The Way of Tea
The oldest resident in Wazuka is a tree. A Kitayama cedar has watched the village for over a thousand years. It can be seen from any point in the village and from its place on the side of a hill, it can see the entire village. No one knows when or why it appeared so far from its usual cold northern climate, but it was here when Prince Asaka hunted in the valley below and his courtiers prayed beneath it for his recovery in 8th century AD. It saw the first tea seeds planted on the nearby slopes during the Kamakura period, and witnessed the village grow from a stop on the road to the capital of Kuni-kyō, to imperial land supplying timber for the great temples and ceremonies of Emperor Shōmu’s imperial court, and watched when its tea was first sent to Kyoto during the Edo-period. Yasaka Jinja no Sugi — Ōsugi-san to the people who live in its shadow — watched the people of Wazuka adapt their rhythms to the tea seasons and their hands and hearts to the quiet lessons the plant demands.
Ken Ishii’s family has witnessed nearly 12 centuries of the same history following their arrival in the early Heian period. The Ishii family have been hereditary custodians of the great cedar for all of their 37 generations, caring for their mamorigami, their guardian spirit, through lightning strikes, typhoons and high winds, frost and heavy snowfall, and through the annual renewal of the shimenawa — the thick sacred rope of twisted rice straw that encircles the tree and marks the boundary between the everyday world and the divine.
“Each year we hold a festival at the shrine”, says Ken. “We eat hanamochi and clean up the grounds and replace the shimenawa to welcome the new year. We care for our tree and it looks over us.”
Ken’s family is one of many with long ties to the land. They were here when the Zen monk Eisai returned from China carrying the tea seeds that came into the possession of Jishin Shōnin, the head monk of Kaijūsen-ji temple. Jishin Shōnin planted them on the side of the sacred Mount Jūbu. Along with Ōsugi-san the Ishii family have welcomed generations of people who moved to the area to cultivate tea. The number of farming families working today is around 300.
While not directly involved in growing tea themselves, the Ishiis remain influential in the tea trade. They were one of the first to invest in new technology that harnessed the water from the Wazuka River for tea making. Today Ken, along with business partner Kazu, operates a ryokan and tea experience from his family’s 150 year old house in Wazuka village, on the same site inhabited by the family since their first ancestors. Ken and Kazu work with tea farmers, who traditionally have remained wholesalers, to package and sell their tea directly to tea lovers in Japan and beyond.
One of these farmers is Yoshiki Tanaka, a 5th generation farmer known for his exceptional matcha. While Wazuka produces far less matcha than other tea growing regions it is considered the purest expression of the tea across Japan, known for its kiriko, the unique scent created by early morning mist rising from the river to dampen shoots and keep them tender. Farming methods remain small scale and labour intensive.
“We use no pesticides,” explains Tanaka-san. “They affect the flavour.” Tanaka’s matcha is strictly hand picked to preserve quality and processed at the small factory adjacent to his home. “It takes around one and a half hours to process matcha,” he says. “But it takes 6 or 7 years before the trees can be harvested. This is why matcha is so precious.”
As he says this, Tanaka delicately taps the side of a small sieve, allowing wisps of powder to drift down into a porcelain drinking bowl. Satisfied with the water temperature, Tanaka begins to slowly and gently pour it over the powder, soaking it before beginning to work it with a chasen.
“You can’t rush making matcha,” he explains, eyes focused on the task. “If you don’t sift the tea there will be clumps. If the water is too hot it will burn.” Tanaka goes on to explain the process of growing, steaming, drying, de-stemming, and stone-grounding the entire leaf into a fine, vibrant green powder. A series of steps that must be completed with precision and timed perfectly to preserve natural sweetness and the deep body that lingers in the throat long after the cup is empty, known as koku. “This is what the tea teaches us. Attention to detail, dedication and focus. When the mind is here and the hands are here, the tea is certain. The result is not something you need to think about. This is like life.”
With the price of Wazuka’s matcha having tripled in a single year, buyers have come to Wazuka. Many bypass the Kyoto auctions entirely to purchase directly from farmers, offering hard to refuse sums of money. Tanaka, like many of his neighbours, has turned them away. For him, the traditional methods are not a constraint — they are the point.
“I cannot sacrifice quality for money,” he says. The tea in his bowl has become creamy and foamy and now content, he puts away the chasen and takes a small sip, holding the bowl in both hands. He closes his eyes, exhaling gently. “It would be a betrayal of my family and the tradition of our town.” He glances toward the courtyard, where Ōsugi-san is visible above the roofline.
He does, however, have concerns for the future. With no heir, and a recent leg injury keeping him away from his fields, the situation is a fragile one. “Usually I would be picking the third harvest now, but I am unable this year. I do worry about what will happen when I can no longer work.”
His tea has never been worth more, and there has never been less certainty about what happens to his fields when he can no longer farm them.
Ken understands the worry. “When a farming family ends,” he says, “something that cannot be replaced goes with it. Ōsugi-san has seen it before.”
The world has discovered Wazuka. Wazuka, for the most part, has continued without it. Residents live unhurried, giving full attention to whatever is in front of them — a cup of tea, a conversation, the day's work, watched over still by Ōsugi-san, witness to every chapter of the region's history, from imperial road to timber forest to tea terraces. No one knows who planted it or why, but it has ceased to matter.
“The tree was here before the tea,” says Ken. “It will be here after. But the tea needs people.” He pauses. “So does the tree”.
