November 20 – 22 2024, Japan. From the snow monkey park in Nagano to Shirakawa-go in Gifu prefecture. On the way we stopped in Kanazawa, where Shawn had hoped to see Kenroku-en Garden. Unfortunately it was raining hard. We had an hour to pass before catching a bus to Shirakawa-go, but I wouldn’t have been able to walk there and back in time. The last leg of the journey from Kanazawa was by bus. The bus ride was spectacular, and I was grateful not to be on a fast train that zipped through tunnels, only affording a few second glance at the scenery before plunging into another one. We alighted at the bus station in Shirakawa-go and prepared to shlep to our hotel, CURIO Shirakawago. It was a 20 minute walk, one mile from the open air folk village.

We were beat after the long trip, and made ourselves comfortable in the small hotel room. The place was ultra modern, which was jarring, as just outside our window sat a small thatched hut that must have been centuries old. The next day I investigated, and found a sign that said it had been a practice hall established by an itinerant monk, the first person to live in the area. I was surprised that the hotel didn’t make a big deal about it, as it was apparently the oldest building in Shirakawa-go. Although they do feature it in photos of the place.

Shirakawa-go is a UNESCO World Heritage site renowned for its 300-year-old traditional gassho-zukuri farmhouses with steeply pitched thatched roofs designed to withstand heavy snow. Historically isolated, the village thrived on sericulture (silkworm rearing) and maintained a communal, self-sufficient lifestyle. The area was formally recognized in 1995 for its well-preserved, unique architecture. Between 1924 and 1961, the number of Gassho-style houses dropped significantly due to modernization, development, and fire hazards. The area was preserved thanks to Ogimachi villagers who organized to protect their homes, culminating in the 1971 Association to Protect the Natural Environment of Shirakawa-go, Ogimachi Village.

We were hoping to find a cafe, and Shawn had set his mind on a place near the bus stop run by an old man. Shawn was okay with taking an hour to be served, which was my estimate given how lackadaisical the owner seemed in actually taking orders. I headed off to find a place that actually served lattes. I headed into the village of Ogimachi, and stood in line at Egaoya Cafe, a modern spot with great lattes and baumkuchen. I was in heaven, and sat there for a while, nursing my cup. It had started raining, a cold rain, so I suited up and made my way cross the puddles as I headed to the first of 3 accessible houses.

The Wada House is the largest and only nationally-designated important cultural property in the area, offering a glimpse into the life of a wealthy family. For centuries it was the home of the largest landowner in the village of Ogimachi and whose members held the hereditary position of village headman (nanushi). The family made its fortune in the production and trading of saltpeter (potassium nitrate, an essential ingredient in gunpowder) and, from the latter half of the 1800s, in silk production. From the late 1700s to the end of the Edo period, the Wada were tasked with overseeing a government checkpoint that regulated the flow of people and goods into and out of Shirakawa-go. It is a massive, historic 3-story gassho-zukuri thatched-roof home dating back to the late Edo period (circa 1573). As the largest and only house in the village designated as an important cultural property, it serves as a museum showcasing traditional life, silk production tools, and architectural, beam-construction techniques. I watched a video showing community participation roof re-thatching.

Though the building has been renovated, it gives a sense of how an affluent family lived when Shirakawa-go was at the height of its prosperity. Facing the front of the house, there are two entrances: the smaller one on the right was for residents, while the large doors on the left, leading to two tatami-mat rooms, were only opened for important guests such as government officials. The Wada House is the only building in Shirakawa-go with such an entrance, which speaks to the family’s high standing. 

The first floor of the residence centers on a traditional irori fireplace and displays items used in daily life such as tableware and kitchen utensils. There is also a large, ornate Buddhist family altar. In the multi-level attic, displays of tools and equipment illustrate how the roof of the house is thatched, while guests can also get a close look at the inside of the roof structure, which is secured using only straw rope and bindings (neso) made of witch hazel saplings. In addition to the house, which is designated an Important Cultural Property, the Wada estate includes an adjacent garden and pond, a notably large outhouse (lavatory), and a fire-resistant storehouse (kura) in the back.

Several architectural details of the Wada House set it apart from other gassho-style farmhouses in the area and reflect the family’s connections beyond the village community. A typical building of this kind has only one front entrance that leads into an earthen-floored area where farm animals were kept, but the Wada House also features a pair of large doors that open up into two tatami-mat rooms. These doors were for the exclusive use of important guests such as government officials, who occasionally visited the Wada House in connection with the family’s duties. Also of note are the house’s plastered earthen walls, which are more fire-resistant than wooden walls, and the comparatively well-appointed tatami rooms, built in a style that indicates knowledge of architectural trends in major cities at the time. The garden on the north side of the house is a rarity in Shirakawa-go, where frequent heavy snow in winter makes traditional-style gardens difficult to maintain. Lining the garden are stone walls and a grove of trees planted to protect the house from the strong winds that often blow through the Sho River valley.

The shed-like building in front of the entrance to the Wada House is the family outhouse, or lavatory. Notably spacious, it is of a type found attached to only the largest gassho-style houses in Shirakawa-go. The building has three rooms: horses were kept in one of these, and the other two were toilet booths used by the Wada family. One of the booths has been converted into a storeroom but the other remains in its original form. The toilet consists of a large wooden barrel with a few planks placed across it for the user to stand or sit on. These facilities were intended mainly for solid waste, as the house also had an indoor latrine from which urine was led into a pit underneath the floor. The pit was used to produce saltpeter (potassium nitrate), an essential ingredient in gunpowder, and was filled with materials including straw, soil, mugwort, and silkworm droppings. Human urine facilitated the fermentation of this mixture.

Directly behind the Wada House stands a two-story storehouse with fire-resistant earthen walls that was used to hold family heirlooms, important documents, and other valuables. Such storehouses, or kura, have been common in Japan for more than a thousand years, and they became especially popular among the upper and middle classes during the Edo period (1603–1867). In the village of Shirakawa, however, the Wada kura is a rarity. Storehouses in Shirakawa-go were usually wooden and located some distance from the main house. This protected the building should fire break out in another structure nearby. The fire-resistant storehouse is a symbol of the family’s wealth and connections. It was built in a style common in the city of Takayama, the local seat of government during the Edo period, from where officials occasionally visited the Wada House on business relating to the family’s duties. These tasks included overseeing a government checkpoint that regulated the flow of people and goods into and out of Shirakawa-go.

From there I headed to the Kanda House. Like the Wada House, it is an impressive timber structured gassho-zukuri farmhouse with three stories, though it is only 160 years old. The attic is accessible to the public, and I enjoyed the exhibit on sericulture. Many of the farmhouses in Shirakawa-go raised silk worms, even in the winter, since the fire built in the Irori at ground level would warm the entire house, including the attic. They usually burned charcoal in the Irori, since seasoned wood was often not available. My eyes burned as I squinted through the smoke, peering out under the eave of the roof at the village below. The Kanda family settled here after branching off from the Wada household, establishing a brewery. I wandered around, admiring the way the house had been finished. Clearly, the Kanda family also had money.

I headed out into the pouring rain, and made my way to the Nagase House. The house has remained in the family for 250 years. Since the first three generations were doctors, they had an extensive exhibit on medical equipment from the Edo Period. It is a five-story gassho style house, with 11 meter long gassho (rafter) beams that extend from the peak to the eaves in a single span, creating the structure’s distinctive “prayer-hands” shaped roof designed to withstand heavy snow. I learned about the selection process for finding the perfect tree to make the gassho beam. Snow piled at the base caused the tree to bend at the end, giving it the proper curvature for a roof beam.

The last structure that was open to visitors was the Myozenji Temple, the main Buddhist sanctuary in the village of Ogimachi since its founding in 1748. A temple of the Jodo Shinshu (True Pure Land) school, the dominant form of Buddhism in this area, Myozenji has a distinctive thatched main hall that dates to 1827. Next to the main hall is the kuri, or living quarters of the head priest and his family, occupying one of the largest gassho-style houses in the village. This was built in 1817 and is open to the public as a museum about traditional life in Shirakawa-go. 

The museum building is one of the few houses of its kind in the area with plastered earthen walls, more fire-resistant than wooden ones. The first floor houses living quarters, including a large living room with an irori fireplace at the center. Above the fireplace hangs a hiama, a wooden board used to extinguish sparks rising from the fire, to dissipate smoke, and to prevent heat from dispersing throughout the house. The living room was where the family ate and spent time together sitting around the hearth in strictly prescribed seating order. The head of the household sat with his back against the thick post at the center of the building, symbolizing his role as the main breadwinner. His wife sat on the right-hand side and his firstborn son on the left, while the rest of the family had their places on the opposite side of the irori. 

The four-level attic was used mainly for cultivating silkworms, and contained an exhibit of tools used by villagers, kitchen utensils, ornaments, and other items. I peered up at the inside of the roof structure, which was secured by straw ropes and neso (bindings) of witch hazel saplings. Like other homes here, the foundation and first floor of the Myozenji kuri were built by professional carpenters, while the rest was built by villagers working together. I walked down a covered corridor from the kuri into the main hall in the ornate style of a Jodo Shinshu temple.

From there, I wandered down the main road running through the village to Shirakawago Three Houses and Shirakawa-go Tajima House Sericulture Museum, which unfortunately was closed. The sun had come out and I watched a house in the process of being thatched, then decided to get matcha soft-serve ice cream, which I’d seen others eating. I found a woman who was serving it, and asked if I could pay for a larger serving. She was exceedingly friendly, and smiled and said okay. We laughed together, and I went to sit on a bench and eat what would soon be a runny, dripping mass. As I sat, I noticed persimmons dangling from roof eaves by thread. I started seeing this in many spots, and remembered seeing it in Saratoga near my home, in front of a Japanese restaurant, Must be a traditional way to dry Hachiyo persimmons.

Shawn and I wanted to eat at a traditional restaurant, and went to investigate Masuzono Bunsuke the night before. Shawn had knocked, and a man answered. We asked whether it was possible to have dinner that night, but the man said they were closed. He told us to come back the next evening, and we were excited at the prospect. At the appointed hour, we walked up the hill and knocked. A woman answered the door, and asked us to wait as she hurried the children out of the room where we would be eating. We hadn’t realized that they were opening just for us, and that this was their home. We felt sheepish and apologized, feeling like we had put them out, but they were gracious and waved it off. We sat on tatami mats and enjoyed the quiet ambience of the traditional home. They prepared a set menu, including delicious fresh caught rainbow trout, iwana, and amago,  We reveled in the authentic, traditional Japanese dining experience. It was unforgettable. After dinner we asked about the history of the house. He told us it had been in his family for 300 years, and pointed to an old poster. “That’s our house.”

We stayed a while, savoring the experience. Then we headed back to our hotel, as we would be leaving in the morning for Takayama. I took a peek out the window at the old hut, imagining the Buddhist practitioners sitting in meditation so many centuries ago. That was one of the many things I loved about Japan. The appreciation of history.