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.

I can distinctly remember a moment in November as a tallied the number of weeks I had before me. This seemed to be such a long time. Full of potential, full of separation. Now, I am coming ever nearer to the end. In fact, I am growing fearful. Fearful that I have fallen in love with a land--come to know its plants, its mountains, its soil, its sky--and will be parted. I am sure I speak for others in this fear. During my first months living in Japan, if I am truthful, I could not understand the frequent claim that those who visit Japan are bound to return. Now, I understand completely. Although I might be sad to acknowledge that there seems so little time left, I am also extremely happy to realize how important my time in Japan has been.

Amidst these feelings this past month, however, there have been so many wonderful experiences and developments. As I described in my last report, my advisor helped me to polish a Japanese version of my research paper on earthworms and buckthorn from the Japan Forest Society. This has now been submitted to the Hoppo Ringyo journal, and will hopefully be accepted. Spring is in full bloom, if not summer. The trees are green and leaves flushed. I have been very happy to participate in field work helping with various experiments as well as my own. The HOBO light sensors have been attached and are recording measurements. On one day in particular, I spent nearly 5 hours sorting larch seedlings and transplanting them to plots. I’ve even come to realize that I recognize a growing number of plant species, both trees and herbaceous, by their Japanese names. This seemed a hopeless task last fall. But I’ve made unexpected progress this spring, watching each plant from sprout to stalk. I’ve even learned a number of edible plants, and cooked them myself. I’m not yet brave enough to try my hand at collecting mushrooms. In my previous report, I mentioned that there may be an opportunity for me to compile my research results into a paper. My advisor continues to encourage me to do so, and I believe it will be possible by the end. This lends me confidence. The winter was long indeed, and I often worried if I would have much in the way of research to offer despite what I had learned.

To compliment the scientific field work that is at last fully underway, I have continued to look for articles and essays to piece together my own thoughts on the status of environmentalism in Japan. Part of this has involved delving deeper into issues involved with TPP (Trans-Pacific Partnership). This has been the topic of some protest here in Japan. It is a trade agreement involving primarily the United States, but also a handful of other countries. TPP would effect a variety of sectors, but the majority of controversy stems from the effect it would have on Japan’s farmers. Few in number, they are surprisingly strong in political clout. If Japan accepts TPP--and Abe as far as I can tell has joined the talks--farmers would lose most of their market because their products would be replaced with agricultural products imported from the United States. Currently, crops such as corn are imported in large amounts from the United States. As far as food production, Japan is only about 40% self-sustainable. Joining TPP could cut this percentage in half. My dream for Japan is to achieve higher self-sustainability, not food dependence on outside sources and certainly not importing food from so far away. Local is undoubtedly better, and the Japanese model of small farms and small fields is far safer, in my opinion, then the monstrous American farming monopoly. Nonetheless, Japanese farmers do also participate in damaging land-use practices. If Japan could encourage more individuals to return to farming, and to implement methods such as suggested by Masanobu Fukuoka in his One-Straw Revolution, I believe that Japan could become a model for other countries. In addition to learning more about TPP, I hope to attend some community meetings, and also to consider that status of Japanese political and environmental mindsets. Unfortunately, apathy tends to be a persistent roadblock for significant change. Just like in the U.S., there is also considerable superficiality when it comes to environmentalism. That is, the appeal of being “green” to avoid guilt, while accomplishing very little. Still, there are passionate groups to be found here and there.

And just this week, I finally saw a glimmer of hope for becoming involved within the Ainu community through the lens of environmentalism. I have been trying for the past few months to become involved, to seek help, advice, discussion, and to offer whatever I can in return. Yet I received no responses to any inquiries and continued to feel lost. On a whim, I contacted a lecturer at Hokkaido University whose name I had found connected to past presentations on indigenous issues. I had little hope that I would receive a response. But I did indeed receive a response and some suggestions for where to look next. In Biratori, there is an ongoing Ainu-led reforestation project called Chikornay ( ‘chikoronai’). Specifically, the Chiornay is being reforested back to a state before larch plantations replaced the original trees. I was overjoyed to learn this. I have contacted the secretary of the project, and unfortunately I just missed out on the annual reforestation event, at the end of May, when many volunteers are welcomed to come assist and learn about the process of reforestation. It is a shame I did not know of this project sooner. However, I can only hope that there will be some way for me to volunteer or help with maintenance of the planted seedlings. Even simply to speak to those involved in the project, I would be happy. I have read a number of articles and essays from their website and from their founder, Koichi Kaizawa. Many of his ideas about land use and culture align closely with my own ideas and hopes for the future. I sorely regret that I did not learn about everything sooner, or have a chance to meet the lecturer who helped point me in the right direction sooner. This week I was able to meet with him and talk for many hours, in particular about the importance of culturally respectful and mindful forest practices. Just as I had hoped in my proposal so long ago, strict scientific research neglects the insight of the many cultures of the world. Native nations, especially, are often overlooked--sometimes purposefully ignored. Land use, environmental degradation and human rights are all linked. In any case, I look forward to the potential opportunities for involvement even if I have only a few months left.

I am also glad to say that I have continued to volunteer with the urban bee-keeping group here in Sapporo of which I spoke last month. My first meeting with the members was so pleasant and joyous, it left me smiling for days. I have since gone to help once a week, first to help prepare the top of the building, and now twice to work with the bees who have made their arrival from Kyushu! On a glorious sunny day, I stood upon the rooftop of a building in downtown Sapporo surrounded by hundreds of buzzing bees. And eating golden honey straight from the combs! The older lady, Takushima-san, is full of energy and kindness. The other ladies also take excellent care of me--sometimes embarrassingly so!--always vigilant to prevent me from being stung. Today I was given a small jar of honey, a handful of honeycomb, and a potted plant just for coming. I feel that I contribute very little as far as work--mostly I feel that I am standing around, hoping to be of help, and staring with fascination at the swarms of bees--but they continue to give me such kind gifts. At the midyear conference, I had wished that I could become involved in some sort of volunteer activity. Now I am so happy with my weekly bee-keeping experiences! Many of the volunteers are passionate about maintaining and increasing the number of plants in urban areas. The greening of cities brings bees and habitat, and I adamantly agree. Besides the chance to meet such kind people, it is an excellent practical application of ecological studies.

Lastly, I am happy to report that my Achilles tendon has healed as far as I can tell on my own. Unfortunately, this came at the expense of all of the training and endurance I had worked hard for all year. I am back to basics, having been prevented from running for longer than in my entire life. It is a frustrating situation, but I am so grateful to have my freedom back. To be able to run, walk, bike, and be active without (significant) pain. The week that I was finally able to slowly jog, I was so ecstatic to at last have my mobility returned that I used every opportunity and spare moment to be active. The weather seemed to clear from grey, rainy skies to bright blue sunshine in coordination with this! I took to waking up as early as I could to hike and climb around Sapporo before classes, always making it back in time with a story and many bruises. In the span of a week, I managed to bike to the ocean (taking up the trail I had attempted long ago in the fall), and hike three different so-called mountains within Sapporo. Among them I even set my sights on the to nearby Mt. Teine, and all by myself clamored up to the top. The trailhead at a beautiful waterfall was itself an adventure to locate by bike--and as I later learned, haunted as well. There was snow starting half way up the climb, and I was arrayed in only running clothes and running shoes. The small number of well-equipped (often over-equipped, if you ask me) hikers that I met along the way undoubtedly questioned my soundness of mind. I fell waist deep into snow, where it was not solid enough. I banged my shins on rocks, and I had to search for light tracks in the snow to re-find the ever disappearing trail. This accomplishment left me with a sense of pride and confidence. Biking to class or arriving at track practices, I could look to the line of mountains in the west and remember the view from above. Meanwhile, when I had climbed up the modest Maruyama, I was rewarded with a similarly enchanting experience. Watching a songbird flit past my head, I held up my hands out of curiosity. To my shock, one by one little songbirds came to land on my fingertips! Although being injured for so long has done its damage, I cannot complain. For I have been richly compensated in the form of such magical experiences.

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.