April 29, 2025, Japan. I woke up bleary-eyed after another rough night. No espressos in this town, so we headed straight to the train for an early start. We arrived in Tōno around 11:30 a.m., dropped our luggage off at Kyoko’s place, and then found a little café called Yachous. The owner was really friendly and made cappuccinos using a Bunsen burner-style siphon. I had a tofu cheesecake—mildly sweet and surprisingly good.

Next, we visited the Children’s Tree Book Museum, which is more like a library. I loved the architecture and the diverse collection of books. The librarian kindly called the Castle Museum for Shawn, who insisted it was actually the Folk Tale Museum. I strongly doubted him but didn’t say anything. Sure enough, it was the Castle Museum.

The museum focused on the lives of samurai in the region and the town’s history. Tōno was once very prosperous thanks to trade with the coastal regions—especially fish—but the poor, dry soil meant winters brought regular famines. People survived on mountain herbs, wisteria root, and mashed bracken fern.

I enjoyed the exhibits, especially those tied to The Legends of Tōno. Thanks to Google Lens, I could actually understand a lot of it. The folklorist Yanagita was a fascinating figure—he had a law degree and a background in agriculture. His Tokyo house had been relocated to the museum grounds, which was especially interesting. There was also the inn where he stayed while discussing the legends with Rizen, a local who had studied medicine in Tokyo but dropped out after two years. Rizen had literary connections, which helped him preserve and explain the oral traditions that had been passed down for centuries.

At 4:30, I visited the municipal museum, received a tablet loaded with local stories, and started exploring. I didn’t finish before closing time, so I decided to return another day. Afterward, I walked up to the castle grounds, which offered a lovely view from the top and peaceful gardens. I wandered around until 5:30, then met Kyoko to head to the shrine at Hayachine. The next day was the doll festival—a ritual to renew the soul of the dolls. It was dusk when we arrived, and the shrine was deserted. Kyoko made sure we showed proper respect, bowing before the Torii gate and walking on the left side of the path. It was clear this was an important shrine dedicated to the mountain gods. By the spring stood a large ceremonial sword and statues of Acala, whose fierce expression resembled the mountain god masks I’d seen elsewhere.

That evening, we searched for a place to eat and found a promising izakaya named Chikara. I found out that the owner was also born in 1962, and we instantly hit it off. He called me “sister” or “classmate,” laughed a lot, and made the whole experience feel warm and lively for a Monday night. They had fantastic yellowtail jaw. I loved the wooden story blocks on the table. I ended up finding a set at the tourist info center before leaving. There was no smoking allowed in this place—what a relief. We headed back and slept well.

April 30. It was our last full day in Tōno, and I didn’t want to leave. I’d grown to love the quirks of this town. I had decided to join a few guests to join Kyoko for the doll ritual at Hayachine Shrine. Mount Hayachine is the tallest in the area and deeply sacred to locals. She picked up the 3 of us and we headed to the shrine. Shawn declined, as planned to rent a bike and ride to Furusato Village.

We arrived at the shrine around 9:20 a.m. It was rainy and cold—only 42°F. The kagura and shishi-odori dances were delayed due to weather, so we waited in the damp air. Kyoko knew a few of the shrine members, who were dressed in beautiful ceremonial kimonos. Eventually a ceremony began in the temple. I asked if we could observe. One foreigner stood planted in the middle of the platform, constantly snapping photos and blocking everyone’s view. It seemed so rude—typical thoughtless behavior.

The ceremony was fascinating. The dolls had already been placed on the altar. A female priest entered and began chanting. Another woman used bells in a ritual cleansing, waving them over people’s heads—even ours, outside the building. It’s possible the priest was chanting the Lotus Sutra, though I’m not sure. I later learned this shrine is associated with yamabushi, or wandering ascetic monks. The entire experience felt powerful.

After the ceremony, I got a small straw bundle from the kagura and shishi-odori dancers and bought some omamori (protective charms). Kyoko kindly took me to get them. She told me to pray once everyone had finished. She even sent me a photo of myself in front of the shrine. Then she dropped me off at Furusato Village, a kind of open-air museum like a Skansen. It was freezing, and almost no one was there. The site had about ten buildings, but my cell service was spotty, so I couldn’t translate the signage.

I bought a straw deer and a monkey’s paw from one of the old women selling crafts. I nearly bought some sandals—probably should have, since they turned out to be ten times more expensive in Kakunodate. I took photos of the signs to read later. The gardens were wild and beautiful.

When I was finished, I checked the bus schedule and realized I’d just missed one. I said I’d walk the 3.5 miles back, and one of the staff members offered to drive me instead. So kind.

He dropped me off at Densho-en, a smaller folk village site with exhibits on folktale scholars, a working waterwheel, and a small shrine. I bought a woven purse and some hanging cloth ornaments from the women running the craft shop. They were very sweet.

I ran into Shawn at the entrance—he had made it! He’d ridden up into the mountains and visited a beautiful shrine. Since I had time, I visited the nearby Kappa Pool and saw the Abe property across the river. Someone was fishing with a cucumber.

Later, I caught the bus back to town and spent the rest of the evening walking around the western part of Tōno, where many of the temples are. I wandered all the way to the mountain shrine and one of the old castle gates, walking until dark. Then I met up with Shawn and we returned to our favorite izakaya—Chikara—for one last meal in this town I’d come to really love.