In late autumn, we attended Kyōshinkai, a lacquer evaluation exhibition held in Jōbōji, Iwate Prefecture.
We went to inspect the raw lacquer harvested in Jōbōji in 2017 and to see the lacquer trees as the tapping season was coming to an end.

The cherry trees were already turning vibrant shades of red.
Since the cherry blossom trees in Kudan Tokyo, had not turned yet, the vivid red of the leaves stood out strikingly.

Under a clear, crisp autumn sky, many people visited the venue of the Jōbōji Urushi Kyōshinkai.

A lacquer tree standing in front of the workshop.
Its leaves are characterized by a slightly elongated shape, similar to those of a chestnut tree.

“Look, the colors are starting to change, though it varies depending on the spot,” we were told.

These are lacquer berries.
They grow in clusters, much like bunches of grapes.

Picking a berry and removing the shell.
From the Edo period to around 1955, these seeds were used as raw materials for candles and hair pomade.
Recently, they are sometimes roasted to make coffee.
It is interesting to see how their uses evolve over time.

In some areas, the autumn colors had ended, and leaves had begun to fall.
“Fallen leaves like these turn into humus and return to the mountain,” we were told.

“What are you taking a picture of? That’s a wild grape vine!”
Apologies—I was simply drawn to the bright red.
Indeed, lacquer leaves are not this shape.
It was a grape leaf, a motif we are so familiar with on Ceramics!

“Shall we take a look at the lacquer forest?” we were invited.
When we visited last year, it was early summer, just as the tapping season was about to begin.
The lacquer trees now stood in a completely different landscape.

Chestnut burs were scattered everywhere, making the walk feel like a forest excursion.
The crunching sound of dry leaves underfoot felt like the true arrival of autumn.

Suddenly curious, I asked,
“There aren’t any bears around here, right?”
“No, it’s fine. The bears are gone now.”

I wondered if I should have asked…
I was not quite sure whether to feel relieved or not…

The lacquer forest sits halfway up the mountain. Just below the path, a river was flowing.
“You can catch Japanese char here,” we were told.
“No fishing rod needed, they gather right here, so you can easily scoop them up with a net.”
It was a stream full of treasures, known only to someone who truly knows the best spots.
I peered into the water for a while…
but of course, they were not that easy to find.

“We’ve finished harvesting most of the lacquer for this year,”
he said, walking briskly through the familiar forest.

Lacquer tapping, which begins in mid-June, reaches its conclusion in October.
There were many lacquer trees with dark cuts remaining from top to bottom.

It takes 8 to 13 years to grow a lacquer tree before harvesting.
Through a technique called koroshigaki, all the sap is harvested in a single year, and the tree is cut down.
However, sprouts growing from the stump are nurtured, repeating the same cycle over the next decade.

“Look, the lacquer is coming out here.”
A thin white streak of lacquer was trickling down, as if the very last drops were oozing out.

“See, this is lacquer,”
he said, touching the lacquer with a finger effortlessy.
I could only imagine what would happen if I tried to do the same.

The effort required to collect every single drop until it fills a barrel of two kan (about 7.5 kg) is immeasurable.
Every drop is harvested with great care, leaving nothing to waste.
This lacquer will be used to restore Important Cultural Properties of Japan,
and will reach our dining tables as Jōbōji lacquerware.

The cut lacquer trees.
Most of them are used as firewood.

Afterward, we were guided to a nursery where lacquer saplings were being grown.
The saplings were still only about 50 to 70 cm tall.
“Once the autumn colors progress a bit more, all the leaves will drop. We cover them with straw to protect them from the snow so they can survive the winter.
Then, as they grow, we transplant them to the mountain,” we were told.

Unlike the scene we saw on the mountain earlier, the leaves here were soft and visibly young.
Although a lacquer painter, there had been participation in activities to protect and raise these lacquer trees.
I hope these carefully nurtured saplings safely make it through the winter.

It was rice harvest season.
Illuminated by the autumn sunlight, ears of rice spread out as far as the eye could see in a dazzling expanse.
Stopping the car, we shared a quiet moment gazing at the view…

Scenes like this could be seen here and there.
Just like the lacquer trees, the rice fields have finished their work for the year
and are preparing for the next season.