Suzushima and Kushima Islands

Just a stone's throw from the shore in front of the fishing cooperative, two small islands float. The left is Suzushima, the right is Kushima. A bridge (caisson) connects the two, but children used to swim across to either island.

Suzushima, where two pine trees ostentatiously vie for beauty. Dive beneath the island's perimeter, and you'll find abalone, sea urchin, shrimp, and coastal fish teeming.
Kushima, covered in pine and mixed woodland. A small shrine enshrines the guardian deity of fishermen. ... Former sumo wrestler Kushima-umi is the son of Kushima-san, the geta sandal shop who managed this island for many years. Kushima-umi's parents moved to Shingu.

The view from both islands looking back at the Kumano-nada coast, stretching from Miwasaki to Sano, isn't bad either.

My father around the age of 50 (Suzu-shima Island in the background)

My father was a master free diver. From the age of sixteen, he spent seventeen years diving for pearl oysters in the Arafura Sea, north of Australia near Papua New Guinea. Drawing on those past skills and using a bamboo speargun he invented himself, he brought the bounty of the sea from around Suzushima to our table day after day.
Miso soup with chunks of shrimp was an offering from the shore, as was vinegar-marinated abalone liver. The taste remains unforgettable.

My father was also a master at finding sea turtle eggs while walking along the sandy shoreline. When I was in elementary and junior high school, we'd eat boiled turtle eggs over warm rice... breaking two or three eggs, cracking their soft shells, and letting the contents fall onto the rice. A little soy sauce drizzled on top, then stirred with chopsticks. After that, it was just a matter of huffing and puffing while devouring it. How incredibly delicious it was.
Nowadays, walking along the beach with a bamboo stick in hand searching for turtle eggs is probably forbidden.

One more thing. My father loved turtle meat. Our family did too. Turtle meat sukiyaki – I've never known anything quite so delicious since. This is a true story. ...However, they say eating this meat forces every virus in your body to come out, so apparently some people didn't want to eat it.

Off the coast of Suzushima lies the rough sea of the Pacific Ocean

Now, the two small islands bear no trace of their former selves.
The pines of Suzu Island have already withered; only a few bald trees faintly hint at the past.
Kushima Island, too, has lost its lush greenery. Only a few beach cotton plants bloom.
The fishermen's guardian deity looks lonely beyond the vermilion torii gate, its paint peeling away.

Large-scale land reclamation, fishing port renovations, from oar-powered tenma boats to steamboats... Efforts to stem depopulation went unrewarded, while nature alone changed completely.
　…………
Yet the sea at Miwasaki remains as captivating as ever. A noisy sea contrasting with the town's quiet. The rocky shores and small islands reveal their rugged forms through the crashing waves. Fishing is still thriving. In summer, the sandy beaches bustle with swimmers.

Cultivated Fields and Rice Paddies

The mountain fields I tended until junior high were passed on to someone else long ago.
The potato field that always won first prize for size at the agricultural fair. The summer oranges, sour but perfect for quenching thirst. The slope along the way where snakes often appeared, terrifying me.
I wonder what they look like now.

The rice paddies where I helped my father with double cropping from middle school through high school are now a residential area. Since our ancestral graves are just a little further on, I pass here every time I return home.
The pain of weeding in the scorching summer sun in those paddies still comes back to me. Leeches clinging to my legs everywhere—it was so disgusting.
On the way back from the fields, I often picked water dropwort with my mother along the embankments. Whether boiled or added to miso soup, it smelled wonderful and tasted delicious.
The narrow path where I pulled the handcart back and forth still faintly holds traces of the past.

“The soil is alive too, you know. It's not like having a cow plow it!”

The Four Seasons

After the Pacific War, when I was in elementary school (around 1950). Miwasaki was like this.

Spring

From March, it warms up and the cherry blossoms start to bloom. It rains often. When the cherry blossoms fall, the satsuki azaleas and common azaleas bloom. The slopes leading to the mountain fields become covered in weeds. The Japanese knotweed grows thick. It brushes against your hands and feet, causing scrapes that draw blood. The grassy scent was in the air. Do you know a vegetable called “gonpachi”? It was delicious boiled and eaten plain, or added to stews.

From the time of the carp streamers, the weather turned into that crisp, clear May sunshine. It grew hotter day by day.
On Saturdays, after school ended, my siblings and I would chatter and laugh as we walked along the coastal road to the foothills on the outskirts of town. It took about 20 minutes to reach the spot where the tunnel came into view. We crossed the railroad tracks and crossed the stone bridge over the “Shirakawa” (Grass River?). Just above, in the shade of the trees on the mountain, our parents waited with lunch prepared. It was a ledge about two and a half tatami mats wide halfway up the slope, our spot for lunch and relaxation.
Wiping sweat from our brows, we climbed the steep mountain path. We all called out in unison,
“Daddy~! Mommy~!”...(echoed by the mountain god)
From above,
“Kids~! Watch your step~!”...(echoed by the mountain god)

Summer

Looking down from the mountain fields over the heavy summer mandarin orange trees, Suzushima and Kushima islands float in the cobalt blue sea. The Ugui Peninsula juts out to the west. The sky is aqua blue. The blazing sun beats down relentlessly.

Pure white waves sparkle here and there, leaping and weaving striped patterns. Just below, the rough waves crash against the rocky reef, thudding and thundering.
I forget the beads of sweat dripping from my straw-hatted face, mesmerized. Behind me, Father calls,
“Shigeru~! Staying out in the sun too long will give you sunstroke!”

Autumn

After the sweet potato harvest and rice cutting in the fields, the town holds the grand autumn festival at Hachiman Shrine.

The Danjiris of mikoshi portable shrines, Ebisu- Daikoku, and the Twenty-Four Filial Exemplars (called Nijihiko) floats representing parade through the narrow streets. The highlight is the clanging and crashing of the danjiri as they jostle, fueling the town's once-a-year excitement. On the sandy beach, the young men's “Whale Dance” brings the festival to its peak.
Every household parades sushi made with great care. Whole mackerel sushi , seaweed rolls, kelp rolls, deep-fried tofu...

When I entered junior high, my father started farming rice fields. One tan (about 1,650 square meters) yielded eight bales of rice. We used no oxen for plowing; everything was done by hand with a plow, hoe, and shovel. It was hard work, and I hated helping.
Leeches bit me, which was a real pain. I struggled to pull each one off. Snakes swam in the water. Sparrows, locusts... we were plagued by tiny pests. I'll never forget the exhilaration of diving into the nearby river.
Soon after, my father started double cropping. We harvested nearly 15 bales of rice in total. It became known as “the first double cropping in Wakayama Prefecture.” But my hardship doubled.

Winter

Snow rarely fell, but the wind was bitterly cold. The rain is cold. The sea is rough.
Even so, my father loved rowing his tenma boat out to sea. My mother would go to the mountain fields. We children, dressed in our hanko (padded coats), would help her. The hanko were made by my mother, sewing late into the night.

On New Year's Day, before dawn, we would visit the Hachiman-sama (Hachiman Shrine) on a small hill. We would clasp our hands together in prayer at the first sunrise over the sea.