A Road Engraved with My Past Footprints

Doi is a small town. For over three decades, I would go there every summer with my sister and parents.

The gently sprawling beach, the quiet sea in the bay, and the small mountains that surround them are the only things there.

Because you have to cross a ridge to even reach Odoi or Dogashima, the landscape has been preserved just as it was long time ago. Also, the landscape is surprisingly varied from edge to edge.

An idyllic mountain road leading to the shrine, souvenir shop, and café at the crossroads, the quiet afternoon sunlight in the village along the mountains, and the passing of a fishing boat dividing the shimmering ocean on its way to the harbor. From the port’s levee, you are able to overlook the beautiful shape of the bay. The pine trees at Matsubara Park stand quietly in a row by the sea, while carp swim in the big river and a giant willow tree looks down over the people. Lining the small backstreet paths are houses with their windows left wide open, displaying a hanging fishing net, or an old man lying and watching television inside.

Back when there were no convenience stores or large supermarkets, I ran freely around that street on my little kid feet. I picked up pieces of coral, caught crabs, spent money on popsicles, dove into the public bath, snook into a hotel to use their restroom, caught and released small fish, got stung by jellyfish, skinned my leg jumping off a diving board, crashed asleep on the beach… I mean, I did everything. I believe the footprints of my childhood are engraved in the roads that enfold these various scenes like a net.