The meaning of Jizo statues

Come to Shiraishi Island and discover Jizo...

Jizo, Guardian of Travelers and the Weak

A stone is wrapped in cloth and set up as a Jizo in Mount Koya in Kyoto. JOE ARCIDIACONO

Austerity — we've embraced it on Shiraishi Island

As the new springseason is upon us, it's time to start blogging again! The island is unthawing from the long winter, and San-chan's Cherry Blossom party is just around the corner. I can see Man-chan dancing a jig already! We'll keep you posted on date of this year's cherry blossom party, the first official event of the year, as soon as we know it ourselves. In the meantime, here's some light reading to get you back in the mood for that slow, laid-back island life!

Austerity — we've embraced it in the countryside | The Japan Times Online


See you soon at the Moooo! Bar...

New ferry schedule, Shiraishi Island

Starting Oct 1, 2011 the Sanyo Kisen Ferry schedule changes and prices increase. The Shiraishi Ferry (the car ferry) schedule and prices will not change, only Sanyo Kisen passenger ferry.

New fares are 650 yen for the regular ferry (40 mins) and 1,130 yen for the express ferry (20 mins).

The new schedule is as follows:

Leaving Kasaoka:
7:25, 8:10, 9:10, 11:10, 12:30, 14:15, 16:30, 18:00

Leaving Shiraishi:
7:05, 8:37, 9:55, 11:52, 13:42, 15:55, 17:05, 17:42

Returning the Seaweed to the Sea--an art exhibit on Shiraishi Island

The seaweed boat being brought to the beach by locals and tourists

Here are some photos to go with my article in the Japan Times about artist Tanotaiga and his seaweed boat art project. The article is called Returning the Seaweed to the Sea which talks about the history of the seaweed trade on Shiraishi Island. Tanotaiga made his boat out of Shiraishi nori (seaweed) and launched it over Obon.

On the beach, lowering the seaweed boat into the water. The artist, Tanotaiga is in front.

Tanotaiga in his boat! Where is the wind?!

Nonetheless, the boat is a success! He was able to take some children onboard as well.

Beware of island mosquitoes...

If you're coming out to Shiraishi Island, you may want to read about our terrorist mosquitoes who tend to hang out at the bottom of stairways and at the ferry terminal. More here in the Japan Times.

On Rock Worship and the Shinto Gods (on Shiraishi Island)

A mountain side cave on Shiraishi Island, and designated "antenna" for the Shinto Gods

If you're planning on coming out to Shiraishi Island, you might want to read my article about rock worship and the Shinto Gods on Shiraishi Island in The Japan Times.

Life as an ambassador on Shiraishi Island

Japan Lite: Life as an Ambassador
The Japan Times, Saturday, May 14, 2011

By Amy Chavez

"An American yacht has come into the port. They don't speak any Japanese. Come help."

Ah, the first call of spring! As the resident foreigner on our island, I was appointed ambassador 14 years ago to represent the citizens of Yachtland, a kingdom ruled by King Neptune. Situated mainly in the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, but with a border so liquid it encompasses most of the world's large bodies of water, Yachtland is proud to be the only country with a current.

Although Yachtland doesn't have a huge population, it is known worldwide for its natural features: the Gulf Stream, the doldrums, and the Marianna Trench, to name just a few. Visitors flock to Yachtland to go fishing, boating, swimming and snorkeling. They dive the Great Barrier Reef and numerous shipwrecks. Some come in search of more elusive places too, such as the Lost City of Atlantis.

Yachtland has abundant wildlife: the albatross, sea gulls and pelicans. In our waters are whales, sharks, dolphins and even the giant squid.

Yachtland has dangerous areas such as the Bermuda Triangle and Cape Horn. The Titanic and the Yamato have met their fates there. We have homegrown terrorism in the form of hurricanes and typhoons. No place is perfect.

As Yachtland ambassador on Shiraishi Island in the Seto Inland Sea, my job is to welcome foreign guests and direct them to the guest berth. I live in the Yachtland embassy, situated on the port. Some people think this ambassadorship is about as exciting as being stationed in Antarctica. But I have found that this lifestyle suits me just fine. Things happen here that would never happen on mainland Japan.

Like when I answered the call about the two Americans who had just sailed in on a 34-foot yacht. When I arrived on my bicycle to relieve the man who called me, to my surprise there was another Japanese man there who had also come on a yacht. His 36-foot Beneteau was tied up on the opposite side of the dock. He introduced me to the two Americans, but as he didn't speak English and they didn't speak Japanese, he couldn't tell me very much about them. "Ask them where they have come from," he said, anxiously.

After a short conversation with the Americans I found out they were a father and his 23-year-old son who had just sailed over from New Zealand. The son left the United States five years ago to sail around Yachtland and his father joins him on parts of the trip when he has time. "I think it's wonderful that a father and son can enjoy such a trip together," said the Japanese man. "Please translate that."

Suddenly the man turned around and jumped onto his boat. After a few seconds rummaging around his cabin, he surfaced with something in his hand. He tied a white piece of cloth around his head to make a hachimaki and came back over to where we were standing. On the dock, he showed us a simple shaft of bamboo with holes in it. "Shakuhachi!" he exclaimed and started playing it.

The Americans looked at me, but I just smiled. It was the first time I had ever seen someone play a shakuhachi.

The Japanese man, who had straight black hair that hung down to his shoulders, was soon in his own world, jumping from one foot to the other, in a way that told me he must be part leprechaun. The dock was his stage while the mountains and sea formed the quintessential backdrop. His primitive dance matched perfectly the simple sounds of his wind instrument. "This is a song of the sea," he stopped for a moment to explain, and then continued playing.

It was one of those special moments when people stop whatever they are doing, or thinking, to watch a spectacle unlike they have ever seen before. This little man had succeeded in putting his audience of three into a trance, though the man could have been playing to dozens. When he was finished with the song of the sea, we all clapped enthusiastically.

He insisted the American men attempt his instrument, but neither could make the piece of bamboo make a single sound. "Oh, your heart is not good," laughed the man. "You must have a good heart to make a shakuhachi sing."

"Now, a song of the mountains!" he said and turned around to face the mountains. He played to the mountains a very different kind of tune with harsher blows and short sputters, reminiscent of Shinto festival music.

When he finished, he handed the instrument to the son, who tried and tried again, but not a sound came forth.

In the meantime, the father jumped onto his boat. After a few seconds rummaging around his cabin, he surfaced with some cans of beer. The chatter continued, translations each way, and soon everyone was filling each other's cup with beer.

Not long after that, the son finally started to make the shakuhachi sing.

Feeling my mission had been accomplished, I headed back to the embassy to wait for the next call.

(C) All rights reserved

The Virtue of Silence

Rolling Black-outs: the virtue of silence
The Japan Times, April 23, 3011

Entrance to Flying Dragon Shrine on Shiraishi Island

By Amy Chavez

The rolling blackouts in Tokyo meant interruptions in watching TV, running computers, stereos and electric heaters, not to mention recharging cell phones and electronics.

While some have suggested the rolling blackouts will merely reconfirm the need for nuclear power in this country with so few natural resources, I wonder if the blackouts could create a backlash.

You see, the blackouts have given us the chance to reconsider the role of silence in our lives. In an article by James Fallows on new media in the April issue of The Atlantic, Google CEO Eric Schmidt told Fallows, "If young people are awake, they are connected. When they're walking, when they're in a car, if they wake up at night, when they're in class."

I'm glad to know that at 48, I am still considered young. But I wonder if the younger people actively seek quiet moments to keep a work-life balance. This craving for silence is one factor that drives people to go sailing, surfing, hiking, camping, mountain climbing or to do other individual sports. Silence is a tool we use to cope with life.

A competitor is silent at the beginning of a race so she can concentrate. A moment of silence is called for to remember the victims of disasters. We pray to God in silence. And most of us need silence to sleep well.

The silence between songs on a music player provides closure for one song before starting another. Writers and poets insert ratios of silence, called pauses, into their works via commas, dashes, ellipses or full stops. Lots can happen during a pause (consider the pregnant pause).

Silence is one of the lifestyle options I took when I moved to Shiraishi Island (population 631) in Japan's Seto Inland Sea. I wanted to live in a place where I could concentrate for long periods of time but still be connected to everyone and everything. Because of this decision, I've had time to consider the virtue of silence.

When I want an hour devoid of cell phones, e-mail or Internet, I take a walk up to the Flying Dragon Shinto shrine on the island. One who takes a vow of silence can hear many things.

I'm not talking about the sound of your own footsteps or that of the wind in the bamboo — most people can hear those things. Only the perceptive can note how the wind carries the laughter of two women chatting in their veggie gardens, or distinguish that the sound of a water drop is actually a frog surfacing from an abandoned well.

On my way up to the shrine, I walk past the port, where fishing boats are tied up while their captains sleep peacefully in their houses after a full night at sea. White herons stand on one leg in the shallow waters waiting for a meal to swim past, while a hawk is on lookout from the top of the mast of a yacht.

Stray cats stretch out on the sun-soaked road, sleeping with one eye open. Weeds grow freely along the road, knowing no one will cut them down as long as they have blossoms. Gods peek out from stone statues all along the path. Someone has planted ostentatious red tulips in front of their house.

I haven't heard a human-made noise yet.

When you hear a noise on the island, it's because something has happened. Something has been put in motion: Someone starts walking, someone initiates a greeting or someone starts a boat to go out fishing.

This is in contrast to city noises, many of which are ongoing and confirm that everything is still happening: ceaseless neon lights, cars on the road or the background humming of vending machines.

As I get closer to the shrine, I begin to hear some human sounds as the road-turned-walking path wends through the old Japanese country houses. I hear the scraping of a hoe in sandy dirt as an old woman removes weeds from around her walkway. When I pass a garden, a man impatiently pulls out daikon radishes, their roots snapping under the stress. Laundry flaps on a clothes line and dried leaves scoot across the path.

When I reached the Flying Dragon shrine, it was so quiet, I could almost hear the lion statues' silent roars as I passed under the torii gate. In the shrine grounds, the last flecks of pink fluttered down from the cherry trees. With the o-hanami parties finished, no one is around to hear their last petals fall to the ground.

Environment and sensitivity to noise is well documented. Buddhist priests after doing the Gumonji meditation for 100 days are said to have such keen senses that they can hear the sound of burning incense. I believe it. But it is the previous intense environment that allows them to have such perception. Who knows, in another 100 days, they might be able to hear fruit rotting.

Us mortals, however, must strive for something in between. By welcoming the occasional periods of silence that the rolling blackouts offer us, we can heighten our senses enough to be able to hear what our real energy needs are. When you can once again hear your cat purr, you just may decide to keep it that way.

When the loudest thing on my entire walk is bright red tulips, I understand the virtue of silence and I wonder if I need nuclear energy at all.

What will happen to Shiraishi Island?

Many people contacted me to see if I, Shiraishi Island and the Moooo! Bar were okay after the March 11 earthquake-tsunami-nuclear disaster. I told everyone the same thing. "We're okay. We live 500 miles from the disaster zone. We haven't been affected at all."

We didn't even feel the earthquake, not even slightly. We have had no black-outs. We continue to have food, water and daily necessities.

But of course, this is not all true. The disaster has affected everyone in Japan, including the 650 people on Shiraishi Island in the middle of Japan's Seto Inland Sea. "What will happen to Japan?" laments my next-door neighbor, Kazu-chan. It's a big question.

Kazu-chan manages the International Villa on our island that hosts over 1,000 foreigners each year. After a US$150,000 renovation last year, the beautiful villa overlooking the sea sits strangely vacant, in peril of becoming Japan's next haikyo, or "modern ruin."

"We have no reservations at all for the International Villa this year," says Kazu-chan, the first time this has happened in the 20-year history of the villa. "Ever since March 11, we have had only cancellations."

Sea-kun, who runs a kayaking program on the island for junior high schools has been faced with cancellations this year from school groups coming from the Tohoku region.

On the beach, the proprietors will have a lean summer without the foreign tourists they have come to rely on as, year by year, the Japanese tourists have decreased and the foreign tourists increased.

As the warm days of spring envelop the island, the foreign tourists should start arriving. But no one is coming to Japan now. "We are far from Tohoku, but the foreign media has exacerbated the nuclear problem. No one will come to Japan this summer," said another islander. The 'Visit Japan' campaign is a distant memory.

Tohoku, the northeastern part of Japan hardest hit by the triple disaster, is not a major destination for foreign tourists. Most people fly into Tokyo and head south-west. Western Japan, including Kyoto, Nara, Kobe and Hiroshima haven't been affected at all, let alone the islands of Shikoku, Kyushu and all of Okinawa. From Tokyo to Okinawa is 1,500 kilometers, just half the total length of the country. But this is all hard to know if you don't live in Japan.

This is not the first time our island has experienced a decrease in foreign tourism. There was SARS and bird flu before this. But the Tohoku Earthquake is much bigger news. Many say this event will change Japan forever. We have survived before, but will we survive now?

Our locals have always welcomed the foreign tourists because they infuse variety into an otherwise austere island lifestyle. People often ask me what country most tourists come from, but my only answer is, "Everywhere!" They come from Holland, Sweden, France, Finland, Australia, Spain, Italy, Australia, the U.S., the U.K., even Trinidad and Tobago. Most are just travelling through Japan and choose to spend a day or two on the island.

The locals wonder, "Why Shiraishi Island?" not able to comprehend why our little island would be on any tourist's list of places to visit in Japan. The answers vary, but most tourists say they come to relax, experience Japanese culture first-hand and to soak up the quiet island life. Most have been referred by others.

Visitors are charmed by the simple island life and the friendliness of the locals. The islanders invite them into their homes for karaoke, food and drinks. Local businesses have walls full of postcards from all over the world--thank you notes from previous visitors who hold their memories dear.

In turn, the islanders are charmed by the tourists who regale them with tales of travelling around Japan (and the world), explaining the subtleties of different cultures and telling jokes over beers and sake. The foreigners bring their talents with them too: many are professional singers, dancers, writers or artists. They join in the island culture. They jam with us, drink with us, laugh with us and share our sorrows and joys.

Without the tourists, we would have little knowledge of other people, other countries, and other worlds outside of our own. They bring real experiences to us. We will miss them dearly.

Are we going to start referring to these as "the good ole days?"

The other night, I got a phone call from San-chan, who runs the restaurant and bar on the beach. "Come over to Kamiya," he said, referring to one of the old houses on the island. "We are doing something interesting." My husband and I grabbed a bottle of wine and headed towards the beach. Inside Kamiya, a traditional Japanese house over 100 years old, a group of locals was sitting around a large bonfire. Smoke wafted up through an opening in the ceiling and the walls of the room were black with 100 years of smoke. "This is how it used to be," they explained to me, "before we had heaters." I was astonished to see such a large, open fire inside a wooden house.

Beer and wine was passed around and someone brought out a guitar. We all settled into a typical island night of warmth, chattery and friendship.

But something was missing: you.

Bussharito Festival video

A video of the Bussharito Festival, which takes place every Nov. 15th on the island.

Bussharito Festival Nov. 15

Man-chan (left), next to the yamabushi (ascetic mountain monk)
at the goma fire ceremony at the Bussharito Matsuri.

Monday is Shiraishi Island's Bussharito matsuri, to celebrate the anniversary of the Thai style temple. This is the one day you can go inside the temple and see the displays. I was just up there today talking to the Buddhist priest and the place looks magnificent--all dressed up for this occasion. There will be visiting priests here as well, a procession up to the temple and a goma fire burning ceremony. If you're going to be on the island, don't miss it!

You can read more about the Bussharito Matsuri in this article in The Japan Times. More on the crypt here.

Thanks for a great Fall Festival on Shiraishi Island!

Shiraishi Island Fall Festival, 2010

Thanks to all those who came out for the Aki Matsuri on Shiraishi Island this last weekend. Despite the rain, we all had a great time!

It is now the off-season on the island so the blog will only be updated occasionally over the wintertime. During the off-season, only the International Villa and San-chan's will be open for accommodation. Please see the Moooo! Bar homepage for more details.

The next event on the island is Nov. 15, the Bussharito Matsuri. This commemorates the Thai-style temple on the island. More on this later when I post info about the festival and photos.

Shiraishi Fall Festival Oct. 2-3

Shiraishi Fall Festival Oct. 2-3

Come join us on the island for the aki matsuri (Autumn festival) this weekend! Come help us drink sake, carry the mikoshi and party with the gods! The best way to enjoy this festival is to come out on Saturday as the parties start in the evening. See the island lit up at night in all the festival lights and walk around the ancient streets. Have a beer with the locals.

The official festival starts at 8am with a toast to the Gods and the mikoshi are pulled out at about 8:30 for the trip to the Shrine. Please help pull the mikoshi!

The international villa is already booked, and most of the minshukus will be closed so they can take part in the matsuri but the Beach House and Amagiso will still take guests. If you want to come out, email us at shiraishireservations at yahoo dot com and we'll get you in some where.

Don't miss a great chance to participate in a local Japanese festival.

Reviving the Seto Inland Sea Islands

The Japan Times, Japan Lite: Saturday, Aug. 7, 2010

By Amy Chavez

It is not the fault of the Seto Inland Sea islands themselves that they are suffering from declining populations. It's the glossy brochures put out by local governments that are to blame.

Take the Takamatsu city brochure advertising the virtues of Ogishima. The brochure highlights a hiking course on the island, an unusually shaped rock, an opening to a hole in the ground (really!), and some lazy flowers trying to grow anonymously — all things trying desperately to be tourist attractions but fooling no one. If you told your friends that after a hectic week at the office, you were going to hike up a steep mountain in the blazing heat and see a rock and a hole in the ground, people would think you were crazy. As intriguing as it may sound, people just don't do it.

Most people would prefer to sit in a cafe with a view of the sea or experience the charmed life and quiet solitude of the Inland Sea. They'd rather have a romantic dinner while watching the sunset or walk along a deserted beach even in the height of the tourist season. Did you know that you can do that on almost any island in the Inland Sea? But the brochures won't tell you this.

The city of Kasaoka has a glossy brochure about Shiraishi Island that tells people to "Enjoy Island!" and highlights the hiking course, the observation platform at the top of the mountain, the temple and a "famous" rock that no one has heard of. To its credit, sea kayaking is mentioned as well as the beach. But more than anything, the brochure screams out, "Hey, we're like every other island in the Inland Sea. Nothing interesting here. Go away!"

Island brochures put out by the local governments are identical throughout the Inland Sea. Call me ignorant, but I feel that printed information highlighting holes in the ground and rocks drive people away. It's no wonder no one moves to the islands. It would be like being stuck between a rock and a hiking course.

To the Japanese, living on an island is equal to being kidnapped. There is this idea that once you're on an island, it's difficult to get off. There is some truth to this. It's not that you can't get off though, it's that many people find they prefer island life and no longer need the mainland. As your needs change, the island provides. But according to the brochures, all you'll get is a hiking course and rocks. Good grief Charlie Brown.

Indeed, the value of the islands can only be found by interacting with the island people, observing their balanced lifestyles and respecting their relationships with the elements, the sea and their gods. It is a lifestyle perfected.

On our island, in an attempt to increase the population, the government is trying to create jobs in the hopes people will move here. So our island has started a mulberry business (run by retired people who volunteer out of a sense of duty to their island) hoping that in another 10 years, if there is money in mulberries, young couples will move here. It's a pie in the sky idea: copulate and populate.

But should we really worry about the 10-year-olds in Japan and whether there will be a mulberry business for them when they grow up? Have you ever tasted mulberries? They're not very good.

Wouldn't it be better to sell a lifestyle to people who already have jobs? Interestingly, while everyone admits there are no jobs here, no one has considered that people could commute between here and the mainland, which is only 20 minutes away on the ferry. Furthermore, there is a midsize city 10 km to the south and 43 km to the north. Why doesn't the local government invest in a hydrofoil boat to whisk people back and forth to their jobs on the mainland rather than investing in, um, berries?

Each year the ferries to the islands are fewer, reflecting the drop in demand. Perhaps we should turn the ferry systems over to the JR. I'm sure they'd know how to put children in schools furthest away from their house in order to make a buck.

If the local government invested in public transportation, then perhaps they could come up with an easier way to get back and forth between the islands and the mainland, rather than having to rely on just a few ferries each day. I'm thinking a conveyor belt system would be good, one that would circle the islands and go past the mainland so the islanders, like kaiten zushi, could just ride the conveyor belt and get on and off when they wanted. We'd have all kinds of people riding the sushi train to work.

Some people who were born on the islands move back after working in the cities on the mainland. They come home to find a place where people are friendly and there is no crime. They have traveled back to a time when things were cheaper, safer and less commercial. The islands, in short, are your childhood, your warm and fuzzy past.

And that's exactly what the brochures should be telling you.

(C) All rights reserved

Meet the gods on Shiraishi Island

The following article is about the gods who live on Shiraishi Island. Tourists are welcome to participate in these local festivals, but the most interesting is the Autumn Festival, held the first Sunday in October. Come help us pull the mikoshi!

The Japan Times, Japan Lite: Saturday, July 3, 2010
Meet the party gods on Shiraishi Island

By Amy Chavez

I've always gotten along well with my neighbors on the island. This is especially important because my neighbors are all gods: the Mountain God, Kompira-san, Juichimen Kannon, Senju Kannon and Myoken-sama. I have to put up with a few loud parties every now and then, but overall, we get along extremely well.

And oh, the parties! I seem to be surrounded by party gods. The Mountain God has a party twice a year when the whole neighborhood is invited to come socialize at his shrine in the side of the mountain. Sutras are chanted, hands are clapped, sake bottles are opened.

Kompira-san, god of seafaring and fishing, has a block party that is part of the autumn festival, when he invites the entire island. The road is closed off and we just drink and celebrate. Other gods are invited to that one too, so it's quite an eclectic mix. I've never seen any of the attending gods myself, but I am assured they are present. The other gods are only invited once a year and no one would dare miss a party of Kompira-san's.

The little stone gods Juichimen Kannon and Senju Kannon, who live in the shrine on the pilgrimage route behind my house, are the quietest. They don't hold any parties at all. They do receive individual guests, however, who tend to throw their money around while saying "Om, bazara tarama kiriku!" which roughly translates to, "Om, the lord of delivering the imperishable Dharma and its purity!."

But Myoken-sama has the most exclusive party of them all — black tie and invitation only. No women allowed either; this is secret men's business. The Myoken-sama matsuri takes place every June. It is not on the same day every year but instead is held according to the lunar calendar. Never really knowing when it will be is always part of the mystique of this festival. The only clue I have is that the day before the festival, women arrive with brooms and rakes to clear the path up to Myoken Shrine. There is further activity as banners and other decorations are carried up the mountain and put in place around the shrine.

On the day of the celebration, about 20 guests arrive in cars and park in a long line along the port. All dressed in black suits and freshly polished shoes, the men carry fresh whole fish and kagami mochi on trays up the stone steps that lead to the shrine. These men are anywhere from 40 to 80 years old, some carrying large bottles of sake, because everyone knows that the Shinto gods have alcoholic tendencies. It's comforting to know that you never have to drink alone in Japan. Myoken-sama overlooks the port and protects the boats coming in and out. The shrine was built around the same time the port was finished, about 400 years ago. Myoken-sama also, for some reason, protects us against cholera (hey, why not?).

I wonder how exactly Myoken-sama and the other gods protect us anyway. Has anyone ever thought about this? Can they see cholera in the distance, sprinting to the island? And what kind of divine intervention is used to convince the cholera to stop before it gets here? Is plea bargaining a possibility? Perhaps we all end up with just a bad cold instead.

No one really knows. We just know that they, like all the gods on this island, protect us.

So my next question is: Why are we so sure the gods like us? After all, we pilfer their sea and turn their beaches into concrete walls. Why do we think we are so worthy of protection? I live on a piece of reclaimed land that didn't even exist until someone bulldozed the idea of turning a happy fish paradise into a plot of land for two houses. This land is not a part of the sacred Mother Earth. More like an artificial, test tube baby version.

And Myoken-sama — peace keeper, divine vaccine producer, and lawyer extraordinaire — is supposed to protect us from the wrath of the gods? I am under no false beliefs that my neighbors should hold me in such high esteem.

Just ask Juichimen (11-headed) Kannon and Senju (1,000-armed) Kannon, who live just out my back door. They've been sitting there with their legs crossed for over 400 years, with no apparent leg pain, so I know they really are gods. Who else could do that? I can only guess at how they feel living next to us mortals.

Juichimen: "Ugh, they're hanging out their laundry again — so much for our view!"

Senju: "Look at the holes in those pajamas! Why don't they just throw them away?"

Juichimen: "You can't expect them to be so smart. They only have one head."

But maybe the gods should be thankful that they have us to protect. Some islands in the Seto Inland Sea have lost their populations completely, and consequently have let their shrines become neglected and fall into disrepair. There are some parts of the country like that where the Japanese have abandoned their gods.

So while the benevolent gods continue to protect us, I wonder if it's not us who should be protecting them.

(C) All rights reserved

Shiraishi Nature-The blue heron

The Japan Times, Japan Lite: Saturday, June 26, 2010
Big Birds have Big Fun

By Amy Chavez

With the evening breeze,
the water laps against
the heron's legs

Thus goes one translation of this poem by the famous haiku poet, Yosa Buson (1716 - 1783).

Every evening I watch the aosagi (blue or gray herons) gliding in the air around the port. They are beautiful birds, with elegant necks that curve over swan-like, and long, sexy legs (yes, I am looking!). I've always admired their excellent posture. Standing on one foot is possibly the key.

They wade out into the water at low tide, fishing. They stand silently, waiting. Then reach down, put their beak into the water and pull out a very astonished fish. Grasping the struggling fish, they point their beak up toward the sky and let the fish wriggle its way down the tunnel of death. I watch as the lump of fish passes down through the throat and disappears — now that's fresh sashimi!

Observing their hunting methods, I can see why the heron is described as "a symbol of patience," in the "bird tattoo index" on the Internet.

The morning heron in our port, however, is quite different. A departure from the type that inspires haiku, the morning heron is lazy, knowing he can get his breakfast easily by hanging out near the fishing boats. As fishermen sort through their previous night's catch, they occasionally toss the small ones to the herons.

The most strategic place for being the first to spot these freebies is from the top of my boat, which is parked next to the fishing boats. I can understand why the herons like our boat — it has an awning over the back of it, which from the air looks like a giant, purpose-built blue heron landing pad.

Imagine if you were flying around the port and suddenly spotted a large, overstuffed sofa below. This heron platform is coveted by the birds in the same way you covet those few comfortable chairs at Starbucks.

So they land on the awning, stand there for a while, and crap. So much that our boat has become an avian toilet — an avian "Doo-doo Drop In."

The Avian Toilet is much easier to use than an Asian or a Western toilet. No squatting is necessary. And no sitting down on the job either. You just stand there and when it feels good, do it. I wouldn't mind so much if they'd just use the toilet slippers I set out for them.

I wonder if Toto has considered incorporating the convenience of the Avian toilet into new toilet models. It would eliminate the need for heated toilet seats and the toilets would be far more environmentally friendly because when it rains, they become self-flushing.

But, in the meantime, as the stuff piles up on the awning, I might have to start asking the men who come to clean out our pit toilet every month if they'd clean the Avian toilet too. If not, I fear:

With the morning breeze,

the guano laps against

the heron's legs.

But I got to thinking that maybe I could turn this Avian toilet into a money-making business. Perhaps you have heard about an ancient geisha beauty secret that uses nightingale fun. No, nightingale fun is not doing something really exciting with nightingales. "Fun" refers to their droppings, which are used in beauty creams and treatments. Now, I'm sure the nightingales don't mind having a part-time job on the side donating their fun to the beauty industry. But I do wonder why the Japanese haven't tapped the blue heron market. C'mon, these are big birds — They have big fun!

We're talking big splotches of white. That's either big fun or herons are just sloppy painters. But there's enough fun on the top of our boat to make an entire gallery of Rorsplotch paintings.

Unfortunately, nightingale fun is very expensive. This might have to do with the collection method — imagine putting buckets under telephone wires every day hoping to catch a few drops of the stuff. It might be cheaper to lie under the telephone wire with your eyes closed. Who knows, it could be the next eco-tourism thing.

Still, most people would choose to go to a spa to have this treatment done. There is one in particular, Shizuka New York Day Spa, in New York City that offers such Bird Poop Facials for $180 (more than ¥16,000). Such a lofty price reminds me of that John Keats poem, "Owed to a Nightingale."

When I open my spa here on the island, I'll have the advantage of being able to offer affordable bird poop facials because of the sheer volume of heron droppings at my disposal. I'll advertise: Blue Heron Spa: "Look your best, even when you're feeling blue!"

And when I welcome people to my spa, I'll say, "Here, just lie on this awning, and I'll be back in a half-hour." When they leave I'll say, "Thanks for dropping by!"

If my spa fails, I'll have to do something else with the heron droppings. Bird droppings have nitrates which are also used to make gun powder, so I suppose that is another business I should be looking into.

With the morning breeze,
the guano laps against
the powder kegs.

""""""

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Shiraishi Bon Dance

Shiraishi Bon Dance

Dates have been announced for the Shiraishi Bon Dance performed on Shiraishi Island during the O-bon Festival of the Dead in August and on select practice Saturdays in July. The schedule is as follows:

July 24, 31 and Aug. 7 Demonstration dance on the beach at sunset (8pm)
Aug. 13, 14, 15, 16 Obon Dance Performances (at community center)
Aug. 16 Toronagashi --sending-off of the spirits on paper lanterns in the sea

Accommodation is rapidly filling up for Obon on Shiraishi Island. The international villa is already fully booked for Aug 13-16. If you plan on coming out to the island over the summer holiday, please book soon! See the Moooo! Bar website for details on accommodation.

Shiraishi: Island of Heavenly Fields

The Japan Times, Japan Lite: Saturday, May 22, 2010
The Island of Heavenly Fields

By Amy Chavez

I live next to a heavenly field. So do lots of other people on my island.

It is said that certain last names are popular in certain parts of Japan. This is true on our island of 655 people, many of whom share the last name Amano, or "heavenly field." Although most of the Amanos on the island insist they are not related, they do acknowledge that they probably are related if you research their family history back far enough.

When you get off the ferry on our island, you will encounter your first Heavenly Field at the ferry port, because the Amanos own the ferry port and will take your ferry ticket when you arrive. If you head to the beach, you can stay for the day in the umi no ie (beach hut) run by Mrs. Amano. You can buy some groceries, drinks and sandwiches, at Amano Store, and pick up some alcohol at Amafuku (Heavenly Luck), run by some other Amanos. If you should decide to stay overnight, you have a handful of Amano options: Amano Camp Ground, Amagisou (Heavenly Castle Inn) run by the Amanos or the International Villa managed by Mrs. Amano. If you happen to hit the island during a live musical performance on the beach, and you can dance all night with 84-year-old Amano-san. All that, and you'll never be talking with a relative of the same Amano family.

If you live here, you can further get Amanoed at the yakuba (town hall), JA Bank and the fisherman's co-op. Heavenly fields are everywhere.

When I first moved to the island many years ago, I thought this was great because I only had to remember one name for everyone. Now the problem comes when someone says, "Which Amano?"

If you wanted to have nothing to do with heavenly fields, and prefer plain rice fields, you have several Harada options: kayak and windsurfer rentals from Harada-san, staying overnight at Harada Minshuku, or staying at Harada's Nakanishiya Ryokan. At least you'd be keeping it all in the same family. Not that there aren't plenty of other plain rice fields on the island, but I won't get into the Haradas this time.

On a tiny island like this, where people historically only moved within a 7 km area, it's understandable that many people share the same last name. It was a small community of people to choose a mate from. Eventually, after everyone has married into everyone else's family, everyone is related to everyone. Marrying your cousin, especially if he's cute, sure beats waiting for some guy to swim over from the mainland and land on the beach. Besides, a lot of Japanese people in those days couldn't swim. You could be years sitting on that beach waiting for someone, only to end up with a fish.

People have been living here for hundreds of years, which is evident in that many people still live in houses that are inaccessible by car. The foot paths that crisscross the island were created years before cars were invented and these paths were all that connected people and houses. Eventually, more houses were built until there were rows of houses built sandwiched together, on both sides of the foot paths.

To widen these footpaths to make room for cars would mean people would have cars running through their houses all day long. While this would be an imposition for the residents of those houses, business-wise, it would be a great place to set up a McDonald's drive-through. Actually, a beer and wine drive-through would be far more profitable on this island.

Think of the possibilities. In small towns on the mainland that people pass through in their cars, there are always little businesses springing up in the houses along the road. Often times these businesses are in the front room of someone's house, allowing them to sit in their living room all day watching baseball until someone happens to stop and buy something.

If we could get the islanders to each open up a shop in the front room of their houses, you could do all your shopping at one pass through the houses in your car, like a drive-through Wal-Mart. No parking or standing please.

And while we're on the subject of island infrastructure (how DID we get on this subject anyway?), I have a solution to the rampant bridge building going on in the Seto Inland Sea. These bridges, by connecting the islands to the mainland, promise to bring tourism once the islands are accessible by car. But everyone knows these bridges are insanely expensive and often citify the previously quiet island life.

My solution is to stop building bridges altogether. It would be cheaper to hire a hundred car ferries to line up at a certain point twice a day for a few hours to let people come back and forth between the mainland and islands by car.

A floating, movable bridge, if you will, and a passageway to the Heavenly Fields Wal-Mart drive-through.

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Inland Sea: Teshima

Paul, on our recent trip to Teshima in the Seto Naikai.