The trees are starting to bloom here in Marin County, a sure sign that spring is nigh. As I watched the wind ruffle a carpet of pastel pinks and whites against a bright blue sky, a ripple sent my mind wandering back to this time last year. I was in Kawazu, Japan, a coastal town on the Izu Peninsula three hours south of Tokyo. Throngs of Japanese tourists crowded a narrow path above the river, making a slow march upstream alongside a string of cherry trees bursting with color.
It was the Kawazu Sakura Festival, held each year in February to mark the earliest appearance of cherry blossoms – “Sakura” (桜) – in Japan. The cherry trees in Kawazu bloom about a month earlier than most others in the country, bringing upwards of 1 million visitors to the town’s riverbanks each February. We were among the few Westerners amid the crush of tourists visiting the town last year, shortly after Japan had re-opened its borders as it emerged from the pandemic.
But people are people everywhere, and but for the differences in language we could have been anywhere. Families walked in groups, children tugging at their parents’ hands or riding atop their shoulders, smiling and chattering as they made their way along the path. Couples walked hand in hand, stopping now and again to share a moment or take a picture beneath the colorful blossoms. Photographers politely jostled one another as they sought to frame their shots. A few adventurous souls made their way down the steep riverbank, where they could meander up the dry riverbed for an unobstructed view of the trees.
There are more than 8,000 cherry trees in Kawazu, known for their vivid pink blossoms that are larger than most other varieties found in Japan. Officially recognized as a sub-species in 1975, the Kawazu-zakura is thought to be a natural hybrid of the Oshima-zakura and Kanhi-zakura varieties. The first specimen was planted in 1955 in the front yard of a local resident, Katsumi Iida, reportedly from a seedling he had found in Tanaka. The original tree, a somewhat non-descript specimen, still sits in the front yard of his former house, where it attracts visitors posing for selfies out front.
I had come to the festival on a small group tour organized by Eddie Soloway with the help of Esprit Travel. A combination of thoughtful planning and good luck had brought us to Kawazu at the peak of that year’s blooming season. The paved river path, barely six-feet wide, was crowded with hundreds of visitors flowing in a slow current upstream. While the cherry trees were beautiful, the packed festival was not quite what I had expected.
Thoughts of blooming cherry trees atop grassy slopes had conjured idyllic images of a quiet pastoral landscape where one could quietly sit and contemplate the slow change in seasons. But what we found instead was a long, slow line of traffic leading to a crush of humanity that competed for attention with the beautiful trees above. Food stalls and souvenir stands lined the path; aromas of grilled and fried food wafting over the crowd. It all reminded me of a county fair, with stuffed dumplings, meat on a stick and mochi balls standing in for fried shrimp, corn dogs and funnel cakes. Yes, people are people everywhere.
In times like this I am reminded how expectations can get in the way of experiences. As I made my way up the path, I tried to soak up the latter and let go of the former. My plans to set up my tripod and create dreamy abstract images of cherry blossoms moving with the wind quickly fell by the wayside, as there was little room to do so without interfering with others’ enjoyment of the festival. So I joined the herd in admiring the trees that lined the riverbed, stopping now and again to photograph twisting tree limbs, brilliant flowers, and curious patterns on the bark.
As I wandered the river path I would occasionally look up through hanging branches clustered with flowers, imagining a swirling pink and blue universe above. When the frenetic energy of the crowd brought me back to Earth, I rejoined their slow march upstream, noticing the reactions of those around me as they marveled at the pink blanket floating just above their heads.
Eventually, I found a place to sit along the riverbank , content to just be a part of the scene. I smiled at those around me, and soon I stopped looking for things to photograph. I was just there.
And that was enough.