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was started by an Ainu man, Koichi Kaizawa, with the goal of restoring the original temperate deciduous forest that had been replaced by pine plantations.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.

I have gotten so behind that I must now resort to posting my Fulbright monthly report in lieu of what I would normally write about as an entry. It briefly covers the period between June 15th and July 15th:

    This month has flown past faster than any of the others. It has been pervaded by many of the same anxieties as the last, but just as many priceless experiences. I have at last had a chance to participate in more Ainu-related events and discussions. This has been long in coming, and I am so grateful that the chance arose at all. I have been making steady progress on my experiment, as well. I have now been given even more independence and control of the experiment. Indeed, I think it is entirely under my responsibility now. This is daunting and exciting. I worry that I will miss a step, and of course often must ask for help to learn procedures. Still, I have found that my knowledge is increasing quickly, and every week I learn a new skill--how to measure chlorophyll with a SPAD hand-held reader, how to measure N content with an Agriexpert, how to use an extremely expensive Nitrogen-Carbon Analyzer, and perhaps most often, how to punch holes in leaves.

Before discussing any of that, however, I should start precisely where my last report finished. This is because the very day I submitted my report, I was preparing to embark on what would become a memorable journey. A journey north, to Wakkanai. By bike! I departed on a Friday afternoon after seminar, and arrived 199 miles later on early Sunday morning. It rained and misted the entire trip, but it is so close to my heart. Just remembering the beautiful, varied landscape as we skirted along the coast of Hokkaido--through cliffs, through forests, through tunnels, wetlands, fishing towns, ocean, farmland--brings me a swell of joy. This was one of my most intimate experiences with the lands of Hokkaido. I was able to watch them shift every mile. I feel that I have come to know the lands here so well. They are dear to me. We biked as far as we could during daylight, and at sunset settled our sleeping bags on the floor of tiny, rural bus shelters. Some of these could barely fit two people, but we were lucky to stumble upon at least somewhat clean shelters--aside from the thousands of ants covering the floor (and us) the first night. One of my regrets while in Hokkaido has been that my lab, as kind and helpful as they are, has never taken me up on my sincere offer to be sent to the forests to accomplish jobs that others might decline. I have no trouble being sent to roam the woods, to hike long distances, or sleeping outside on the ground. These research activities, fairly common in my experiences in the United States, appear to be rare in Japan. Instead of tents, my lab has always stayed in hotels or ryokan. This bike trip fulfilled part of my desire. After reaching Wakkanai, I did something rather spontaneous. My friend needed to return to Sapporo that day, but I did not have a class that Monday. I was left with the option of staying behind, by myself, and exploring the two nearby islands. This possibility had been on my mind the entire trip. Although I was extremely nervous to be left all by myself, I took a deep breath, and bid farewell to my friend as she boarded a bus back to Sapporo. I bought a ticket for the ferry to the island of Rishiri and arrived in late afternoon. I had no idea of where anything was, and had no idea where I would spend the night. All I knew was that I would like to try to climb the mountain, and that there was possibly a campsite.

I debarked from the ferry, got on my bike, and promptly realized I had no idea which road to take even if it was an island. I turned back to the ferry station and asked which way to the Rishiri trail head, and if perchance the campsite was nearby. My questions were answered, but the Japanese couple certainly appeared to doubt my sanity. They would not be the last to look me up and down doubtfully. I was lucky to find an onsen on the way to wash up, then climbed up the long, winding, steep road just as it was coming close to sunset. Sure enough, the office was closed. But there was a small group of older, Japanese campers roasting dinner on a grill. I asked them about the office, and as it was closed, if it was ok if I slept there anyways. They said I should go ahead and set up my tent, to which I replied that I had no tent, and I planned to sleep on one of the benches. Either they hid their surprise well, or they weren’t surprised at all, because they let me do so quite naturally (although they did offer me blankets numerous times, and to come to their tents if I became cold). I ate some snacks for dinner, rolled my sleeping bag onto the bench, and crawled inside. The trees were swaying in the strong wind around me. The sky was becoming deep blue. The air was pleasantly cool. I watched one by one as stars appeared. Compared to the bus stations, my bench was a luxury. I slept well and woke up at 3:45am with the sunrise. I packed everything up, tied it to my bike, ate a bite for breakfast, and then set about climbing the mountain. The older campers were already up and preparing as well. I had been warned that it is a long, difficult climb. Two “tough” men had told me it had taken them four hours to climb up the 1,700m peak. The wind that had grown over the night, however, was downright blustery by morning. It would become stronger and stronger as I climbed, and eventually became enveloped in a cloud. My fast pace surprised even myself, and I was set to summit in just over three hours. I came to approximately 1,500m, but the wind was strong enough it could push me over, the rain was cold, the rocks became jagged and slick, and I was by myself. The last 200m was a sheer upwards climb, and looking out around me I could see no more than 10m ahead. I could see nothing of the view, and another 200m up I knew it would be the same case. So, valuing my safety, I began the climb back down. I managed to get back down by just after 10am. I had expected the climb to take up most of the day, and thus had set out early. Although I had not made it to the absolute top, I had come close, and in great time.

Chilly and wet, even though the weather back on the ground was pleasant, I stopped at the onsen again. Then I caught the ferry to the next island, Rebun, in what would become dreary rain. Undoubtedly, I am an “ame onna.” I only had a few hours here, and not long enough to venture to any of the main sights. I biked, somewhat lonesome and deflated from my adventure, along the coast. Then, coming back to the ferry terminal to buy my ticket back to Wakkanai, I was barraged by nearly every old Japanese lady I had been forced to meet along the way. I say “forced” because at times there were literally lines of old ladies forming (sneakily) to come up and ask me the same string of questions, some making a bee-line over to me: where are you from? (Minnesota) Your Japanese is so good! (Not so good) Oh, what are you studying? Oh! You are traveling alone! I had been trying to find an omiyage for my lab, and was forced to flee because I was truly pursued by person after person. Now, I appreciate friendliness and curiosity, but this had reached a limit. In one day, I had explained 14 different times the exact same story of what I was doing in Japan. However, as we all lined up to exit the ferry as it approached Wakkanai, I was absolutely touched by the kindness of these ladies. A group of three came up to me, talking a few more moments, wished me luck, and proceeded to give me their own possessions. They each took the charms and various key chains from their bags and gave them to me. One gave me her handmade coin purse. I was at a loss for words by their kindness. I had done nothing to deserve their gifts. I thanked them many times, but I could not fully express the gratitude and surprise I felt. Parting with them, one more lady who had surreptitiously taken a picture with me on the ferry the day before, also handed me a keychain and a pack of gum! I could not believe it. At midnight, I caught a night bus back to Sapporo, thus ending one more among many of the incredible journeys I have had in Japan.

The following weekend, I was also able to attend an Ainu music festival in Nibutani. This would be my first visit to Nibutani, a district of the town of Biratori with a very active Ainu population. I was nervous, because I was going with a professor who I had only recently met, and I did not know anyone from Nibutani. But I was also excited. The band that performed, Ainu Art Project, left me in awe. Their combination of traditional aspects of culture with contemporary rock music and style was incredible. I watched in elation as very young children danced to the music--proudly incorporating traditional dance moves that they saw adults use. As the songs intensified, an elderly man named Kazonobu picked up an empty plastic water bottle and began clapping with it. He ushered more and more of the audience and friends in front of the stage to dance. The professor I had come with went out as well. And soon enough, I had been ushered down as well! It was one of the few times I have ever felt comfortable dancing. The elderly men said to me, encouragingly, “good or bad dancing, there is no such thing!” Much of the dances were synchronized in a circle, and I tried to follow everyone else’s movements. I felt so welcomed, and so happy to see such smiling faces. To see pride and joy and strength. I was also lucky to, briefly, meet Kaizawa-san’s son, who hopefully will be able to invite me to visit the Chikoronai reforestation project I mentioned in my previous report.

The adventures continued the next day. Hearing that it would be a “supermoon” that night, I decided impulsively that the best place to view the moon would be from a nearby mountain. In the afternoon, I set out with a friend to bike to the mountain--about 40 minutes away. We made it up to the top just as the sun was beginning to set. We were graced by the setting sun and the rising moon simultaneously above the forests, mountains, ocean, and the twinkling cityscape of Sapporo spread out before us. We slept on the platform of a ski lift, protruding from the mountainside like a dock into the sea. The night air was cool, but pleasant, and I closed my eyes with a smile on my lips. The round moon brightened the night, and I could open my eyes to watch it progress across the heavens. In the morning, we woke up before 4am, ate waffles and Minnesota maple syrup that I had packed as a surprise, and climbed back down. Later that day--after a 8am nap!--I was given the chance to act as a TA along, with a couple labmates, in my advisor’s lecture. This felt like a sudden amount of responsibility--in fact, my professor has a tendency not to explain beyond “please attend this lecture at this time,” so I was not aware, when I entered the room, that I would be asked to lead a group of students in discussion about ecological effects of nitrogen deposition. In Japanese. I did my best, frazzled though I was to be so trusted by my advisor.

For my “Agriculture in Hokkaido” course, I have found, the lectures are unfortunately lacking. However, in the past weeks they have picked up. This is mostly because the professors have brought us to their experimental fields! One week, I was able to see the biogas chambers attached to the Hokudai barn.  Another, I was able to see experiments on cover crop usage. Then I was given heaps of asparagus from one professors experiment after a lecture on vegetable production in Hokkaido. Still another, I was able to stroll through the berry production fields and pick any haskap, raspberries, currants, silverberries, gooseberries that I wanted to try--at my own risk, since some were quite sour!

Additionally, I have continued to volunteer at the urban beekeeping group here in Sapporo. I am so grateful to all the members for greeting me so happily each week. This past week, I actually felt very useful this time around. I am learning how to help, and was for once put in charge of cranking the machine that spins the honeycombs and catching bees that got into the stairwell. A new volunteer visited, and I was even jokingly called a senpai! The entire experience has been such a wonderful way for me to interact and make friendships outside of Hokudai, and outside the “university” age group. For my efforts, besides a bright smile I also receive the gift of a jar of honey! Honey that I have watched and helped to harvest. And, I am excited to say, I have now competed in a track and field competition in Japan. In fact, I won the “open” 800m! I was glowing with joy a full week after this competition. This was a dream come true for me. It is the first time I felt fully accepted into the team. I even ran on the Hokudai 4x400m relay, wearing a green Hokudai jersey! Which we won handily! This was the true highlight of the meet, because there was no longer any difference between me and the other Hokudai runners. We were a relay. We were a team. I was not just some unattached runner; I was their teammate. I have gained so much from participation in this club--linguistically, physically, and mentally. I have become stronger and more confident. in each respect.

My Japanese classes are also continuing as usual. The vocabulary that we have been learning is actually quite useful, and this makes studying for tests especially rewarding. Nevertheless, I have found that, because of the limited options I was left with due to the poor scheduling (simultaneous scheduling, that is) of the courses, I am not forced to study as often as I was last semester. This is freeing, in many ways, but I also feel that structured learning is important. Yet I feel lucky that most days now I am speaking far more Japanese than English simply do to the activities I am participating in, and an increasing confidence. Through volunteering, through clubs, and increasingly through my lab, I am speaking Japanese just as naturally as English. I am sure that my conversations are littered with grammatical errors, but they are very fluid ones at least! Reflecting at the end of each day, I am sometimes surprised to realize suddenly that I have actually been communicating in only Japanese all day long!

Lastly, for my experiment, I am really beginning to accumulate results. Interpreting them will be the next, and more difficult, step. I ran into a slight hitch last week when I realized in shock that a few of my seedlings had gone missing, however! I finally needed to do individual seedling measurements, only to realize I could not find them. Luckily, there should still be enough from the remaining seedlings to create accurate results. But at the time, it was discouraging! I also had to re-run a full five hours of sample analysis after it was revealed that the machine had made a mistake halfway through the cycle. This was equally discouraging, but a good way to become even more familiar with the equipment. Next week, I will hopefully be acquiring a new skill. Since my seedlings are growing under a limited light environment, we would like to measure the intensity and length of “sun flecks.” These are momentary patches of light as a result of sudden openings in the canopy, primarily caused by wind. I will be setting six more sensors, but also attempting a method using photography to map the canopy. So I will finish on that note of excitement. Although I often find myself slipping into sadness or reflection about the short time that I have in Japan, I also find myself smiling at the many memories I have collected. I worry that I have nothing concrete to return to in Minnesota--as yet, no job, no school. I have rough plans, and it makes me anxious to have so little settled. So I am grateful for the everyday joys and excitements--for this amazing opportunity to learn.
Additionally, I have continued to volunteer at the urban beekeeping group here in Sapporo. I am so grateful to all the members for greeting me so happily each week. This past week, I actually felt very useful this time around. I am learning how to help, and was for once put in charge of cranking the machine that spins the honeycombs and catching bees that got into the stairwell. A new volunteer visited, and I was even jokingly called a senpai! The entire experience has been such a wonderful way for me to interact and make friendships outside of Hokudai, and outside the “university” age group. For my efforts, besides a bright smile I also receive the gift of a jar of honey! Honey that I have watched and helped to harvest. And, I am excited to say, I have now competed in a track and field competition in Japan. In fact, I won the “open” 800m! I was glowing with joy a full week after this competition. This was a dream come true for me. It is the first time I felt fully accepted into the team. I even ran on the Hokudai 4x400m relay, wearing a green Hokudai jersey! Which we won handily! This was the true highlight of the meet, because there was no longer any difference between me and the other Hokudai runners. We were a relay. We were a team. I was not just some unattached runner; I was their teammate. I have gained so much from participation in this club--linguistically, physically, and mentally. I have become stronger and more confident. in each respect.




My Japanese classes are also continuing as usual. The vocabulary that we have been learning is actually quite useful, and this makes studying for tests especially rewarding. Nevertheless, I have found that, because of the limited options I was left with due to the poor scheduling (simultaneous scheduling, that is) of the courses, I am not forced to study as often as I was last semester. This is freeing, in many ways, but I also feel that structured learning is important. Yet I feel lucky that most days now I am speaking far more Japanese than English simply do to the activities I am participating in, and an increasing confidence. Through volunteering, through clubs, and increasingly through my lab, I am speaking Japanese just as naturally as English. I am sure that my conversations are littered with grammatical errors, but they are very fluid ones at least! Reflecting at the end of each day, I am sometimes surprised to realize suddenly that I have actually been communicating in only Japanese all day long!

Lastly, for my experiment, I am really beginning to accumulate results. Interpreting them will be the next, and more difficult, step. I ran into a slight hitch last week when I realized in shock that a few of my seedlings had gone missing, however! I finally needed to do individual seedling measurements, only to realize I could not find them. Luckily, there should still be enough from the remaining seedlings to create accurate results. But at the time, it was discouraging! I also had to re-run a full five hours of sample analysis after it was revealed that the machine had made a mistake halfway through the cycle. This was equally discouraging, but a good way to become even more familiar with the equipment. Next week, I will hopefully be acquiring a new skill. Since my seedlings are growing under a limited light environment, we would like to measure the intensity and length of “sun flecks.” These are momentary patches of light as a result of sudden openings in the canopy, primarily caused by wind. I will be setting six more sensors, but also attempting a method using photography to map the canopy. So I will finish on that note of excitement. Although I often find myself slipping into sadness or reflection about the short time that I have in Japan, I also find myself smiling at the many memories I have collected. I worry that I have nothing concrete to return to in Minnesota--as yet, no job, no school. I have rough plans, and it makes me anxious to have so little settled. So I am grateful for the everyday joys and excitements--for this amazing opportunity to learn.

This month has flown by, punctuated by classes, the start of track competitions, zemi presentations, kind old bee keepers, and my absolute adoration for the green that is steadily returning. I am glad to say that, now at last the sakura are beginning to bloom in Sapporo. This will be the third round of sakura for me! I feel that I have been chasing the seasons across Japan. I can also report that I heard the first rustle of spring leaves this week while walking to class. This is an important occasion for me every year. When leaves first unfurl, they are too small to rustle in the wind. You can never be certain when your ears will finally catch that soft, long-awaited sound. I always stop in my tracks when I hear it, nod my head, and smile. Spring has arrived. And with it, light measurements soon to follow!

Therefore, needless to say, the past month has been filled with many great things. The biggest frustration during this time, unfortunately, is that I managed to injure myself. After returning to Sapporo with high hopes of running in the timidly warming weather and clear sidewalks, my achilles tendon suddenly began to hurt badly enough that I was hard-pressed to climb stairs for a time. It became inflamed and painful. There are not many things that will make me stop running, but this made me stop. For three weeks (longer if I counted accurately) , I have been unable to run and this has been miserable. For me, running is the same as freedom. I ran without fail or fall throughout the icy winter, and I can proudly say that I know most of the Sapporo area from here to the ocean thanks to long runs. Running has introduced me more profoundly to the city; it has brought me to many hidden places I would not have found otherwise, led me to explore, become more confident in once unfamiliar surroundings and myself, to meet a host of wonderful friends on the track team, and has connected me more closely to the land here. My footsteps have tread far over the earth here, leaving their mark on the ground and the earth its mark on me. It is as natural to me as food and drink. Most of the time, it is my method of transportation. I went to a doctor thanks to Becca's kind assistance. But, as I should have guessed, his only recommendation was an unhelpful one: more rest. It does not help that Japan's track competitions started up in perfect timing with the start of my injury. I have been looking forward to the chance to participate in a Japanese track and field competition. I have observed so many cultural subtleties through my participation in the track club, I knew it would be a once in a lifetime opportunity to compete as well. The coach even managed to register me officially, so that I can compete. I feel that it would also form a tighter bond between me and the other runners. It was the final step towards me becoming 100% accepted, even though everyone has welcomed me so kindly. Alas, I have been stuck in the stands. At practices, where I looked forward to training, chatting, and interacting with the members I now feel isolated as I sit and do abs or stretch on my own, unable to run, cheering for the other members as they run the workouts. Nevertheless, I am very grateful to have had the chance at least to observe competitions. My absolute favorite nuance is that, after crossing the finish line, each runner turns and bows before exiting. At practices as well, each runner turns and bows to the track as they leave. I think that this is an important sentiment, and stands out to me every time I witness it. It shows respect to the other members, to the other competitors, to the officials, and to the track itself.

Classes began gradually for me. Last semester, I felt busy with Japanese language classes and international student science courses. I felt that I was always preparing for a kanji or grammar exam. Due to the Hokudai International Student Center's language programs infinite wisdom, however, the corresponding levels of kanji/vocabulary and grammar were scheduled for the same time slot. I'm not entirely certain of why they would make such a decision. Many of my classmates noticed the scheduling issue at the start of vacation and informed the department. But no change was made, nor any indication of willingness to change—their only advice was that you must choose one or the other. Now, if I were an educational department, it would be my goal to provide an education. So I remain perplexed. That means that myself and everyone else in my level was forced to decide which class to take and which to give up. I ended up choosing kanji/vocabulary, because the teacher tends to provide grammatical explanations along with the vocabulary so it seemed the best of the worst. So far, this decision seems to have been the correct one but I can only wonder if the department is aware that now their class sizes have been halved. Or perhaps that was their goal. Science courses have also begun slowly for me. I currently have Agriculture in Hokkaido, Forest Resources, and my Forest Sciences lab seminar. I am considering joining an environmental studies course, but my experience last semester was that most of these courses contained review. Or they were very simplified, in part because many of the professors attempt to present in English even when the result is mostly confusion. So I am in fact rather satisfied with the smaller course load, and more time that can be devoted to field measurements, reviewing papers, and piecing together a research paper. Professor Koike has hinted that he would like me to synthesize the results into a paper by the end, and indicated that now that I will be in Japan until September, this will give me the perfect amount of time to conclude the experiment neatly. I am hoping this will come to fruition!

After finishing the first lab seminar back, the graduate students and professors were trying to decide on the presenter for the following week. One of the graduate students so graciously suggested that I present my poster on earthworm and buckthorn interactions from the Japan Forest Society. I had been nervous that someone would remember! But nervousness aside, I was also glad for the vote of confidence and the chance to share my old project—as well as talk about Minnesota's forests! I prepared a power point version, with English and Japanese so that the Japanese students and international students could all understand. Doing my best to brush up my Japanese ecology vocabulary, on April 26 I headed to the seminar room. I felt, as I always do before a presentation, as though I were balancing a basin of precious knowledge atop my head—any misstep and it would spill over. But it went perfectly, and I really enjoyed it. I am learning more and more that, shy as I may be, I do like to present. Although I am sure I made many grammatical errors, I completed the entire 45 minute presentation entirely in Japanese doing my best to speak smoothly and naturally. I think that Professor Koike was proud. Afterward, in fact, he asked me if I would be interested in submitting it to a Japanese science journal for publication. I was so surprised! The research itself is very simple and from my work at St. Olaf. However, he pointed out that I had already translated so much of it, and that many Japanese researchers would be interested in reading. I had thought I was at last done with that old project, but it seems I will have one more round with it. I prepared a four page manuscript in Japanese, adding on to what I had done already. I sent it to Professor Koike simply to ask if the format was acceptable, and yet again he helped me to edit the entire manuscript from start to finish. I was so shocked to open up the file he sent back to me (the same day!) with grammatical suggestions and advice for revisions. I cannot emphasize enough how supportive Professor Koike has been for me. He is an extremely busy professor, and yet he goes far out of his way to help me and his other students. He even makes a point of buying specific chocolates, since one of his students works for the company and he wishes to continue supporting him. Based on these revisions, I edited the manuscript again and with any luck, in the next weeks Professor Koike will be submitting it for me. If all goes well, it will be published!

The next week was Golden Week. In retrospect, I wish I had planned a short trip since there was little activity in the lab and many others had done just that. But I found the schedule to be confusing, not to mention that I still had Japanese class. So I was never quite certain when classes would be canceled or not—my method was to show up to the room, half of the time for a class, and half of the time for an empty room. But the time was well-spent in other regards, preparing the aforementioned manuscript, and doing a some more digging on Japan and environmentalism. A somewhat rare character among Japanese farmers at the time, I learned about Mr. Masanobu Fukoka, author of the One-Straw Revolution. I had heard the title before, but never read it. Published in the late 70s, Fukuoka describes a process of no till, no flooding, no pesticide farming that he developed over a period of 30 years at his farm in Shikoku. The book is little known inside Japan—despite growing yields that matched or beat his neighbors, his methods were frowned upon for their disorderly appearance compared to tidy rows of rice—but inspirational to many small farmers and environmentalists elsewhere. I poured through the book in a single day. It is especially curious to me because Fukuoka intertwines philosophy, science (trained as a plant pathologist himself, he finds sciences to be overly glorified), and practical farming. There are many aspects of Japanese culture contained in his farming, although so much of agriculture in Japan—especially in Hokkaido—has regrettably been influenced by American models. In addition to the environmental questions I have continued to pursue, and with growing success as my sources and thoughts coalesce, I remain curious about environmental questions concerning Ainu culture and language. I strongly believe that land, language, and culture are reflections of one another, and as such have made it an important goal to learn more about these possible connections not just within Japanese culture, but necessarily within Ainu culture as well. I hold this to be just as important and valuable as my ecological or scientific research. All spheres of learning are interlaced, and communicate with one another. Culture has much to say about our current global environmental situation, and I want desperately to become more involved in Ainu land and social justice events. Perhaps my main reason for pursuing forest sciences, love of plants aside, is my goal to combine scientific research and credibility with legal action, in particular in the area of resource, land, environmentalism and social justice—especially land reclamation and use. In my home state of Minnesota, there continue to be injustices against the Dakota and Anishinaabe (Ojibwe) nations, whose land is polluted illegally by mining, pipelines, and extractive corporations. Environmental and social justice issues are shadows cast by the same source. Therefore, it remains disappointing for me not to have found a way to participate in any social or environmental justice related possibilities within Ainu communities. I have contacted a professor recently, whose research specialty happens to be connections between language, ecology—with a focus on Ainu language--, but have not yet received a response.

After Golden Week, I experienced one of the happiest days I have had in a very long time. Since October, I have been trying to find a time to meet with a small, local honey production group. They keep bee hives on the top of a building in downtown Sapporo. Becca and I met them at their little stand during the autumn festival long ago, and the older lady at the booth was overjoyed to take our pictures and hear that we were interested in volunteering. At that time, the honey season was winding down. Various times, I had emailed the group to meet with them, but I always ended up busy and there was little group activity during the winter besides. With spring on its way, I was determined to meet with them. The older lady, Takushima-san, had in fact come spontaneously to the agriculture building at Hokudai during the fall to try to find me one day, so adamant was she to meet with me. Alas, I had not been in the lab that day. Not to be defeated so easily, she revealed that she searched through the building holding the picture of me and Becca posed with a jar of honey. Showing this picture, she asked Japanese students who crossed her path if they had seen me (assuming that as a foreigner, they would easily recognize me!). She is quite the character. After emailing the group and fortunately receiving a happy response to meet with me, they told me the address and I went in search of the building. The building itself is old and dusty from the outside, and filled with a mismatch of shops inside. I become very nervous doing such things on my own, and often wish to turn back, but I do not let myself give in. I had trouble locating the building, and had just stepped outside the building itself, when I heard someone call “Jamie-chan!” I looked up, and it was Takushima-san trotting towards me cheerfully. She told me she remembered me perfectly, because she often carried the photograph with her since she was so excited for me to volunteer. I have never been so seamlessly adopted by someone before. It was as though she had known me for years, that we were long friends—she happily brought me inside, introduced me to the three other volunteers who had come to meet me, and chatted with me about her children, her job, and listened curiously about what I had to say. I was especially proud because I managed the whole time in Japanese. Although the bees are still vacationing in Kyushu until the weather warms, Takushima-san said that there will definitely be many opportunities for me to volunteer. After the meeting, Takushima-san and the two other middle-aged ladies invited me to lunch, paid for my lunch, secretly gave me a honeycomb, and filled a bag with snacks for me to take with me. She proudly exclaimed to the others, “tsukamaeta!”, that she had caught me and meaning that I would surely return. The rest of the day, I wore a huge smile. In fact, as I fell asleep that night, it was with a bright grin and a warm heart. Takushima-san is the first person in Japan to call me “Jamie-chan.” I have often hoped that my track teammates or other friends would now and again use the epithet, as insignificant as it may seem. But no one had until that day. I had not realized just what this meant to me: it meant someone had accepted me, that they valued me and saw me as someone with whom formalities could be set aside. Takushima-san let her true personality shine through, charming and bubbly and very much a Japanese obaa-san. In fact, all three of the ladies treated me so kindly. I can be very timid and shy when I become intimidated, but I felt instantly comfortable among them. I had been happy enough at the prospect of volunteering with honey bees, but the potential of such a joyful friendship left me feeling immensely fortunate. I look forward to meeting with them again!

There was more excitement to come. Soon thereafter, I received a phone call from a number I did not recognize. It was a woman calling from the Japan Forestry Society, and informed me that I had won the international student award category for my poster presentation. Of course, I did not understand this at first since everything was in Japanese and took me by surprise. In fact, I was only partly certain that it was an award and not a fee at first. After making her repeat herself so many times, I'm sure she was ready to make it a fee! The next day, Professor Koike had invited me and two labmates on a short trip with him to retrieve a handful of larch seedlings from the Bibai experimental forest. He rented a car, and we made the hour-long trip through the countryside, watching the snowy mountains on the horizon. I was glad for the chance to see another experimental forest, and when we arrived we were given a tour of the grounds and explanation of some of the experiments. In true Japanese fashion, a researcher in business clothes came running out to the field to greet Professor Koike, bow, hand him his business card, and then we all took pictures in a line in front of the trees and plowed dirt rows. It was also an interesting opportunity for me to overhear Professor Koike and the other senior researchers speaking in very casual Japanese together—just like the young Japanese classmates of mine. On the way back to Sapporo, Professor Koike bought us all icecream cones and ageimo at a vegetable market. Then, though I was unable to travel during golden week, this weekend I was able to make a short trip to Tokyo. I accomplished two important items on my list in one day. Together with Veronica, I saw the Alphonse Mucha art exhibit in Roppongi and Kabuki in the evening. It was an fun-packed day. The exhibit was absolutely swarming with people, but the art was just as inspiring as I had always imagined it would be in person. And kabuki was incredible. I have been determined all these months to see kabuki while in Japan, and I feared the chance would slip by. I had never seen any form of Japanese theater in person before, and thus had long dreamed of witnessing something as iconic as kabuki. Not only is it cultural, it is stunning. I am so grateful that I was able to go. I loved the acts, was pleased that I could understand some of the Japanese and some of the puns even without the aid of the headphones, not to mention many of the cultural references, and I enjoyed swimming amidst the sea of kimono-clad old ladies. I took the train with Veronica back to Tsukuba, and the next day I was able to see the beautiful bike paths, greenery, Tsukuba University campus, and a delightful vegetarian lunch before heading back to the Narita airport. Though short, it was by far one of my best trips in Japan, due not just to great art but great company as well. The trees and scenery in Tsukuba were breathtaking to me, and peddling along with Veronica on mama-chari through the sunny weather and lush leaves, I could not have been happier. In fact, the tree-lined streets of Tsukuba reminded me fondly of my home in Minneapolis, painted with the brushstrokes of Japan. The bus trip back to Narita passed through newly planted rice fields and dense backyard gardens. Upon arriving back in Sapporo, Professor Koike emailed me to say that the light sensor equipment had arrived and that soon we could begin to take photosynthesis and light readings. I look forward to this, and today I visited the seedlings we planted in the fall to say good morning from their long sleep. The buds will soon unfurl.

Overall, injuries aside, there have been many fortunate experiences for me this month. It took a great deal for me to move past my decision regarding Yale but I have largely recovered my spirits, and discovered many friendships for which I am so grateful. I have been fortunate to have so many opportunities to present and become more comfortable with research and formalizing such research in Japanese. The exuberance of green and growing plants makes even gray and rainy days more cheerful, and reminded me of how curious I remain about plants, and the remarkable systems of this earth.

Lastly, a peculiar transformation has occurred for me over the months. When I first arrived in Japan, everything was new. Gradually, I adjusted and became comfortable. Yet that comfort and familiarity did not equate something which I associated with myself—that is, I did not notice these cultural subtleties, indeed the landscape of Japan itself, becoming a part of myself even as I observed and interacted. Such experiences had found happy abode in my mind, but had not seeped into my heart. Now, while there is much more for me to learn, aspects of Japan that take decades or a lifetime to truly know, and of course day-to-day frustrations, Japan has become a second home to me. I look upon the land here not just with interest, but with a growing love that strengthens my resolve to protect this earth. Indeed, I no longer merely look upon, but instead feel a part of Japan. The experience of Fulbright has given me that opportunity, and it is a grace I will never forget. 

Here are some pictures from the weeks just prior to the Japan Forest Conference (3/27) and during the conference itself. It was held in Morioka, at Iwate University. You can read more about it in the previous post.

On March 20th, I was also able to go to an Ainu instrument workshop at the Hokkaido Art Museum, where I learned to play the Makkuri and the Tonkori. The Makkuri, played by pulling a taut string attached to a piece of wood placed on your lips, was very difficult! But the Tonkori, a stringed instrument, felt very nice to play and perhaps because of my practice on the banjo, it came more naturally. I had found out about the workshop from a flyer at the museum, after going there the previous week to see the Ainu Contemporary Art exhibit. That exhibit, I should mention, was spectacular. There were incredible wood carvings and textiles, primarily.