Kiyoko’s Story
Kiyoko Ishiyama’s family owned the Japanese house that was given to Boston. Kiyoko did not actually live in our Japanese House, but her aunt and uncle did and she visited them often. Her own home was also a machiya-style home, very similar to ours, with a shop in the front and a living area in the back. Today, Kiyoko is a master Japanese calligrapher and watercolor painter. Through her art, she shares her memories of growing up in the 1940s and 50s in a machiya in the Nishijin neighborhood where our Kyo no Machiya came from. Scroll down for her story.
While I was growing up, my family, my relatives, and my neighbors – practically everyone - was working for the silk business in some way. Today, people no longer wear kimono as often, so as demand declined and so did the Nishijin silk industry. Many machiya houses where silk artisans and merchants lived and worked disappeared, replaced by modern buildings and wider streets. Yet, while wandering around the very small, narrow back streets in Nishijin, I still find myself hearing the sounds of the silk looms.
My Neighborhood, Nishijin
As a child in the 1940s and 50s, I lived near my aunt and uncle who lived in the machiya that is in Boston Children’s Museum today. We lived in Kyoto’s famous Nishijin silk weaving area. While walking in our neighborhood, I remember hearing the sounds of the silk looms — “gacchan gacchan” — coming from many homes.
Kyoto’s Nishijin District is known for its silk and textile industry. The history of Nishijin weaving dates back to the Heian period of Japan (794-1192). This type of silk fabric is used for making beautiful traditional garments like kimono and obi.
Each player has a set of fifty cards with poems printed on them. The players compete to be the first to find the card that matches the poem that is being recited. Whoever collects the most cards wins.
My Mother in the Kitchen
Our kitchen had earthen floors and a well where my mother used a bucket and a pulley to draw up water. She cooked on a wood-burning stove. We liked to think that the Hotei statues, the kitchen guardians, protected our family from fire. When we stepped up into the dining room next to the kitchen, we took off our shoes. I remember playing card games with my brother in the dining room while our mother cooked in the kitchen. During long winter nights, our mother would play with us by reciting the beautiful old poems she had memorized as a child, while we listened and tried to match the poems to the cards.
Karuta is a popular card game, especially winter time. One variation is Hyakunin Isshu, the “Game of 100 people, 100 poems.” It is a set of 100 Japanese waka poems, each written by different poet and printed on a separate card. Memorizing all 100 poems is a big advantage.
In winter, we often used a hibachi, or portable brazier. An iron kettle was set on top of the brazier, and the hot water always made a “shuu shuu” sound when it bubbled up. We often made tea for guests to drink. I liked to sit on the warm edge of the hibachi, which made my family angry and afraid for my safety.
Okudo-san and Hibachi stove
Kitchens in Kyoto’s machiya houses were so important to the family that we called them Okudo-san, which literally means “Mr. Cooking Stove,” almost as if it were a member of the family. All the most important things came from the wood-burning stove, especially rice and tea!
The rice cooked in the kitchen is moved to the wooden container to carry into the dining room, and then served into rice bowls at the table. There was no electric rice cooker, so rice was cooked in a metal pot, called okama, on the brick stove, or Okudo-san.
Dinners were fun but also formal affairs, where we children learned our best table manners. We all sat in seiza-style, with our legs folded under us. Our father sat at the center and made sure that we behaved properly.
Let’s Eat – Itadakimasu!
Since our house also served as our father’s silk business workspace, workers and products filled our home during the daytime. There was almost no privacy or no play area for me. Yet, somehow by nighttime, everything was cleaned up and cleared away, and my family again had a private, cozy family space. Our dining table was a traditional low table, so we sat on the floor around the table instead of in chairs.
Even though my parents were very busy with work, they always found time for the traditional arts: chado (tea ceremony), ikebana (flower arrangement), and shodo (calligraphy). On very special occasions, our noh music teacher practiced with us in our house. Our tokonoma alcove was always decorated with seasonal flowers and special paintings.
Tokonoma
I remember my parents enjoying various arts. My father loved art and history museums. He often took my siblings and me to the museums. My mother was a gardener and enjoyed flowers a lot. She had beautiful roses planted in her garden and often gave them away as gifts to the neighbors as they walked by.
In Japanese houses, the formal room where family guests are entertained often has a tokonoma and a garden view. The Tokonoma is used to display formal flower arrangements, seasonal scrolls, or other seasonal objects. Guests are often served tea and Japanese wagashi sweets in very special way.
Our family had many ways to keep warm. I used to sit with my legs under a heated kotatsu table to keep warm while studying. We used charcoal burners for heat, not electricity, because it was not common back then.
Heated Kotatsu Table
Machiya are very drafty, and this made us feel that Kyoto winters were bone-chilling. Kyoto is in a basin surrounded by mountains and hills. During the winter, the cold wind blows down from the hills. Occasionally it snows in Kyoto. Perhaps because winter is cold, we had many family celebrations during the winter to warm the spirit. The Oshogatsu New Year’s celebration was my favorite. Families and relatives gathered in my home to celebrate together. We pounded rice to make mochi — the special holiday treat — listened to the temple bells on New Year’s Eve, and then visited Imamiya Shrine on New Year’s Day.
In the summer, Kyoto is hot and humid. At night, we used to set up nets to keep the mosquitoes out while still allowing a little airflow. We all played games and slept under the mosquito nets. It was like sleeping in tents inside our house.
Summer Night
To stay cool in the summertime, we simply relied on the flow of breezes in the house. We stored away the sliding partitions between the rooms, and replaced them with light bamboo blinds called sudare. Having a garden was very important for cooling. My chore was uchimizu — sprinkling water on the garden and street. This would cool down the area, and create more airflow.
Kyoto has a humid subtropical climate and is known for its very hot and humid summers. Machiya house are specially designed for surviving the long and uncomfortable summers.
One time, I fell asleep while hiding between the futon blankets in the closet. I slept through the afternoon. When it came time for dinner, everyone thought I was missing, so they went to look for me. When I finally woke up and came out of the oshiire, my parents, though relieved, scolded me. I remember that incident very well.
Futon beds in Oshiire closet
At night we slept on futon beds in the living rooms. During the day, we stored the futon in the oshiire (closet). The oshiire was my favorite place to hide, but it could also be dark and scary — and it was the place I was sent if I behaved badly.
I remember that farmers used to come by to collect the waste from our outhouse to make into fertilizer. They even left fresh vegetables as a thank you payment.
Kyoyasai
Although Kyoto is a city, it is also known for agriculture, which produces the world famous Kyoto cuisine. Vegetables grown in Kyoto are so special that they even have their own name — Kyoyasai — which means vegetables of Kyoto. They are tasty whether eaten raw, cooked or pickled.
In the 1940s and 50s, all machiya houses were laid out in similar ways. They were kept very clean, with the kitchen, toilet, bath and garden all very well-placed around the "outside" (indicated by the shaded area in the diagram). We took off our shoes to step up into the "inside" living area.
Kamishibai (literally “paper drama”) is a traditional form of storytelling that uses illustrated scenes to tell a story. Kamishibai was a popular form of entertainment during my childhood until television became widespread in the 1960s. The traveling kamishibai storyteller came to our neighborhood to sell candies and tell stories, using a wooden stage to display the pictures for the story.
Kamishibai man with bicycle
The neighborhood streets were used for getting together with friends and playing. The kamishibai man came by often to tell his stories from his special bicycle. He always stopped his story right at the most thrilling point so that we would come out again when he returned. My friends and I looked forward to hearing the conclusion of the story, and eating the candy he sold!
One time, we stole persimmons from a tree at one of the temples. And we were caught by a Buddhist monk! He tried to scold us but he was really bad at it because he was so kind. Everyone in the neighborhood looked out for us and tried to keep us out of trouble, even if they were not our own parents.
My neighborhood as a playground
My friends and I often played games near the temples in our neighborhood.
Rakan is the Japanese Buddhist term for arhat, or person who has achieved nirvana, or enlightenment. Rakan is also used in a popular children’s game we used to play. In the game, a player chants the following: "Once Rakan-san comes together, let’s pass around, pass around!" then makes a silly face. Typical faces that we made are called: Tengu's Nose, Grabbing the Ears, Opening Eye Pose, and Fried Octopus.
Jizo-bon is usually held on August 23rd or 24th, and each neighborhood has its own Jizo-bon festival. While a Buddhist monk chants scripture, neighborhood children, seated in a circle, pass around a large string of juzu beads —one bead at a time—to pray to defend themselves from illness and all types of disaster.
O-Jizo sama
Jizo is considered a guardian of children, women, and travelers. He is one of the most beloved Buddhist figures in Japan. Stone statues of Jizo are a common sight on many street corners of Japan. In Kyoto, almost every neighborhood and street block has its own Jizo statue. Everyone celebrates the Jizo-bon festival in the summer.
After the Jizo-bon ceremony, it was usually the time for Fugo-oroshi event. Fugo is a basket, and oroshi means taking down. Therefore, fugo-oroshi is an action of taking down a basket. A handmade zip line was placed between the second floor window of a machiya and the street, and a basket with gifts inside was slid down the line to receivers on the street. It is fun for kids and adults alike. The basket usually contained toys for kids and household items for adults.
On cold winter evenings at 8 o’clock, neighborhood children gathered at a street corner. Mostly 6th graders, these children took hyoshigi wooden clappers, walked around the neighborhood and chanted “A single match can cause a fire”—clap, clap—“Caution to lighting and caution to fire”— clap, clap, to remind people to take care of the fire. It was something that young children did to help and to be part of the community.
Fire prevention walks
We always feared fire. Machiya were made of wood, paper, and straw, and built very close together. If a fire started, it could quickly spread throughout the whole neighborhood and city. All our neighbors reminded each other to extinguish the fire at night. Even the children went on fire prevention walks at night. We thought that was a great fun in the evening, even though the purpose was very serious.
When the neighbors lit candles for the lanterns to show respect for the deceased, it was the time for “Bon-odori” dance. Chochin lanterns were attached to strings and hung along the houses. At the center there was a tall podium where the drummers played music and people young and old gathered and danced. They shouted: “A fool who dances and a fool who just watches, if you both are fool, it’s better to dance.” Everyone from the neighborhood brought food to share, and we danced all night long!
O-bon
O-bon is a festival of the dead, a very important summer holiday for family gatherings and to show respect for the ancestors. We dressed in our cotton yukata and geta sandals to dance and honor our ancestors’ sprits. The Bon Odori dance was held in the neighborhood streets or temple yards.
We are deeply grateful to Kiyoko for sharing her personal memories in such a vivid, artistic and
evocative way. She has brought the story of our treasured Kyo no Machiya to life in a way we could not
have imagined. We are also thankful to Setsuko and Frank for connecting us with Kiyoko.