower off quickly that would be more than enough. After showering, Taichi-san showed me to the log cabin down the ways from the house. Inside it was quite spacious, with many futons and blankets and an open fire pit in the center. He said I could sleep any where I liked and use the futons and blankets. I had told everyone, upon arrival, that I would be continuing on to Furano the next day as part of my “route” for the “bike trip.” I was not sure if I would follow through with that initially made-up plan, but in any case had said I would be getting an early start. And to my own surprise, waking up the next day at 4AM as I had said I would, instead of taking the logical route and heading towards the Tomakomai station in hopes of catching the train or bus back to Sapporo, I set out upon the long road to Furano—through the Hidaka mountain pass. The beautiful colors of the sunrise and the empty, open road before me were too tempting. Koichi-san had warned me that it was all up hill, and I would learn that was no understatement. The upward climbs were long and grinding, but the soaring flight down the mountain roads was exhilarating. I kept pace with the cars as I zoomed down. The land of Japan and of Hokkaido is so lush and beautiful to me that despite the difficulty of the bike ride, it was heavenly. I saw volcanos and blue, misty mountains hovering in the distance as the morning mists broke. I saw great jagged rocks tumbling into rivers, small farm houses and boarded homes that somehow survived the winter snows. When I arrived in Furano around 11AM, I was tired, but headed to see the lavender and flower fields. Whether it is the sheer beauty of the fields, the Daisetsuzan mountains on the horizon, or my general exhaustion I am not sure, but I found the scenery absolutely mesmerizing. There have been many moments in Japan where I have had to double check to see if I am not dreaming. After wandering around the flowers, eating lavender icecream, I was lucky to convince a bus driver to let me take my bike along and I was on my way back to Sapporo after my 200+ km (slightly unexpected) “bike trip.” Needless to say, I promptly fell asleep on the bus. I could not believe the good fortune I had. I could not believe how absolutely kind the Kaizawas had been to me, despite my sudden arrival by bike. I'm sure they thought I was insane! But, I think just maybe, I made an okay impression despite my general ridiculousness. I will never forget the kindness that was shown me. In any case, I hope you will excuse the length of the story, but for a number of reasons I felt it a necessary story to share--it highlights so many of the aspects of Japan that I love and that have defined my year and growth. There is a freedom in Hokkaido’s countryside (and perhaps throughout Japan’s countryside) that I have not felt before. It is a freedom both in the land and in the relative safety and kindness of the people. Of course there are risks, but it is only here in Hokkaido that I have met no trouble sleeping outside under the stars. I have been met by curiosity, but not harassment. And while the freedom of the land of which I speak is not lacking in great disturbance and a history of ecological destruction by human hands, it is a freedom in that now the land has been largely ignored. It is a freedom born of negligence. Many of the forests are marked by scars of plantation, building, or abandoned plantations. The original species and compositions of the forests and rivers and mountains are largely disrupted. Whatever “pristine nature” tourists come to Hokkaido in search of is non-existent. But unlike in the United States, where national parks isolate and divide up the land--placing fences and boundaries and limitations, tinkering ceaselessly--the forests here seem comparatively left alone. This is a result of lack of young foresters, lack of domestic timber market, and general abandonment. And while there are disadvantages to such abandonment, at the same time it causes a natural flow between houses, farmlands, and cities and less developed (or abandoned) spaces left to their own forces. Such a fluidity as I have not seen in the United States. As I have been told numerous times in my lectures, rural areas of Hokkaido are losing population quickly as people concentrate themselves in large cities like Sapporo and Obihiro. One professor gave an entire lecture mourning this “terrible” turn of events--his reason being that without small towns and farms, we would lose the managed picturesque, comfortable beauty of agriculture and farmland. He compared the superiority of this tidiness and comfort to the disdainful inferiority of the patch of “weeds”, shrubs, and trees left unkempt outside the window of our classroom. However, to me, I harbor a secret hope. A hope that, as small towns continue to shrink, as land prices plummet, thus will the land be allowed to recover and perhaps, slowly, return to the hands of people like Kaizawa-san.
Therefore, not only was I incredibly fortunate to visit the Chikoronai reforestation project and meet with Kaizawa-san, who I respect greatly, but I also had yet another chance to fall in love with the land here. I have learned more from my adventures climbing mountains, wandering, and observing the flow of the land than I have from any text book. I have become so familiar with the plants and ecosystems from this gift of adventure. Besides this knowledge, it has instilled in me a determination to protect these lands. When I first arrived, I had such a goal. But now it is tempered by love, and therefore all the more powerful. I feel physical pain in my heart to think of leaving this land, and for that I am so grateful. It means I will not give up until I have seen the environmental changes that must take place. It means that I will work that much harder to see the spread of reforestation projects like Chikoronai. In fact, I have given some thought to studying for my masters at Hokkaido University. My advisor, Koike-sensei, has enthusiastically been providing me information. There is nothing certain, and I know that I must return home to Minnesota to sort out the chaos of my family (and of course to see them!), to sort out my financial situation, and to reconsider universities in the United States, I feel a distinct pull to stay. Indeed, more than a pull, but a surge in my chest to remain in Hokkaido.
The next week, I casually mentioned the topic of gas exchange measurements to one of the post-doc students—wondering when, if, and how I should do begin them since Koike-sensei had brought it up a few times regarding my experiment. The post-doc student pulled out a calendar, and it happened that the Li-Cors gas exchange equipment would only be available that immediate week! I was suddenly looking at starting said measurements the very next day! It was shocking and a little overwhelming, but secretly exciting since these would be some of my most complex measurements. And a very complex machine, but one that is ubiquitous through ecological research. Therefore, it was a priceless (if harrowing) experience to learn the process. Another post-doc student helped me assemble two of the four machines early the next morning. There were many cords, buttons, desiccant tubes, etc. I felt immediately that I was in over my head. I carried my small notebook with me, furiously writing down notes from Mao-san’s explanation. In total, there were four Li-Cors available to use. Even for those experienced with using them, running four machines at once is very difficult. But I said I’d give it a try. I also only had one week to use them, and if I had any hope of finishing, I would need to use all four. Using the Li-Cors, I needed to take three different measurements (Aci curves, light curves, and photosynthetic induction). These are all related to photosynthetic processes and light use efficiency. Each measurement required approximately one hour. I needed to perform each measurement for each seedling species for each treatment plot. This came to a total of 36 leaves. With 1 hour per measurement, 3 measurements per leaf, and 36 leaves…my head spun. That meant 108 hours worth of measurements crammed into one week. More troubling still, the machines each needed about 2 hours to warm up and calibrate. So for about a week, I woke up between 5 and 6am, threw on some light work clothes to withstand the heat, and lugged the heavy Li-Cors machines out from the storage sheds. Following the complex set of instructions I had scribbled in my notes, I sometimes successfully and sometimes very unsuccessfully calibrated the machines and began measurements until the sun set. Then, chased by mosquitos, I would turn off all the switches, empty the high-pressure CO2 capsules, and tidy everything up. I had to repeat numerous measurements--losing many hours of work-- encountering just about every issue or trouble with the machines that the post-grad students had encountered in all their years. The only advantage to this, as Mao-san noted, was that now I know how to deal with just as many technical problems as she does. But I steadily grew more comfortable with the machines. The chance to become familiar with the Li-Cors machines, and to be trusted (unwisely!) to use all four of them independently was incredible. I have no doubt it will help me immensely in the future--the ability to use these machines has given me a huge leg up even over those already in masters or PhD programs. I joked with others that the result of being unable to take measurements during the winter was that all my measurements were condensed into the shortest amount of time possible. Such is the nature of my life, however--from one extreme to another, it feels. Some days, in order to still manage to go running, I would press start on the machine, zoom out of the nursery and around campus in a race against the measurements. However, the my regret is that, since I had no choice of scheduling when to do the measurements and since it was decided so suddenly, it interfered with the plans I had with Jim and Becca. Jim had come to Hokkaido to visit, and I could scarcely see him or leave the experimental nursery! They even came to visit me briefly in the experimental nursery, to witness my frazzled state as I tried to follow along Mao-san’s instructions. I felt so disappointed even as I recognized the importance of focusing on my measurements. I was lucky to have a chance to eat soup curry at my favorite restaurant with them one evening. I arrived still in my work clothes after coming straight from the nursery. However, I had a wonderful time speaking with Jim and Becca. I was also lucky to escape one morning to bike with Jim to the nearby Mt. Teine, in order to show him the route. It was a pleasure to get to chat with him as we struggled up the long uphill of the road in the early morning. Since completing the gas exchange measurements, I have also collected samples for xanthophyll (sun protection molecules) content testing and the arduous process of using the ancient nitrogen/carbon analysis machine. As my luck always has it, the machine broke many times--something that I was assured “rarely” happens much less multiple times. But now I have a ridiculous amount of data.
At the same time as the chaos of my gas exchange measurements, I was also meant to be studying for my Japanese final exam. Pacing through the nursery, I often carried a sheet of vocabulary in my hand that I scarcely had a chance to look at. I woke up the morning of my 8:30AM final covered in vocabulary sheets, the day after finally finishing my measurements. Not hopeful, I arrived at the classroom. My dear friend and classmate and I shared a glance of commiseration. But to my surprise, when I looked down at the long exam, I realized I knew almost all the vocabulary. There were some kanji and words I was forced to skip, and a few sentences I could not remember, but in the end it went very smoothly! I was pleasantly surprised, and it boosted my confidence. Thus marked the end of my classes. Scarce minutes after finishing the exam, my professor and a few of my lab mates picked me up in a van outside of the International Student Center. My professor was bringing us on a two day trip to see the northern limit of beech forests in Hokkaido. The area around Kuromatsunai, south of Sapporo, experiences mist, fog, and frequent precipitation. As a result, there are expansive beech forests, which cannot survive farther north. I never know what exactly to expect with my advisor, since he has a tendency not to divulge details (any details at all). After a few hours of driving, we arrived at a beech forest that had been conserved even during the wars, when the government wanted to use the valuable beech wood for building planes. After that, we stopped at a famous tofu shop, where you can sample more than 30 types of tofu for free. It was delicious. That night, we stayed at a ryokan called “Shizen no Ie.” I had to laugh at the name--quite typical. Each room was named after a tree species. That evening, before dinner, I was lucky to have time to run through the short trails around the inn. They were only a few kilometers long, but went through small patches of forest, garden, and cross country ski trails. For one of the first times, I ran around as a child. It was misty, grey, and raining lightly and I was the only one out on the trails. I sprinted here, zoomed down a hill there, hopped along rocks here, skipped up stairs there. I surprised a group of foxes who barked angrily at me. The next day, we went to visit the “Beech Forest Museum.”
The next week was more somber, as I learned that a dear professor had suddenly and unexpectedly passed away from complications due to leukemia. This was the very first thing I learned when I awoke that morning. I was shocked. The professor was loved by all his students and colleagues at my college. We all knew of his illness, but he seemed so resilient and cheerful at all times. He taught courses on environmental history, and had a great impact on my own development as a historian, as a researcher, and as a person. I still do not know what my college will do without him. It is an immense loss. I had collected so many stories to share with him about Japan. In fact, he was one of the professors who wrote my recommendations for Yale and masters programs. I wanted to see him in person when I returned. I floundered with what to do. In the end, I took off from my dorm on my bike in the direction of a mountain called Hakkenzan, about an hour and a half away. Feeling that I must do something, I climbed the small mountain purposely and placed white cranes along the way. It will still be a shock to return to St. Olaf College to visit, and to meet the reality of his passing. But I found comfort and peace in imagining how much my professor would have enjoyed the beautiful landscape of Hokkaido, as I watched it in the wind and mist atop the jagged Hakkenzan peaks.
The following week, I was lucky to tag along on a pre-conference tour for “Indigenous Geography.” As the name suggests, these are researchers (some indigenous and some not) who focus on the incorporate of indigenous knowledge and worldview in some way involved with geography, environmentalism, resource use, education, etc. Needless to say, an incredible opportunity for me. I realized, hearing the conversations around me, how amazing it felt to be surrounded by people who thought similarly to myself--who were, indeed, far more experienced than myself, and who had been working for many, many years. I was officially brought along as an assistant (and translator when I could manage it) thanks to the professor, Jeff Gayman, who had brought me to Nibutani the month before and also a tip from Becca. While the tour unfortunately only traveled around the area of Noboribetsu and Shinsapporo, the goal was to introduce the researchers to a number of important Ainu sites. And among them was Chikoronai! I surprised Kaizawa-san with a hello, as I peaked out from under the brim of my hat when he walked by. He blinked, recognized me, and gave a humorous greeting. I had also brought a painting for him and his wife--of the forests--as thank you for their previous hospitality. While the tour primarily involved getting on and off a large bus, it was highlighted by numerous lessons in Ainu language by Kiku-san, an Ainu woman and singer who accompanied the tour and who I have met on a number of previous occasions. Another highlight was watching the absolute magnetic pull of the ocean on the three Maori researchers on the tour--before I could untie one shoe, they were stripped to their boxers in the waves. I have often contemplated the ocean while here in Japan. Growing up smack in the middle of a continent, I have very limited experience with the ocean. I am accustomed to lakes--and when I stare out across the ocean, I fully expect the opposite shore to be nearby. The waves seem intimidating to me, and its expanse equally incomprehensible. But for those raised along the coast, such as these researchers, I can only imagine the welcoming sight of the ocean. Recently, my curiosity for the ocean has begun to grow and I have felt tentative tugs--from the cries of gulls, to the scent in the air--to seek it out. On the last day, a handful of the researchers gave short presentations. This was extremely influential for me. To hear these researchers speak of methods such as Maori ecological health meters, of native forestry practices, of land rights advocacy, and the legitimacy of indigenous knowledge (indeed, indigenous science!) was both refreshing and hugely encouraging. And throughout, there was a surprise guest. An elderly Ainu man, Ogawa-san, sat smiling in the back as Professor Gayman translated the presentations to Japanese. Ogawa-san is one of the most respected leaders. He is leading a lawsuit against Hokkaido University for the return of Ainu remains and other objects dug up from hundreds of graves and sites. He gave a powerful and emotional speech, carrying a large banner proclaiming that he would never quit in his demand. His eyes glittered when , upon asking the group of researchers to raise their hands if they believed these stolen bones and objects must be returned following international regulations for repatriation of remains, everyone immediately raised their hands. Afterwards, I stayed behind with Professor Gayman to help him to the train station and eat onigiri together as we waited.
The next week, after being cooped up in a bus for so long, I made an ambitious decision. Last fall I had hoped to bike from Sapporo to the nearby town of Otaru (just about 22 miles or ~40km away). But, for reasons you will soon understand, I decided I should try my hand at running there. I mapped out a run, took a deep breath, and set out at a slow and conservation pace. The first half of the route was all flat, and no trouble. However, after about two hours of running, the road began to climb and did not stop climbing for the next hour. That was unexpected, and combined with not bringing any water with me, left me feeling tired by the end. But I made it, in about 3 hours and 50 minutes, a little bit shocked that I had done it. I'm a sprinter/middle distance runner, if you remember. In the past, I grumbled greatly over long distances. I suspect some of my bike trips have assisted me. Or the seaweed. Eating seaweed everyday is bound to do something to you. Who knows. A slow pace to be sure, but a huge confidence boost. And why, you might ask, would I do such a thing (besides my general stubbornness and foolishness)? It is top secret! You will know soon enough. Don't try guessing yet.
This past week has been defined by an unbelievable amount of data from my experiment and measurements. Most of it is so dense and complex, I have little hope of fully understanding it. In fact, I have been feeling so overwhelmed and intimidated by the prospect of analyzing it. I know that I am not experienced enough, and lack the analytical brain that would be so useful in such a situation. For you see, I am no scientist by nature. My brain is not wired for math or formulas, as hard as I might try. It is always a battle. So far it has been an absolute slog through long scrolls of numbers, complicated acronyms, and lengthy scientific explanations in Japanese. But I will do my best! I have been trying to write up my research paper, but so far cannot proceed beyond the introduction due to the fact that I do not have all of my results, and that I must wait for when the post-grad students have time to spare from their own research. I will not give up, though! And it has been such a valuable experience despite the frustration. My advisor also praised my introduction, which has given me great encouragement.
Lastly, this week I was finally able to climb Mt. Youtei. Mt. Youtei is known as the “Fuji of Hokkaido,” although it stands only 1,898m. It emerges abruptly from the flat agricultural fields at its feet, and is surrounded by the ski area of Niseko. It has been cloudy and rainy for the past few weeks, but I did not wish to waste a free day, and despite a thunderstorm I attempted to hop a train to the nearest station to the mountain. What should have been a simple 2 ½ hour train commute turned into a 5 ½ hour mess. Within 30 minutes of boarding the train, it came to a stop and did not move for nearly an hour. There were intermittent announces about a delay from the lightning of the storm. Indeed, it had begun to pour just as I reached the station. There were small flashes of lightning outside the window, and while I would consider it a weak storm, it was the first I’ve seen with any lightning this summer. Japan does not appear to have many thunderstorms like in the United States. After nearly an hour wait, we were shuttled onto a bus. The train stop lights had been taken out by lightning! The news arrived. Finally, after all the delay, I ended up in Kutchan. Then caught a bus to a stop in the middle of nowhere, and walked for about 30 minutes on the country roads with Youtei looming before me. The very second I reached the trailhead, it began to pour. Pour, in fact, would be an understatement. It was a torrential downpour. Water flowed like a river down the narrow mountain trail. I proceeded nonetheless, becoming absolutely drenched. A cloud had settled on the mountain, and everything was grey, cold, and misty. All the descending hikers attempted to dissuade me, since it was noon when I had finally started my hike, and they said there would be no way for me to make it up and down the mountain. I ignored them, for which I am thankful. When I made it to the top, I was still soaking and quite cold from the wind. But that same wind cut small gaps in the clouds so I could glimpse the landscape far below. Ah, it was beautiful. I felt proud and accomplished, and hopped happily along the volcanic rocks, skirting around the crater--it is an active stratovolcano. It was only 3:30pm when I reached the summit. All those other hikers had said it would take me at least 5 hours! It took me barely 3 1/2. There was plenty of time to climb down. But I decided to sleep in the hut on the mountain anyways, in order to watch the sunrise. That night, although I had no idea while climbing, was actually the peak night of the perseid meteor shower. Because I was still damp, the night was cold and hard. I shivered and slept little--there was frost on the window in the morning, and although I had brought a light jacket against the chill, I had no sleeping bag. With the other hikers who were sleeping at the hut, I watched shooting stars flash across the sky. In the morning, I woke up around 4AM to start my hike down, graced by the sunrise across the clouds and mountains below. I strolled happily along, whistling back and forth with the birds, and walking light-footed among the painted clouds of dawn--laid as they were like a mantle across the surrounding mountains. The struggles of the day before were well worth it.
Now, I am back to Sapporo, and back to the grind of my experiment. It will take a lot of work for me to finish--and some of my measurements cannot be completed until perhaps the week before I leave Japan--but I will try my best. I do not wish to leave Japan. I do not wish to go home, but now that my flights are arranged, there is nothing that can be done. Resignation has set in--it is bitter at times, but always joyful knowing how much I have come to love my time here in Japan. The gift that has been this year has changed my life. Although it must end for now, how can I not be content in that incredible gift? It has been a dream for me. There have been struggles, but they have been sweetened at every turn. I look at the person I have become, I close my eyes and picture all that I have seen, all that I have learned, and I cannot contain my gratitude. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you to everyone who has helped me to this point.
As with last month, this month's report also picks up just where the other left off. In fact, the morning after I submitted my report last month I took off on bike again. This time, however, my goal was to finally visit the Chikoronai reforestation project I mentioned previously. The project was started by an Ainu man, Koichi Kaizawa, with the goal of restoring the original temperate deciduous forest that had been replaced by pine plantations. Of particular importance is an elm species (Ulmnus laciniata) called “ohyou.” As explained before, I had met Kaizawa-san's son at an Ainu music concert in the town of Nibutani, and asked about coming to visit the reforestation project. I wanted, if possible, to come help in whatever way would be useful, in return for the opportunity to learn more about the project. Since that time, I had communicated with his son through the rather tenuous method of facebook, which he had informed me was his preferred method of contact. The weekend before, it had been vague whether or not he had received his father's permission for me to come help. In fact, scarce minutes before I had been about to set out on bike from Sapporo to the forest—after hearing neither a confirmation or a decline—I at last heard back. It turned out that he had not had a chance to ask his father (though the story I was initially told was that they wouldn't be doing any weeding that weekend and would contact me when they planned to.) Kaizawa's son, Taichi, is a very cheerful, friendly man but tends to take his time in responding to messages. Looking at a calendar, I realized that my weekends were quickly running out. If I was going to go visit, it would need to be soon or never. I am very fortunate and happy to say that since then, I have indeed been able to visit. It is one of the more ridiculous and entertaining adventures I have had—as well as one of the most meaningful--and so while a few of you have heard pieces of the story, I think it worthwhile to share. Not wanting to bother Taichi-san, but also feeling that it was something very important to me to visit if there was any possibility whatsoever, I asked later that week if the coming weekend might not be too much trouble. I did this in the guise of a “bike trip”, stating that I would be passing through Nibutani (instead of the truth, that I was specifically biking TO Nibutani). Although Taichi had generally seemed optimistic about my visiting when I met him in person, his lack of concrete communication with me made arranging such a visit complicated and fraught with uncertainty. I was constantly unsure if I was causing inconvenience with my request. I figured there may be less pressure if I construed my request in terms of something less specific, such as a bike trip—it gave plenty of leeway for the Kaizawas to decline if they were too busy, or to accept without having to keep me around very long. Having sent my question, thanks to facebook's technology I was aware that it had been read, but awaited a response. By Sunday morning, I still had not been told yes or no. Since I had construed the request in terms of a bike trip, I decided to go anyways. This was a nerve-wracking step, knowing the potential inconvenience and intrusion I could cause if unwelcome, and also the fact that it is an approximate 110km bike ride. I did not even know if anyone would be home, much less happy to see me. Koichi Kaizawa, the founder, was initially described to me as gruff and somewhat unfriendly (at least to those who are not on his good side). This made me all the more apprehensive. Nonetheless, I packed a small daypack and, as I said it would be a bike trip, I decided I should tie my sleeping bag to my bike. Not just to stick with the story, but also in case I was turned away and had to sleep outside that night. I set out, and it was a blustery, harsh headwind from the start. Combined with my apprehension, the first part of the bike was not particularly enjoyable. It is an irksome tangle of streets, unaware pedestrians, dangerously inept bikers, and busy traffic to escape the frustrating net that is the city of Sapporo, and during this part I contemplated many times if I should turn back. Finally, reaching the city limits, I decided stubbornly (and probably foolishly) to continue even though I now felt a heavy pull to turn back. But I had found the road, and I stuck to it. If nothing else, good exercise, I decided! The farther I biked from the city, the more open the land became. Nonetheless, I was biking into complete mystery as far as how things would work out. In Minnesota, I would consider it extremely rude to show up (mostly unannounced) to someone's home. I had no way of knowing if Taichi-san had said anything to his father. I had no way of knowing my reception. I focused on the fields and farms around me, the trees and skyline, the battle against the wind, and the transformations of the road. The skies were grey, but finally about 2/3 of the way the atmosphere started to feel more cheerful. The sun peaked out, and the land became more green with tumbling forests, little homes, streams, and fences tucked into the countryside. I checked once more to see if I had received any response to my message. Nothing. It was now about 11:30AM, and I estimated when I might arrive. I sent one last-ditch message saying that I had left Sapporo on my bike trip and would be passing through Nibutani in a couple hours. The land became rolling, covered with green tumbles of forest. I saw road signs that I was nearing Nibutani, I was also not certain of the precise location of the reforestation site. Pedaling along, I passed a tiny sign that I thought said 'chikoronai.' I saw a fenced field, with a few people out pulling weeds. I continued on, feeling that perhaps this had been it, but too nervous to stop. I came into Nibutani proper and asked an older lady in a shop if she knew of the forest or Kaizawa-san. She confirmed that I had passed it. Back-tracking, I hopped off my bike and walked nervously up the drive. No one had seen me or heard me and I paused, standing next to my bike in worry. After a few moments, and still no one had looked up from their work, I figured it would be better for me to announce myself than for someone to turn and be shocked to find a bedraggled foreigner watching them. Timidly, I called 'sumimasen,' my mind racing to think what my next step should be. Koichi Kaizawa stood up and turned around, giving me what I can only describe as the clearest angry, exasperated expression of “Oh jeez.” I gulped as he approached. His glare was harsh and I fumbled to think of some way to explain my presence. “I was just wondering...I was just biking through...I was hoping I could see the forest?” I stuttered. He scoffed. “No. We are working until 5pm. I can't show you the forest until then,” followed by a blunt. “Dou suru?” I floundered. “Oh, I see, ah...Well, can I work?” I asked a little shakily. Luckily, shortly after Koichi Kaizawa had come over to talk to me, the others in the field had gradually made their way over. Coming down from the dirt path was Koichi-san's wife with a bag of snacks. It seemed that I had arrived only minutes before they were going to take a break from working. Koichi-san walked aggitatedly over to his car and sat down. I could hear him mumble something about being a “meiwaku.” I cringed. Just at that moment, his son Taichi-san had approached and said lightheartedly, “Oh! Hi Jamie! You came! Sorry I didn't respond to your message.” He turned to his father and said with a laugh “what do you mean 'meiwaku.' That's not true.” The other workers were Koichi-san's daughters and family members. We began to talk, and I explained that I had biked there. Everyone was impressed—even, I think, Koichi-san. Gradually, the air became less tense. I even caught a smile or two on Koichi-san's face, and got him to laugh. His wife had brought icecream cones and insisted that if I was going to help work, I had to eat an icecream cone. They asked curiously about where I'm from, how long it had taken to bike, if I was tired, etc. Although I was tired, I didn't want to be turned away from helping work. I said oh no, I'm just fine. They asked where I had planned to stay. I gestured to my sleeping bag, “someplace along the road, a bus stop, in the forest,” I explained bashfully. “I like sleeping outdoors.” Everyone balked. Koichi-san's wife said offhandedly, “well, if she works, what about the log house?” The Kaizawas have a log house on their land, that guests sometimes stay in. Secretly, I had know this, and had hoped very much that things would go smoothly enough that I would be invited to stay. Although Taichi-san had said they would not be doing any weeding or such work, it was clear that was precisely what they had been working on. So for the next few hours I crouched in the dust and dirt and pulled weeds, then collected rocks to remove from the field. My legs were not too happy, I was sunburned, and now my legs were covered in dirt. But I was in a state of disbelief at the incredible turn of events. I had not been chased away. Here I was, weeding just as I had hoped. What was more, there was an Ainu language lesson that night, and Taichi-san had asked me if I was interested in attending. Both he and his mother were going. I was shocked, of course I would like to attend! At last, 5pm rolled around and the field work was finished. I climbed into the back of the truck with one of the daughters and we went back to their house. When I took of my shoes to come inside to wash up, my socks and feet were black with dirt. The daughter literally hosed of my legs in the bathroom! Then, Koichi-san himself pulled up outside the house in his truck. He was waiting to give me a tour of the forest! Taichi-san loaned me a pair of his shoes (many times too large) since mine were muddy and soggy. I couldn't believe it! I got into the truck with Koichi-san and he drove along the bumpy, dirt road. “You see,” he said. “It would be impossible to bike through here.” I agreed, still unbelieving at the situation. We passed through many fences, some of them electric. “The deer,” said Koichi-san. The deer eat the seedlings and strip the trees. He was in a light mood, and although I'm rather shy, I tried to keep a conversation. Reaching the peak of the path, Koichi-san parked and pointed across the forest showing me the boundaries. Shika deer yelped in the trees, and Koichi-san in good humor would shout “urusai” back at them. I spoke of my own hopes to help with reforestation projects, and my hopes to protect the earth. I explained that in Minnesota, the forests are beautiful, but nothing like here. In Hokkaido, everything is so lush. There is so much biodiversity, I said. When we got back to the house and he parked the car I said “if I were to live in such a place, I would be happy for the rest of my life!” Koichi-san especially laughed at this. I think, maybe, I got on his good side. A much better place to be. He asked me jokingly if I was going to learn to speak Ainu at the class. I said I would do my best! I was rushed into the next car, and Koichi-san's wife handed a homemade bento to me and told me to eat up! We had to hurry to make it by 6pm. Although the language lesson was far more advanced than what I could understand, and quite linguistically technical, I was still in awe at the situation. I listened attentively to the language recordings, tried to follow along to the text of songs, to follow the grammar questions. I was very touched to be welcomed into the small group of adults that had gathered. The songs and reading were punctuated by light conversation and tangents—including a discussion on Ainu name meanings and some current names, followed by questions about the origin of my own name, etc. I was somewhat dazed by the end, the many hours of biking and hot sun catching up to me. Afterward, returning to their house, Koichi-san asked me if I could now speak Ainu. I said not yet! Koichi-san's wife invited me to take a bath. Of course, I wanted to, but I knew that it was a Japanese bathroom and that everyone would be sharing the bath in turn. I had already caused such an intrusion, I didn't want to make everyone wait to take their baths. I said if I could just shower off quickly that would be more than enough. After showering, Taichi-san showed me to the log cabin down the ways from the house. Inside it was quite spacious, with many futons and blankets and an open fire pit in the center. He said I could sleep any where I liked and use the futons and blankets. I had told everyone, upon arrival, that I would be continuing on to Furano the next day as part of my “route” for the “bike trip.” I was not sure if I would follow through with that initially made-up plan, but in any case had said I would be getting an early start. And to my own surprise, waking up the next day at 4AM as I had said I would, instead of taking the logical route and heading towards the Tomakomai station in hopes of catching the train or bus back to Sapporo, I set out upon the long road to Furano—through the Hidaka mountain pass. The beautiful colors of the sunrise and the empty, open road before me were too tempting. Koichi-san had warned me that it was all up hill, and I would learn that was no understatement. The upward climbs were long and grinding, but the soaring flight down the mountain roads was exhilarating. I kept pace with the cars as I zoomed down. The land of Japan and of Hokkaido is so lush and beautiful to me that despite the difficulty of the bike ride, it was heavenly. I saw volcanos and blue, misty mountains hovering in the distance as the morning mists broke. I saw great jagged rocks tumbling into rivers, small farm houses and boarded homes that somehow survived the winter snows. When I arrived in Furano around 11AM, I was tired, but headed to see the lavender and flower fields. Whether it is the sheer beauty of the fields, the Daisetsuzan mountains on the horizon, or my general exhaustion I am not sure, but I found the scenery absolutely mesmerizing. There have been many moments in Japan where I have had to double check to see if I am not dreaming. After wandering around the flowers, eating lavender icecream, I was lucky to convince a bus driver to let me take my bike along and I was on my way back to Sapporo after my 200+ km (slightly unexpected) “bike trip.” Needless to say, I promptly fell asleep on the bus. I could not believe the good fortune I had. I could not believe how absolutely kind the Kaizawas had been to me, despite my sudden arrival by bike. I'm sure they thought I was insane! But, I think just maybe, I made an okay impression despite my general ridiculousness. I will never forget the kindness that was shown me. In any case, I hope you will excuse the length of the story, but for a number of reasons I felt it a necessary story to share--it highlights so many of the aspects of Japan that I love and that have defined my year and growth. There is a freedom in Hokkaido’s countryside (and perhaps throughout Japan’s countryside) that I have not felt before. It is a freedom both in the land and in the relative safety and kindness of the people. Of course there are risks, but it is only here in Hokkaido that I have met no trouble sleeping outside under the stars. I have been met by curiosity, but not harassment. And while the freedom of the land of which I speak is not lacking in great disturbance and a history of ecological destruction by human hands, it is a freedom in that now the land has been largely ignored. It is a freedom born of negligence. Many of the forests are marked by scars of plantation, building, or abandoned plantations. The original species and compositions of the forests and rivers and mountains are largely disrupted. Whatever “pristine nature” tourists come to Hokkaido in search of is non-existent. But unlike in the United States, where national parks isolate and divide up the land--placing fences and boundaries and limitations, tinkering ceaselessly--the forests here seem comparatively left alone. This is a result of lack of young foresters, lack of domestic timber market, and general abandonment. And while there are disadvantages to such abandonment, at the same time it causes a natural flow between houses, farmlands, and cities and less developed (or abandoned) spaces left to their own forces. Such a fluidity as I have not seen in the United States. As I have been told numerous times in my lectures, rural areas of Hokkaido are losing population quickly as people concentrate themselves in large cities like Sapporo and Obihiro. One professor gave an entire lecture mourning this “terrible” turn of events--his reason being that without small towns and farms, we would lose the managed picturesque, comfortable beauty of agriculture and farmland. He compared the superiority of this tidiness and comfort to the disdainful inferiority of the patch of “weeds”, shrubs, and trees left unkempt outside the window of our classroom. However, to me, I harbor a secret hope. A hope that, as small towns continue to shrink, as land prices plummet, thus will the land be allowed to recover and perhaps, slowly, return to the hands of people like Kaizawa-san.
Therefore, not only was I incredibly fortunate to visit the Chikoronai reforestation project and meet with Kaizawa-san, who I respect greatly, but I also had yet another chance to fall in love with the land here. I have learned more from my adventures climbing mountains, wandering, and observing the flow of the land than I have from any text book. I have become so familiar with the plants and ecosystems from this gift of adventure. Besides this knowledge, it has instilled in me a determination to protect these lands. When I first arrived, I had such a goal. But now it is tempered by love, and therefore all the more powerful. I feel physical pain in my heart to think of leaving this land, and for that I am so grateful. It means I will not give up until I have seen the environmental changes that must take place. It means that I will work that much harder to see the spread of reforestation projects like Chikoronai. In fact, I have given some thought to studying for my masters at Hokkaido University. My advisor, Koike-sensei, has enthusiastically been providing me information. There is nothing certain, and I know that I must return home to Minnesota to sort out the chaos of my family (and of course to see them!), to sort out my financial situation, and to reconsider universities in the United States, I feel a distinct pull to stay. Indeed, more than a pull, but a surge in my chest to remain in Hokkaido.
The next week, I casually mentioned the topic of gas exchange measurements to one of the post-doc students—wondering when, if, and how I should do begin them since Koike-sensei had brought it up a few times regarding my experiment. The post-doc student pulled out a calendar, and it happened that the Li-Cors gas exchange equipment would only be available that immediate week! I was suddenly looking at starting said measurements the very next day! It was shocking and a little overwhelming, but secretly exciting since these would be some of my most complex measurements. And a very complex machine, but one that is ubiquitous through ecological research. Therefore, it was a priceless (if harrowing) experience to learn the process. Another post-doc student helped me assemble two of the four machines early the next morning. There were many cords, buttons, desiccant tubes, etc. I felt immediately that I was in over my head. I carried my small notebook with me, furiously writing down notes from Mao-san’s explanation. In total, there were four Li-Cors available to use. Even for those experienced with using them, running four machines at once is very difficult. But I said I’d give it a try. I also only had one week to use them, and if I had any hope of finishing, I would need to use all four. Using the Li-Cors, I needed to take three different measurements (Aci curves, light curves, and photosynthetic induction). These are all related to photosynthetic processes and light use efficiency. Each measurement required approximately one hour. I needed to perform each measurement for each seedling species for each treatment plot. This came to a total of 36 leaves. With 1 hour per measurement, 3 measurements per leaf, and 36 leaves…my head spun. That meant 108 hours worth of measurements crammed into one week. More troubling still, the machines each needed about 2 hours to warm up and calibrate. So for about a week, I woke up between 5 and 6am, threw on some light work clothes to withstand the heat, and lugged the heavy Li-Cors machines out from the storage sheds. Following the complex set of instructions I had scribbled in my notes, I sometimes successfully and sometimes very unsuccessfully calibrated the machines and began measurements until the sun set. Then, chased by mosquitos, I would turn off all the switches, empty the high-pressure CO2 capsules, and tidy everything up. I had to repeat numerous measurements--losing many hours of work-- encountering just about every issue or trouble with the machines that the post-grad students had encountered in all their years. The only advantage to this, as Mao-san noted, was that now I know how to deal with just as many technical problems as she does. But I steadily grew more comfortable with the machines. The chance to become familiar with the Li-Cors machines, and to be trusted (unwisely!) to use all four of them independently was incredible. I have no doubt it will help me immensely in the future--the ability to use these machines has given me a huge leg up even over those already in masters or PhD programs. I joked with others that the result of being unable to take measurements during the winter was that all my measurements were condensed into the shortest amount of time possible. Such is the nature of my life, however--from one extreme to another, it feels. Some days, in order to still manage to go running, I would press start on the machine, zoom out of the nursery and around campus in a race against the measurements. However, the my regret is that, since I had no choice of scheduling when to do the measurements and since it was decided so suddenly, it interfered with the plans I had with Jim and Becca. Jim had come to Hokkaido to visit, and I could scarcely see him or leave the experimental nursery! They even came to visit me briefly in the experimental nursery, to witness my frazzled state as I tried to follow along Mao-san’s instructions. I felt so disappointed even as I recognized the importance of focusing on my measurements. I was lucky to have a chance to eat soup curry at my favorite restaurant with them one evening. I arrived still in my work clothes after coming straight from the nursery. However, I had a wonderful time speaking with Jim and Becca. I was also lucky to escape one morning to bike with Jim to the nearby Mt. Teine, in order to show him the route. It was a pleasure to get to chat with him as we struggled up the long uphill of the road in the early morning. Since completing the gas exchange measurements, I have also collected samples for xanthophyll (sun protection molecules) content testing and the arduous process of using the ancient nitrogen/carbon analysis machine. As my luck always has it, the machine broke many times--something that I was assured “rarely” happens much less multiple times. But now I have a ridiculous amount of data.
At the same time as the chaos of my gas exchange measurements, I was also meant to be studying for my Japanese final exam. Pacing through the nursery, I often carried a sheet of vocabulary in my hand that I scarcely had a chance to look at. I woke up the morning of my 8:30AM final covered in vocabulary sheets, the day after finally finishing my measurements. Not hopeful, I arrived at the classroom. My dear friend and classmate and I shared a glance of commiseration. But to my surprise, when I looked down at the long exam, I realized I knew almost all the vocabulary. There were some kanji and words I was forced to skip, and a few sentences I could not remember, but in the end it went very smoothly! I was pleasantly surprised, and it boosted my confidence. Thus marked the end of my classes. Scarce minutes after finishing the exam, my professor and a few of my lab mates picked me up in a van outside of the International Student Center. My professor was bringing us on a two day trip to see the northern limit of beech forests in Hokkaido. The area around Kuromatsunai, south of Sapporo, experiences mist, fog, and frequent precipitation. As a result, there are expansive beech forests, which cannot survive farther north. I never know what exactly to expect with my advisor, since he has a tendency not to divulge details (any details at all). After a few hours of driving, we arrived at a beech forest that had been conserved even during the wars, when the government wanted to use the valuable beech wood for building planes. After that, we stopped at a famous tofu shop, where you can sample more than 30 types of tofu for free. It was delicious. That night, we stayed at a ryokan called “Shizen no Ie.” I had to laugh at the name--quite typical. Each room was named after a tree species. That evening, before dinner, I was lucky to have time to run through the short trails around the inn. They were only a few kilometers long, but went through small patches of forest, garden, and cross country ski trails. For one of the first times, I ran around as a child. It was misty, grey, and raining lightly and I was the only one out on the trails. I sprinted here, zoomed down a hill there, hopped along rocks here, skipped up stairs there. I surprised a group of foxes who barked angrily at me. The next day, we went to visit the “Beech Forest Museum.”
The next week was more somber, as I learned that a dear professor had suddenly and unexpectedly passed away from complications due to leukemia. This was the very first thing I learned when I awoke that morning. I was shocked. The professor was loved by all his students and colleagues at my college. We all knew of his illness, but he seemed so resilient and cheerful at all times. He taught courses on environmental history, and had a great impact on my own development as a historian, as a researcher, and as a person. I still do not know what my college will do without him. It is an immense loss. I had collected so many stories to share with him about Japan. In fact, he was one of the professors who wrote my recommendations for Yale and masters programs. I wanted to see him in person when I returned. I floundered with what to do. In the end, I took off from my dorm on my bike in the direction of a mountain called Hakkenzan, about an hour and a half away. Feeling that I must do something, I climbed the small mountain purposely and placed white cranes along the way. It will still be a shock to return to St. Olaf College to visit, and to meet the reality of his passing. But I found comfort and peace in imagining how much my professor would have enjoyed the beautiful landscape of Hokkaido, as I watched it in the wind and mist atop the jagged Hakkenzan peaks.
The following week, I was lucky to tag along on a pre-conference tour for “Indigenous Geography.” As the name suggests, these are researchers (some indigenous and some not) who focus on the incorporate of indigenous knowledge and worldview in some way involved with geography, environmentalism, resource use, education, etc. Needless to say, an incredible opportunity for me. I realized, hearing the conversations around me, how amazing it felt to be surrounded by people who thought similarly to myself--who were, indeed, far more experienced than myself, and who had been working for many, many years. I was officially brought along as an assistant (and translator when I could manage it) thanks to the professor, Jeff Gayman, who had brought me to Nibutani the month before and also a tip from Becca. While the tour unfortunately only traveled around the area of Noboribetsu and Shinsapporo, the goal was to introduce the researchers to a number of important Ainu sites. And among them was Chikoronai! I surprised Kaizawa-san with a hello, as I peaked out from under the brim of my hat when he walked by. He blinked, recognized me, and gave a humorous greeting. I had also brought a painting for him and his wife--of the forests--as thank you for their previous hospitality. While the tour primarily involved getting on and off a large bus, it was highlighted by numerous lessons in Ainu language by Kiku-san, an Ainu woman and singer who accompanied the tour and who I have met on a number of previous occasions. Another highlight was watching the absolute magnetic pull of the ocean on the three Maori researchers on the tour--before I could untie one shoe, they were stripped to their boxers in the waves. I have often contemplated the ocean while here in Japan. Growing up smack in the middle of a continent, I have very limited experience with the ocean. I am accustomed to lakes--and when I stare out across the ocean, I fully expect the opposite shore to be nearby. The waves seem intimidating to me, and its expanse equally incomprehensible. But for those raised along the coast, such as these researchers, I can only imagine the welcoming sight of the ocean. Recently, my curiosity for the ocean has begun to grow and I have felt tentative tugs--from the cries of gulls, to the scent in the air--to seek it out. On the last day, a handful of the researchers gave short presentations. This was extremely influential for me. To hear these researchers speak of methods such as Maori ecological health meters, of native forestry practices, of land rights advocacy, and the legitimacy of indigenous knowledge (indeed, indigenous science!) was both refreshing and hugely encouraging. And throughout, there was a surprise guest. An elderly Ainu man, Ogawa-san, sat smiling in the back as Professor Gayman translated the presentations to Japanese. Ogawa-san is one of the most respected leaders. He is leading a lawsuit against Hokkaido University for the return of Ainu remains and other objects dug up from hundreds of graves and sites. He gave a powerful and emotional speech, carrying a large banner proclaiming that he would never quit in his demand. His eyes glittered when , upon asking the group of researchers to raise their hands if they believed these stolen bones and objects must be returned following international regulations for repatriation of remains, everyone immediately raised their hands. Afterwards, I stayed behind with Professor Gayman to help him to the train station and eat onigiri together as we waited.
The next week, after being cooped up in a bus for so long, I made an ambitious decision. Last fall I had hoped to bike from Sapporo to the nearby town of Otaru (just about 22 miles or ~40km away). But, for reasons you will soon understand, I decided I should try my hand at running there. I mapped out a run, took a deep breath, and set out at a slow and conservation pace. The first half of the route was all flat, and no trouble. However, after about two hours of running, the road began to climb and did not stop climbing for the next hour. That was unexpected, and combined with not bringing any water with me, left me feeling tired by the end. But I made it, in about 3 hours and 50 minutes, a little bit shocked that I had done it. I'm a sprinter/middle distance runner, if you remember. In the past, I grumbled greatly over long distances. I suspect some of my bike trips have assisted me. Or the seaweed. Eating seaweed everyday is bound to do something to you. Who knows. A slow pace to be sure, but a huge confidence boost. And why, you might ask, would I do such a thing (besides my general stubbornness and foolishness)? It is top secret! You will know soon enough. Don't try guessing yet.
This past week has been defined by an unbelievable amount of data from my experiment and measurements. Most of it is so dense and complex, I have little hope of fully understanding it. In fact, I have been feeling so overwhelmed and intimidated by the prospect of analyzing it. I know that I am not experienced enough, and lack the analytical brain that would be so useful in such a situation. For you see, I am no scientist by nature. My brain is not wired for math or formulas, as hard as I might try. It is always a battle. So far it has been an absolute slog through long scrolls of numbers, complicated acronyms, and lengthy scientific explanations in Japanese. But I will do my best! I have been trying to write up my research paper, but so far cannot proceed beyond the introduction due to the fact that I do not have all of my results, and that I must wait for when the post-grad students have time to spare from their own research. I will not give up, though! And it has been such a valuable experience despite the frustration. My advisor also praised my introduction, which has given me great encouragement.
Lastly, this week I was finally able to climb Mt. Youtei. Mt. Youtei is known as the “Fuji of Hokkaido,” although it stands only 1,898m. It emerges abruptly from the flat agricultural fields at its feet, and is surrounded by the ski area of Niseko. It has been cloudy and rainy for the past few weeks, but I did not wish to waste a free day, and despite a thunderstorm I attempted to hop a train to the nearest station to the mountain. What should have been a simple 2 ½ hour train commute turned into a 5 ½ hour mess. Within 30 minutes of boarding the train, it came to a stop and did not move for nearly an hour. There were intermittent announces about a delay from the lightning of the storm. Indeed, it had begun to pour just as I reached the station. There were small flashes of lightning outside the window, and while I would consider it a weak storm, it was the first I’ve seen with any lightning this summer. Japan does not appear to have many thunderstorms like in the United States. After nearly an hour wait, we were shuttled onto a bus. The train stop lights had been taken out by lightning! The news arrived. Finally, after all the delay, I ended up in Kutchan. Then caught a bus to a stop in the middle of nowhere, and walked for about 30 minutes on the country roads with Youtei looming before me. The very second I reached the trailhead, it began to pour. Pour, in fact, would be an understatement. It was a torrential downpour. Water flowed like a river down the narrow mountain trail. I proceeded nonetheless, becoming absolutely drenched. A cloud had settled on the mountain, and everything was grey, cold, and misty. All the descending hikers attempted to dissuade me, since it was noon when I had finally started my hike, and they said there would be no way for me to make it up and down the mountain. I ignored them, for which I am thankful. When I made it to the top, I was still soaking and quite cold from the wind. But that same wind cut small gaps in the clouds so I could glimpse the landscape far below. Ah, it was beautiful. I felt proud and accomplished, and hopped happily along the volcanic rocks, skirting around the crater--it is an active stratovolcano. It was only 3:30pm when I reached the summit. All those other hikers had said it would take me at least 5 hours! It took me barely 3 1/2. There was plenty of time to climb down. But I decided to sleep in the hut on the mountain anyways, in order to watch the sunrise. That night, although I had no idea while climbing, was actually the peak night of the perseid meteor shower. Because I was still damp, the night was cold and hard. I shivered and slept little--there was frost on the window in the morning, and although I had brought a light jacket against the chill, I had no sleeping bag. With the other hikers who were sleeping at the hut, I watched shooting stars flash across the sky. In the morning, I woke up around 4AM to start my hike down, graced by the sunrise across the clouds and mountains below. I strolled happily along, whistling back and forth with the birds, and walking light-footed among the painted clouds of dawn--laid as they were like a mantle across the surrounding mountains. The struggles of the day before were well worth it.
Now, I am back to Sapporo, and back to the grind of my experiment. It will take a lot of work for me to finish--and some of my measurements cannot be completed until perhaps the week before I leave Japan--but I will try my best. I do not wish to leave Japan. I do not wish to go home, but now that my flights are arranged, there is nothing that can be done. Resignation has set in--it is bitter at times, but always joyful knowing how much I have come to love my time here in Japan. The gift that has been this year has changed my life. Although it must end for now, how can I not be content in that incredible gift? It has been a dream for me. There have been struggles, but they have been sweetened at every turn. I look at the person I have become, I close my eyes and picture all that I have seen, all that I have learned, and I cannot contain my gratitude. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you to everyone who has helped me to this point.
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