A little past noon, I opened an umbrella and walked alone around the garden in the rain. The plants looked the same. That was unusual, and I guessed it was through the efforts of my brother who maintains the old house. I stood at the edge of the lake and heard a faint sound. I looked and saw a frog jump into the lake. The sound was small and thin. At that moment, I understood Basho's poem about the ancient pond. I never understood that poem before. I could not imagine which part was good. I concluded reality always fell short of the promise because I received a poor education.
What kind of explanation did we receive in school about this poem about the ancient pond? A hushed noon darkness covered the dark blue ancient pond. A frog plopped in there (and did not throw itself into a big river). Ah, we were taught sounds linger, and the bird sings and the mountain becomes quieter. It's probably a lousy poem that is tantalizing but trite. The sarcasm is chilling. For a long time, this poem disgusted me and I kept my distance. Now, I've reconsidered and it's not that bad.
I don't understand the explanation for the plop. There's no reverberation, nothing. Only a simple plop. In other words, it is actually a sparse sound in an obscure corner of the world. A humble sound. Basho heard it and was deeply touched.
An ancient pond
A frog jumps in
The sound of water
When I reconsider this poem, it's not bad. It's a good poem. I capably reject the affected mannerisms of the temple grammar school in those days. That is, it is an exceptional idea. There is no moon, no snow, and no flowers. There is also no elegance.
There is simply the poor life of a poor man. The refined teachers in those days were amazed by this poem and understood it well. The ordinary elegant idea is destroyed. It is a revolution. I got excited and thought it a lie to say good artists like this do not appear. This is what I wrote that night in my travel diary.
A rose
A frog jumps in
The sound of water
Was that a poem by Kikaku? I don't know.
Come with me
An orphan sparrow
Come closer
Frankly, the meaning is awful. The ancient pond has no rival.
The next day, the weather was excellent. My niece Yoko, her husband, Aya, and I set off carrying bento lunches to a small, gently sloping mountain no taller than two hundred meters called Takanagare located about two and a half miles east of Kanagi. Although named Aya, it is not the name of a woman. It meant an old handyman and is also a substitute for Father. The feminine version of Aya is Apa. She's also called Aba. I have no idea where these words came from. My guess is they came from the dialect words of Oya and Oba. Various experts probably offer a myriad of explanations. According to my niece, the correct pronunciation of the mountain's name of Takanagare is Takanagane. The name comes from the expansive, gently sloping skirt of the mountain and is said to have the feeling of a long root, nagane. But this too may produce various explanations from various experts. The tendency for the assorted explanations from experts to be scattered and fickle is the charm of local history.
My niece and Aya were delayed in preparing the bento, so the son-in-law and I left the house a little before them. The weather was nice. Excursions in Tsugaru are limited to May and June. Toyuki comments about travelers:
From long ago, everyone goes north for pleasure in the summer. When the plants are colored green, the winds change to southerly winds, and the surface of the sea is calm. It does not live up to its terrible reputation. If I reach the northern region sometime between September and March, I will meet absolutely no travelers. The sole exception is traveling for the practice of medicine. In this country, people who come in the spirit of searching out only famous sites should always arrive after April.
The reader should take this to heart.
Around this time, the flowers on plum, peach, cherry blossom, apple, pear, and Chinese plum trees bloom once a year in Tsugaru. With confidence, I led the way to the outskirts of town but did not know the way to Takanagare. I went two or three times during my grammar school days and thought forgetting the way was reasonable. However, the area was completely different from what I remember. I was embarrassed.
"Where's the station? This area looks totally different. I have no clue about the best way to Takanagare. Which one is the mountain?" I asked as I looked straight ahead and pointed at a pale green hill rising in the shape of an upside-down V. I smiled and made a suggestion to the son-in-law.
"We'll wait here a while for Aya and your wife."
"Yes, let's do that," said the son-in-law, also smiling, "I heard the Aomori Prefecture Experimental Farm is in this area."
He knew more than I.
"Really? Let's look for it," I said.
The experimental farm was at the top of a small hill about a mile off the road on the right. It was established to train the rural workers and pioneers forming the backbone of agriculture. However, facilities that are almost too good were set up in the wilderness in the northern tip of Honshu. Chichibu-no-miya, the younger brother of the emperor, served in the Eighth Division in Hirosaki and graciously gave substantial assistance to this experimental farm. They are also indebted to him for the auditorium, a solemn building rarely seen in the area, as well as workshops, livestock sheds, fertilizer depots, and boarding houses. My eyes opened wide in amazement.
"What? I had no idea. Isn't this a bit much for Kanagi?" I said and was oddly overjoyed. I was secretly zealous about the land of my birth.
A large stone monument stood at
