Why I, who hate bugs, bought a 130-year-old traditional house. A look back at the year.

Mount Fuji as seen from Tokyo.
Perhaps due to the recent warmth, I can see the snow on the summit gradually decreasing.

Even though I still missed my stove in the mornings and evenings in Matsumoto, it's almost sweaty back in Tokyo.
It's the same Japan, yet I feel how different the flow of the seasons is.

Hello, this is Tomo.

Today, while feeling the change of seasons, I would like to look back on this year spent at 'Kokoro-emi'.

It might be a long story, but I would be happy if you could read it at your leisure.

This year's Golden Week was not a time that just ended with 'it was fun'.

'What kind of place do I want Kokoro-emi to become from now on?'

I feel like we were all naturally talking about things like that.

In the first place, I never thought such a day would come.

The beginning was really a small thing.

Just, 'I want to eat vegetables that are kind to the body'.

'I wonder if I can grow vegetables myself?'

At that time, my heart was captured by the scenery of the Japanese Alps seen from the airplane window, and I visited my friend Mr. Tsunashima in Matsumoto. *Mr. Tsunashima is the friend with whom I would later purchase the traditional house.

Escaping the scenery of Seoul, which tends to be wrapped in smog, the Alpine mountains seen from the plane looked breathtakingly beautiful.

Moved by that contrast, as if my heart was suddenly stirred,

'I want to get off here'

I still remember that such an impulse suddenly welled up.

And before I knew it, I had purchased a 130-year-old traditional house with fields and forests together with Mr. Tsunashima.

Even I didn't expect this turn of events (laughs).

The traditional house had a lot of damage to the roof and floors, and there was a mountain of cleaning up to do.

From a general perspective, I think it was the kind of house that would make people wonder, 'Why there?'

But for some reason, I was drawn to it.

This traditional house that I was strangely drawn to.

I had a feeling that 'if I start something here, something interesting is bound to happen.'

Before I bought the traditional house, I was living in Tokyo, ordering pesticide-free vegetables and free-range eggs.

By changing what I ate, my physical condition changed surprisingly, and I realized that 'food is truly important.'

From that time on, I started thinking, 'I wish I could grow safe, secure, and body-friendly vegetables.' I also started telling people around me that I wanted a field.

From those around me,

"You hate bugs, yet you're starting a farm!?"

"Are you serious?"

That's how people laughed at me (laughs).

But with the nuclear accident, COVID, and the state of the world...

Over the past few years, the feeling that our lives were being greatly swayed by external events also pushed me to buy a traditional house.

Instead of saying "I can't do it because I'm not good at it," I wanted to have the power to live, even if just a little, with my own hands.

That was also part of my thinking.

And one more thing.

The loss of a dear friend.

I often talked to my friend, who was always busy with work and tended to put off eating.

"Someday, when I buy a traditional house, I'll make a place where we can relax in nature. I'll grow healthy vegetables, too." I had a friend I used to talk to about things like that.

But that friend fell ill, and by the time they went to the hospital, it was already stage 4 cancer.

It was such a sudden and premature farewell.

That's why I still think about it sometimes.

If only I had created a place for the heart to rest sooner. I want one too.

If only I could have provided even a little bit of healthy food.

Would things have been different?

That is why, for me, "Kokoro-Emi" is not just a traditional house.

It is not a completed place, nor is it a convenient one.

The walls are slanted, the floors are damaged, and even when I fix one thing, another problem pops up.

But strangely, I feel an attachment to it, including all those imperfections.

During Golden Week this year, I opened 'Izakaya Kokoro' in that old house.

Eating a meal around the hearth, people who had just met were laughing together naturally.

Before I knew it, we had been talking slowly for hours.

'It's somehow relaxing.' 'I want to come back again.'

I was truly happy to hear words like those.

Recently, Mr. Maeda from Shinshu University has started working on a rice paddy following his work on the vegetable garden, and we've begun making tea using wild herbs.

Little by little, everyone's 'I want to try this' is taking shape.

Even so, 'Kokoro' is still far from being a finished place.

But precisely because of that, the time and thoughts shared by the people involved gradually layer on top of each other, and the colors of this place slowly increase.

I am enjoying those changes now.

The name 'Kokoro' embodies Mr. Tsunashima's wish: 'A place where your heart smiles. Come back here again.'

Feel free to drop by when you're in the mood, gather around the fire, gaze at the scenery, or just spend time relaxing.

I hope that by the time you leave, you'll feel like you've regained a little bit of energy.

I would be happy if it could grow into that kind of place, little by little.

A few years ago, I never imagined that I would be tilling a field, sitting around a hearth, and having someone tell me they wanted to come back again.

If it weren't for the view I saw from the airplane window, I might have lived a different life. You really never know what will happen in life.

But lately, I've been thinking that that 'uncertainty' might just be the fun part of life. And when you take a step forward, something mysteriously starts to move. That might just be the way of the world.

Last May, the field in front of the traditional house 'Kokoro-emi' became the 'Maeda Experimental Farm,' a place to test various vegetable cultivation methods. The condition of the soil, drainage, and compatibility with the climate. By actually working with my hands, I have been gradually exploring the cultivation methods that suit this land. Applying what I learned from those experiments, I will start growing vegetables in this field again this year. Both the successes and the failures are valuable experiences taught to me by this land.

Last year, surprised by such vitality, I picked mugwort little by little and enjoyed it as mugwort tea.

And Mr. Tsunashima also fixed the bath in the traditional house. This year, it looks like I'll be able to enjoy a 'mugwort bath' with freshly picked mugwort.

Taking a Showa-era bath while listening to the murmuring of the river and being wrapped in the scent of the mountains seems like it will relax not only my body but also my mind in a mysterious way.

Since we found it, this small cave (muro) at Kokoro-emi.

Last year, I bought two bottles of local red wine, and put one of them inside the cave. I decided to store the other one at room temperature in the traditional house as it was.

Before I knew it, it had been almost a year since I put them in the cave.

What kind of changes have occurred in the wine in this place where the temperature and humidity are kept stable?

Next time, I'd like to have everyone do a tasting comparison.

Laughing and saying, 'Does this really change the taste?' while sitting around the hearth and sharing our thoughts.

That kind of time might also be a way to enjoy Kokoro.

Last year, a beast got into the attic, stepped through the ceiling, and fell into the room.
After running around the room, it seems it finally left through the hole it had opened.

This is an event you would never experience living in Tokyo, but perhaps this is also a unique experience of a traditional house.

It was a confusing situation, or perhaps a first-time experience in my life.
But because of that, I realize in moments like this that humans are not the only ones living on this land, and that we are living in the midst of nature.

I also repaired the ceiling and took measures to prevent beasts from getting into the attic.

An old clock that had been quietly stopped in time while gathering dust for many years.

It had been left as if sleeping in a corner of the traditional house, but Mr. Maeda polished it carefully and even repaired it, so it began to tick again.

The luster of the wood, which had become dull, returned, and every time the sound of the pendulum echoed through the house, I felt as if the house itself had come back to life.

Instead of letting go because it has become old, we want to cherish the time and the way we interact with it by taking care of it and breathing life into it once more at Kokoro.

Honestly, when I first bought the traditional house, every day was spent chasing after roof leaks and cleaning up.
Even after fixing one thing, the next problem would be found. It was a repetition of that.

Even so, Tsunashima-san and I would joke (half seriously) that 'if we keep up this dual-base life, maybe one day someone from a TV station will come and say, "That's interesting."'.

Then, three months after purchasing the traditional house,
thankfully, we actually had the opportunity for a TV station to cover 'Kokoro'.

It was a dual-base life in a traditional house that wasn't finished yet, but rather in the middle of being repaired.
They said they were interested in the way we were living while facing an old house. I was very happy.

I'm usually the one behind the camera, so when it was my turn to be filmed, I was so nervous (laughs).

I couldn't even tell what I was talking about myself.

Even so, I feel truly grateful for the time spent, as they warmly covered my life in the traditional house and my dual-residence lifestyle.

Last summer became a wonderful memory for everyone.

At the same time, it was a time when I felt a small sense of accomplishment, realizing that 'the things I had been thinking about are actually taking shape.'

The things I talked about on television have also started to become reality before I knew it.

I am still in the middle of the process, but I am taking things I have put into words and giving them shape, one step at a time.
It was an opportunity that made me want to continue valuing this accumulation of 'walking the talk'.

This year, rice cultivation has also begun at 'Kokoro-emi'.

While looking at the rice fields before planting, I imagine the scenery of lush green rice swaying in the wind.

Everything is still unfamiliar and I am feeling my way through each day, but I would be happy if our rice fields could one day be filled with such beautiful green as well.

I was invited to a party hosted by Jesse and his wife, who bought a traditional house in the neighborhood of 'Kokoro-emi'.

The people I meet through these traditional houses are truly unique and interesting individuals.

At first, I didn't know my way around this area at all, but by sharing meals and having people reach out to me like this, my connections with the local community have gradually increased.

Before I knew it, I felt very happy that we had built a relationship where we could invite each other over to hang out.

The unused field was covered in weeds, so I thought, 'I'll tidy this up a bit and make it a place to relax,' and I mowed a portion of it with a grass cutter.

……but I had underestimated the summer sun.

I finished less than 10 minutes after sitting down.

The direct sunlight in midsummer was indeed harsh.

I reflected on my carelessness in assuming it would be cool because it's in the mountains💦

The repaired antique clock needs to be wound up from time to time.

It takes a little effort, but it is precisely because of that extra care that I strangely feel an attachment to it.

Listening to the ticking sound of 'tick-tock, tick-tock' inside the quiet traditional house, I get a strange feeling as if the flow of time has slowed down.

'I hope I can do horse plowing at Kokoro someday.'

With that thought in mind, I actually went to experience horse plowing last year.

It was completely different from using machines; the time spent feeling the texture of the soil and the breathing of the horse made me feel strongly that I was living in this very moment. It was like mindfulness.

It is a sense of people, animals, and nature slowly connecting, which is not just about convenience or efficiency.

I felt that perhaps people in the past lived their lives while staying close to the rhythms of nature in this way.

Unlike the days spent seeking speed, there was a 'richness in moving slowly' here.

I hope that someday I will be able to see that scenery in the fields of 'Kokoro'.

At night, deer walk around near the traditional house. There are about 25 of them.

Unlike the deer in Nara, which are used to people, these deer are wild. They are very wary and surprisingly agile in their movements.

Among them, there is a magnificent male deer that is larger than me, but he is actually quite timid.

Once, he was so startled by my appearance that he tried to run away in a panic, and he ended up bumping into the fence so hard and so many times that I became worried, thinking, 'Are you okay!?' and 'I'm sorry'.

For the New Year, Mr. Baba made New Year's decorations using straw, which gently adorned the entrance of 'Kokoro'.

Handmade straw decorations have a warmth that mass-produced items lack, and they blend in well with the texture of the traditional house. I feel, 'Ah, this kind of New Year is truly wonderful.'

I feel like I have been taught the preciousness of welcoming the New Year with handiwork, something I never noticed when I was living in the city.

This mochi was handmade by the Tsunashima family.
The moment I took a bite, I felt that the taste was truly different because it was handmade.

There was a solid sweetness of rice within the softness, and I felt like I could just keep eating them.

I think that the time spent gathering around and eating something that someone has taken the time and effort to make is truly luxurious.

A winter morning.
When I woke up and looked at the thermometer, it was a shocking minus 6 degrees Celsius inside.

It was so cold that I did a double-take at the thermometer, thinking, 'Inside, not outside!?'

In the midst of that, my neighbor Jessie helped me go buy kerosene for the oil heater, which was a huge help.

The winter cold is harsh, but people's kindness warms the heart just like a heater.

At first, I wondered, 'Can I really survive the winter in a traditional house in a mountain village at an altitude of 850 meters where drafts blow in?' Honestly, I was scared.

But once I actually stayed there, I found that if I used an oil heater, a kotatsu, and dressed warmly enough, I could spend the time surprisingly comfortably.

It was a winter at 'Kokoro' that gave me the confidence to think, 'I can do this, a year of living in a traditional house for 365 days.'

When the cherry blossoms in Tokyo are over, the cherry blossoms at Kokoro finally reach full bloom.

Even though it's the same Japan, it feels like the seasons are slowly chasing after us, which is a strange feeling.

I carried the damaged tatami mats to the Matsumoto Clean Center to have them disposed of.

The disposal cost was about 4,000 yen. In traditional house living, these kinds of cleanup and repair costs add up little by little.

When I bought the traditional house, there was a leaking roof, piles of things to clean up, and repairs needed here and there.

Honestly, I never imagined that a year later, we would be standing in a rice paddy and starting to grow our own rice.

Every day was spent laughing and fixing things one by one, saying, 'First, we have to make it so we can sleep here.'

I feel that through each of those small steps, the scenery of the traditional house 'Kokoro' and the time flowing within it have slowly changed.

Tsunashima-san and I, just two middle-aged guys, could not have made it this far on our own.

I am convinced that the current 'Kokoro' was built through the gradual accumulation of connections with people who said, 'That sounds interesting' or 'I want to try that.'

That said, it is still far from being finished.
But perhaps that is exactly why it is interesting.

At 'Kokoro,' we want to cherish a sense of time from old Japan that is not just about convenience, but feels nostalgic.

Gathering around a fire, gazing at nature, and listening to the river, the wind, and the birds.

I would be happy if people could enjoy the 'slowly flowing time' that we tend to forget in our current lives here.

A place where you can drop by on a whim and relax.
I hope it will gradually grow into a place where people think, 'I want to come back again.'

The unexpected sunken kotatsu we found by chance under the floorboards.

At first, we were like, 'What is this? How do you use it?' but when Tsunashima-san suggested, 'Let's grill mochi here' during the New Year, it suddenly became a fun spot.

Now, it has become everyone's favorite place where people naturally gather around the fire.

Thinking that maybe one day we could sell 'Kokoro' tea, we went ahead and made a logo, even if it's a bit early✨

Seeing it take shape like this, I feel like my dream is slowly becoming a reality, thinking, 'Maybe we really can do this.'✨

From here on out, Kokoro will continue at its own pace; it might become like the 'Sagrada Familia' of Matsumoto, but we will keep moving forward, little by little.

If you ever happen to think of "Kokoro-e" again, I would be happy if you came to visit this note.

Thank you so much for reading until the end.
Have a wonderful day!!

#OldTraditionalHouse
#DualLife
#Matsumoto
#Nagano
#Kokoro-e
#cocoe
#CountryLiving
#SlowLife
#WorkLifeBalance