We had unexpected visitors at our minka this Golden Week holiday, an elderly couple from Osaka. The wife, 79, told us she had lived in the minka until junior high school age, as part of the family that had been there since its construction in 1810.
They had been lingering outside, unsure as whether to knock on the door or not, but we urged them to come inside for some coffee; I, certainly, was anxious to learn more about the family’s history, of which I knew very little. She was happy to be invited inside but perhaps also a little trepidatious – what if she was disappointed by our upkeep, or the changes we had made since she last it, back in the 1980s?
Upon stepping into the doma, a wave of natsukashii swept over her. The kamado, still there, is apparently as important to Japanese in minka as the annual sakura blossoming. She touched the kamado warmly, like reuniting with a long-lost sibling. She had, in fact, cooked on that kamado for years. She was, practically, in tears at the sight of it.
Yukiyo and I encouraged them deeper into the house, to take a seat on the sofa so that we could serve them coffee and the kind of traditional Japanese snacks seniors seem to like. The wife, however, just couldn’t sit down yet: she wandered the room, touching beams and posts and – not as if she had to ask – she began wandering through other rooms throughout the house. I was more than a little embarrassed that, not expecting them, the house was more than a little messy. (Before they entered, I made a mad-dash to hide unfolded laundry, dirty dishes in the sink, etc.)
She was too busy revisiting the past to notice the clutter and dog hair on the floor (it’s shedding time), remembering places where her mother or father would sit or talk on the phone. She commented on alterations her family made through the years, and we certainly surprised them with a few things, like my using the loft space as a screening room/man cave.
I was concerned that she wouldn’t like our renovations but, again, tearing up, she thanked us for looking after her old house, a minka that her late brother especially loved, and I reassured her that it was love-at-first-sight for me as well, that I regard the house as a living thing in the Shinto sense, and that our goal is to continue to restore the rest of it gradually, as custodians until the next generation.
Finally ready for coffee, the four of us settled down for a long chat, we learning more of the history of our adopted village, and the history of the house, including a few surprising tidbits I never would have guessed, such as her revelation that what we now used as a walk-in pantry in days of yore had been the housekeeper’s room, a space no bigger than two tatami mats.
Of course, we were as delighted to meet and chat with them as they were to see her childhood home and, of course, we urged them to come back anytime they wanted, that, indeed, I was anxious to learn much more about her family’s history and the history of the minka. I hope they return soon!
