Prairie Post
March 11, 2014
(Today from Fukuoka)
The first signs of spring are here, in this harbor city that finds itself closer to Korea than to Tokyo. The temperature has been climbing steadily and the first fruit trees are blooming. “Two more weeks, and everything should come into flower,” is what they are predicting. The sky is blue and there are small waves on the Sea of Japan, glistening and reflecting the bright sunshine. Centenarians write poetry in calligraphy about such scenes, short sentences that capture the moment,
“The blue sky hangs over peaceful landscape, charged with busy people.”
This city is authentic, not inundated by sightseers; it is a city with people who live here, shop here, work here. There is a genuine flavor about this port town, the Dutch and German influences are still visible in words and with bakeries and butchers, and they serve coffee with braunem Sirup and decorate spaghetti with Bierschinken. It is a welcoming city, open to guests and proud of their own. They gather at Tenjin for a good meal or outside in one of the Yatai “tents” that offer a quick meal to anybody who likes to stop by after work. Anyone is welcome to join: etiquette requires one to talk to those in the next seat. The city shares its space with Hakata, the city on the other side of the river. There the merchants reside, while in Fukuoka the Shogun warriors once lived.
In late spring and early summer, they get ready for the annual festival in which seven teams in white shirts and questionably brief thong “shorts” compete in running a statue built on a wooden platform. Hundreds of people throw rice and water and the entire city appears to be involved in the race or at a minimum are there to cheer on the rival teams. Weeks before the festival, the populace prepares with great anticipation. Saki-san also had been heavily involved for many years, until she was almost 100 years old. She used to own a restaurant and was responsible for cooking the rice to feed her team. Now Saki spends most of her time taking care of her own affairs; every night she makes sure to have her rooms cleaned up, she may not wake up the next morning, she thinks, and she does not want to leave untidiness behind.
Saki talks to a group of longevity researchers who are in town to hear about her secrets. Perhaps Saki’s secret is to keep her room cold, she does not worry about things, and she is grateful for the care she receives from her children.
“When I need care, I know my daughter is here, and for that I am grateful.”
Kokoro-san also appreciates the care she receives from her daughter. At 102, she sits upright in her bed with her daughter right behind her, supporting her physically and emotionally. Kokoro displays a disarming smile, one that connects to others, a smile that does not display affection but that does demonstrate amiability. Nobody ever gets upset about her; she is called “Mother” by everybody in this care facility.
“You can’t upset my soul or my heart, I will smile, thankful that I am…”
Noburu-san also gains the respect of others in this care residence. He resolutely walks the hallways every day before breakfast and dinner, because he needs to keep up with the physical demands of the day. He enjoys examining maps, mostly of Japan and Korea, and he remembers his younger days in the navy. Noburu takes care of his younger wife who also resides in the facility. He is concerned about the deterioration of her memory. “Perhaps we should have stayed longer at home,” he observes. His wife might not have deteriorated so quickly then. She is his only concern, as for himself, he feels quite robust. When asked about advice to today’s generation, Noburu reflects for a moment and responds, “Everyone should get a good age.”
“Life is short, so live every day, every week, and every year.”
The research team sorts through the many longevity clues they receive, they drive from the city to the shore, from small town cafes to countryside restaurants to seek the fountain of youth. They eat nabe and drink sake, they eat sashimi and steaki and tonkatzu. And when the work is done, they tour the local temple, observe the large sitting Buddha’s intense eyes, they watch weavers, stop at Zen gardens, visit the castle of Kumamoto, and approach Mount Aso, the active volcano in the region. They find a glimpse of the first of the seven lucky gods, Fukurokuju, the god of happiness, wealth and longevity, and they reflect on short poetry:
“The Plum Tree in front of the gate is pleasing during the morning light…”
Here, centenarians sing wedding tunes just for comfort before going to bed and practice their calligraphy so the lines are as beautiful as the words they express. Centenarians thrive in this city, here, where people are genuine, where Buddha is revealed from temple to temple, and where centenarians write poetry, one kanji at a time.