Memories of a Settlement | Summer Grasses, Whether or Not, Traces of a Dream

◇ The Temperature of the Cicada Chorus

Tracing the memories of a forgotten settlement, I climb Mount Kutami (Toyama) in Yaotsu Town, Gifu Prefecture.
A cicada-filled afternoon. The breeze brushing against my cheeks is cool. They say it has been so hot lately that even the cicadas cannot sing, so I feel the temperature is somehow lower here than in the city.

The asphalt-paved road is half-buried in fallen cedar needles. The road is wide enough for cars to pass, and there are processed granite stone walls along the side. They tell the story that houses and farmland once existed here.
Young artificial forests and taller, large Japanese red pines. This is proof that there was once a bare-ground environment where red pines could regenerate, and that cedars and cypresses were planted afterward.

◇ The Sound of a Bell

While the wind only blows through the eastern peak of the tripod-like Mount Kutami, the western and central peaks are occupied by massive antennas. Consequently, a concrete paved road for equipment maintenance continues through the abandoned settlement. Cars can reach just below the summit via this antenna road, and it is only a short walk to the central peak where the triangulation point is located.

In one step, I arrive at the first-order triangulation point (point name: Kutami-yama) at the summit. It is a precious first-order triangulation point, one of only 17 in Gifu Prefecture. The marker post made of granite—or rather, Mikage stone—was exceptionally large and well-formed. The geology around the summit is different, as this area is a mixture of sandstone and chert. As if guarding the stone pillar, attendants of sandstone and chert served it quietly.

The name Mount Kutami likely derives from the cadastral name of this area. "Kuta" is an archaic term for a small wetland, and might it not be a phonetic change of "kute," synonymous with "Okute" or "Hosokute" in the neighboring town of Mitake?
However, since one would not bother to name a mountain in a village after the village itself, it does not seem to be that old a name. When the triangulation point was established during the Meiji era, the Land Survey Department likely placed it there for convenience (*1).

On the other hand, the name Toyama (Whetstone Mountain) might be because only the sandstone near the summit was suitable, as granite cannot be used for whetstones. Alternatively, it might be a corruption of Toyayama (Bird Shop Mountain), originating from a former bird-eating culture.
Outcrops of whetstone and remnants of the bird shop name. Geology and folklore overlap, and whichever was the origin, when the things that pass them down are lost, place names lose their original meaning and their written characters change as well.

I stand beside the magnificent stone pillar and listen to the sound of the wind.

Silence. Accompanied by the "kana-kana" of the cicadas, a red-billed leiothrix rings out a particularly high-pitched solo. The exotic voice sounds powerful yet somehow sad. Perhaps there is a touch of bravado in it, as if it is telling the former residents in this unfamiliar land, "I am managing somehow."

In the dark forest, a black butterfly flutters fantastically. It is almost time for the Obon festival. When I softly said "Welcome back" to someone unseen, I felt as if I heard the sound of a bell ringing from somewhere.

Fresh flowers were offered at an unmarked monument made of processed granite. I quietly press my hands together in prayer before it.

◇ Whether or Not, Traces of a Dream

Returning to the paved road, a settlement called Choja-yashiki—or rather, the ruins of a settlement—appears.
Embraced by the mountains, enjoying the blessings of the mountain while farming, it must have been a land so rich that there were even houses considered to be those of wealthy people.

But that, too, is now a trace of a dream.

A single-story building with its entrance and sliding doors tightly shut. A wide veranda. A crumbling, or already collapsed, tiled roof. An abandoned twin-tub washing machine and a two-door refrigerator. As if time had stopped, the uninhabited building is left behind. And yet, it is not buried in summer grasses; it is being maintained.
It is still too new to be called a ruin, which makes it feel all the more vivid. Perhaps it is because the thoughts of those connected to it still remain.
That, too, will eventually be swallowed by the power of nature. I think to myself, lost in deep emotion for a while.

Summer grasses, whether or not, traces of a dream. --Mucha (bow)

A plump Japanese serow was grazing calmly in the settlement where no one was left.

(Note)
Mucha (0-cha) is one step before Issa. Even though it is Basho.

(Mountain climbing record: July 19, 2025)

• Mountain Name: Mt. Kutami (Yaotsu Town, Gifu Prefecture)

• Format: Loop starting from a roadside parking spot, solo hike, approximately 1.5 hours

• Weather: Sunny

• Water: Brought 1.2L, consumed 0.6L

• Vegetation: Japanese cedar and cypress plantations

(First published July 19, 2025. Revised July 18, 2026)

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