Stories about people.

Stories about life.

Hometown Stories.

Midwinter winds rage around the Noto Peninsula, in the Sea of Japan.

The powerful wind even whirls the waterfall upward.

Oh my. I shouldn't be sitting around.

Nori seaweed in midwinter is delicious.
It's shiny, too.

There's a tiny community surrounded by traditional bamboo fences called "magaki."

The "magaki" fences block the wind.
We're safe and sound inside.

I'm going to the shore today, my dear.

Not many of us left. The old ones die off,
and the youngsters move to the city.

Times are changing. What can we do?

Even in the middle of winter, Grandma Shisano goes to the seashore to harvest nori.

In her 80s, she still plucks the wild seaweed from the rocks with her bare hands.

I'm happy, thanks to
all the blessings of the sea.

This place is the best.

My hands are wrinkly and stubborn.

Her hands speak volumes about living alongside nature.

Kamiozawa in Wajima City is a tiny community of just 20 households.

Off to the mountains.

84-year-old Tokumitsu Shisano was born and raised here.

In autumn, she grows lots of vegetables in her plots outside the community.

This is one of them, in the mountains.

Which daikon radish should I pick?

Come on out!

This turned out well,
despite the harsh wind.

"Do you always use your bare hands?"

Yes. I never wear gloves.
It's easier without them.

- "Aren't you cold."
- My hands are. They're freezing.

"Your hands are covered with soil."

My hands are stubborn.

For the past 10 years or so, Shisano has been getting around on a mobility scooter.

Spring, summer, autumn, winter. She's out and about all year round.

"Do you have a favorite season?"

Not really. They're all the same to me.

In December in winter,
I harvest nori seaweed.

When I'm done with that,
I work in the rice paddies in spring.

I do the paddy work,
and also gather wakame seaweed.

After that, I cut weeds in the paddies.
In July, I have to dig up potatoes.

In September in autumn, I harvest rice.

I do the same thing every year.

The community is surrounded by "magaki" bamboo fences.

First built hundreds of years ago,

such fences have protected the residents from the biting sea winds.

Shisano was born in 1938.

She was the fourth of eight siblings.

Life was tough back then.

Their hard-working mother raised them, gathering food from the sea and the mountains.

We didn't have much to eat back then.

Just barley and such.

We'd eat cooked barley instead of rice.

Parents didn't eat much,
so they could feed their children.

There were 8 of us kids.
Our parents must've worked hard.

Just once, Shisano left this place and lived elsewhere for a while.

After graduating from junior high school,

she was sent to Tokyo, and worked there for a little over a year.

What did I do in Tokyo?
I worked as a maid.

I guess I did some cleaning.
I don't remember exactly.

My parents probably told me to go there.
Maybe we figured I couldn't stay home.

I don't remember if I was happy to leave
or missed home. Maybe I had no choice.

I really can't recall.

Shisano was around 20 years old, when she followed her parents' suggestion and married someone from the community.

He was good at catching fish.

Oh my, I'm tired.

Her husband, Kozo, passed away a few years ago.

The couple were together for 60 years, and had four children.

Thank you, my dear, for
watching over me again today.

Shisano now lives with her son and his wife, just the three of them.

Her daughter-in-law, Yumiko, works in town,

and her grandchildren have moved out of the community to find work.

I'm too old to travel.
I might as well enjoy my life here.

In autumn, people gather at Shisano's place to make mochi rice cakes for the seasonal festival.

They're childhood friends, born and raised in this community of "magaki" bamboo fences.

Now in their 80s, they've all lost their husbands.

"How long have you
all known each other?"

- Since we were born.
- We've been here for decades.

- We grew up here together.
- We got bigger and bigger.

This method of making rice cakes is well over a century old.

But now, these women are the only ones familiar with it.

There are only 49 people in the community.

The number is down to one-third of what it was 50 years ago.

- Hard to wrap the sweet bean paste.
- It doesn't stick.

Talk to the bean paste.

Hear that? She says,
"Talk to the bean paste!"

Not all the rice cakes will be given to a local shrine as offerings.

- We'll give some to the children.
- Yes, we'll share them with the kids.

We let them grab some,
saying we're having a festival.

They can eat their fill.

Shisano and her friends have been working together since they were young.

They were all in their early 20s, when this footage was taken in 1961.

It captured a scene of nori harvesting.

Cash income was limited.

So, the women competed with each other to gather the most seaweed.

We'd tell each other,
"Let's go to the shore."

It was fun for us women.

Here's Shisano with her friend and rival of 50 years, Kawakami Teruko, 82.

They used to go to a town 10 kilometers away to sell their sheets of dried nori.

They'd compete to see who could sell most.

To go and sell seaweed,
whether it's nori or wakame...

we'd wake up by 3 a.m.
and walk to the next town.

We wanted to be there, before
the townspeople went anywhere.

It was hard work.
But that's how things were back then.

When we were young,
we just did it because we had to.

For many years, these women have been scraping the rocks with their bare hands to gather nori.

You have a callus there.
Mine is here.

You've got a bump here, too.

Shisano always loves to work with her bare hands.

I got these hands from my parents.
Even without gloves on, they don't hurt.

I'm grateful to my parents
for giving me these hands.

Mid-December marks the beginning of the harvest season for wild nori.

On this day, record-level strong winds buffet the area.

The winds are so powerful, they have flipped the waterfall upside down.

The winds can be terrible.
Those around here are the worst.

For a whole week, the strong winds have kept the people inside the "magaki" bamboo fences.

Oh, it's cold.

It's still too windy to harvest nori.

But Shisano is on her way to check on the sea in her regular spot, as she's done for the past 60 years.

The sea has quieted down.
But the white caps show it's still dangerous.

I have to wait till tomorrow and see.

She notices that the color of the rocky area, where nori grows, is different than in past years.

There isn't much nori this year.
Those rocks aren't black yet.

- "What color is it now?"
- The normal color of the rocks.

When nori grows, the color gets darker.

The nori may be sparse, but she can't wait to go and harvest it.

It's hard work.
But I've been doing it for so long.

I'm itching to go, though I probably
won't be able to gather much.

I miss it.

The next morning...

Shisano figures the wind and waves are calm enough.

She bundles up, and heads for the shore.

Her friends have heard about it, and join her one after another.

Half a month later than usual, but it's what they've been waiting for:

the first harvest of the season.

Let's go!

- "Good luck!"
- I hope there's some nori. We'll see.

The women have to brave the waves to get to the best spots.

It can be dangerous, so they go and do the harvesting together.

Watch out for the waves.
They're coming from behind you.

Wild nori grows on the rocky shore, clinging to the surface of the rocks.

The women pluck the seaweed, roots and all, with their bare hands.

The air temperature is 5 degrees Celsius. But they don't wear gloves.

I like to use my bare hands.
They give me a firmer grip.

Grasping nature's blessings with bare hands... that's Grandma Shisano's way.

After coming home, she delicately pours the freshly harvested nori into a wooden frame to shape it into a square sheet.

Shisano's hands keep up a light rhythm on the seaweed.

I enjoyed that.

It would've been more fun if I could
get more. But there wasn't much.

"You were the last to leave today."

I always stay until the end.

- "Why?"
- Because I'm greedy.

The first harvest of the winter...

Shisano dried the seaweed for a whole day, making it into 20 sheets of nori.

After entering her 80s, Shisano started finding it hard to work in the mountains and by the sea.

Hi, Nana.
You're so cute!

"Is that a band-aid on your thumb?"

Well, after I plucked nori,
the nail turned red.

Maybe I scraped the rocks too much.

At my age, my hands are getting weak
and can't pluck nori firmly.

Not like when I was young.
Things slip away from my fingers.

Nana's hair is like nori.

Shisano has received an order from a neighboring town.

So she heads out with some nori in the middle of a snowstorm.

It's for someone who has been a regular customer for decades, since her parents were alive.

- Here's your nori. Enjoy.
- Thank you.

"Does her nori taste different?"

Yes, it does.

It's wild nori that grows on rocks.

Most people eat farmed nori.
But this seaweed is special.

In this winter season, there are still more people looking forward to Shisano's nori.

- About time!
- Good morning.

Grandma Shisano and her friends go to the shore again.

- Not much, right?
- Not really.

But everyone feels there is something different about the sea.

They've been gathering nori here for 60 years.

They say they've never had such a poor harvest before.

- Days like this are rare.
- First time this year.

Not much nori at all.

Then, the women think of something.

If there isn't much nori, why not shellfish?

They decide to look for some.

- Maybe we can find some.
- Yes, whatever we can find.

Let's go.

But the shellfish are in crevices in rocks that are difficult and dangerous to reach.

See? This isn't easy.
1, 2 and 3!

Nature can be harsh.

But Shisano and her friends embrace it, and continue to live life to the full.

Our hands are sturdy and stubborn.
Don't you think?

It's spring. The winds are gentler, and the "magaki" fences can take a rest.

Shisano has already gone somewhere.

We find her on a steep mountain slope.

I must look terrible.
Please stop the camera.

These are a type of wild onion.

I'm going to wash and sell them.
I'll ship them off.

Let's go.

- "That was a steep path."
- I'm getting too old for this.

I wasn't sure about this year.
But I guess I've managed it.

I'm glad. Let's go!

For Grandma Shisano, a new season begins.