A Gentle Day in Wazuka

 A Gentle Day in Wazuka

Still in the peaceful beauty of Wazuka, I wake up with the quiet sounds of the countryside. My host family—Mayumi, the mother, and Kazu, the father—greet me with warmth and a traditional Japanese breakfast. Miso soup, steamed fish, fermented soybeans, pickled plums, rolled Japanese omelets, fresh fruit, and hot sencha tea. Every dish holds intention, care, and history.

After breakfast, we stepped outside to tend to the garden. As I picked up the hoe, memories of gardening with my grandmother came back to me. The soil felt familiar. We planted tomatoes, eggplants, and cucumbers. Watered the blooming vegetables under the gentle morning sun. It felt grounding, like I belonged there.

Lunch was a creative affair—our own bento boxes. We made onigiri, rice balls filled with meat and wrapped with seaweed strips. Mayumi patiently taught us how to shape them into triangles, pillows, or spheres. Mine weren’t perfect, but still delicious. Alongside them were bunny-ear apples, cherry tomatoes, mini sausages, and sencha tea again.

Later in the day, we joined the larger group to pick fresh tea leaves and play a tea-tasting game. Kazu was confident in our chances—he had given us a crash course in tea knowledge earlier. But we didn’t win. The key was identifying the tea by smell and color alone. Not easy, especially when the tastes began to blur together.

Dinner was a new experience—takoyaki, round doughy balls filled with chopped octopus and grilled on a special pan. I was hesitant about the octopus. Not bad, just not for me. I gravitated toward the ones with cheese, corn, ginger, and fish cake.

Kazu shared more about Japanese tea culture after dinner. He explained how cooling the tea brings out sweetness, and how steep time changes flavor. Short steeps are more bitter. Long steeps are smooth and mild. That evening, we practiced the traditional pouring method—carefully transferring hot tea from one cup to another to cool it gradually. Three cups, passed like a gentle rhythm: hot water to cool, back to the teapot, into the cup. Each step part of a quiet ritual.

Later that night, we joined Mayumi, who is an English teacher, and her students. They asked us questions in English, eager and curious. We folded origami cranes together. Mine was clumsy, but made with effort. We practiced writing our names using kanji, characters borrowed from Chinese. “Jah” for young. “Nee” for sincerity. Once confident, we wrote our names on a paper fan—a gift we’ll take with us.

Before bed, we wrote thank-you messages in the family journal. Kind words. Honest gratitude.

Tomorrow morning, we leave. I don’t want to. Life here is quiet, soft, intentional. Nothing like the rush of Tokyo. I didn’t expect to love the countryside more than the city—but I do.

Wazuka changed me. I hope to return one day.