かやぶき屋根の民家

In the old days, the prefecture of Niigata (新潟） was referred to as Echigo (越後). I lived for many years in Nagano (as you may know if you read my other posts) which is directly adjacent to Niigata. I also spent two years studying at the International University of Japan (IUJ, or 国際大学 as it is known in Japanese), which gave me even more opportunity to get to explore and photograph the landscape of this fascinating  area. It is famous for it koshihikari rice, hotsprings, and beautiful mountain and coastal scenery. (Coming from British Columbia with the mountains and ocean, Niigata feels familiar.) Niigata has traditionally had an image as one of the isolated back-country regions of Japan (uranihon, 裏日本）. It is incorrect, actually, to think of Niigata as having been somehow cut off from  ”civilization”; it, along with other supposed isolated areas such as the Noto peninsula (能登半島） had much mercantile and cultural contact with other regions in Japan and mainland Asia due to the sea trade routes.

Niigata is also historically known as “snow country” (雪国) due to the massive amount of snow the cold winds from Siberia bring down onit. Dealing with the snow has had a strong influence on the people of Niigata — on their character and their lifestyle. One interesting physical manifestation of this is how the traditional homes were built — with doors on two stories, one for the summer on the ground floor and one on the second floor for access when the snow piled 2 or 3 metres high (it does — I have dug myself out of it).

The tiny thatched roof house or kayabukiyane no minka (かやぶき屋根の民家) in this scene is to be found in the charming mountain village of Matsunoyama (松之山）, which  these days is known for being one of the few remaining areas with a high concentration of thatched-roof dwellings. Throughout the country, such traditional thatched-roof dwellings are fast disappearing, either being covered in metal or being torn down and rebuilt entirely. It is a shame, because these farmhouses (the design of which is distinctive to each region of Japan) are one of the most charming aspects of the man-made landscape.

This picture was taken on a brilliant morning while driving from Nagano to Yamato-machi; after a heavy overnight snow fall, I knew taking a slight diversion through Matsunoyama would afford some great picture opportunities. I had passed by this scene several times before during different times of day during different seasons. This was the first time to see it blanketed in snow. The composition with my 180 lens was pretty straightforward. I took a few shots with the camera tilted a little lower but I prefer this framing, with a little bit of the top of the mountain showing to provide context.

The trickiest part of this shot was the exposure. Snow at the best of times can be difficult because of the reflection; however, this shot was complicated by the top-back-side light. I took reflective reading off several parts of the scene and calculated an average. I compared this average to a reading based on the incident light meter held at and angle to to simulate the angle of the sun. With the Sekonic 308, you can retract the white hemisphere into the unit, so I took another reading to simulate the shadow incident reading. After taking all these readings, I found a kind of overall average and then adjusted for gut-feeling. Aperture was at f16, and shutter speed at 1/60.

I did not use any filters. The blue cast is mainly from the high colour temperature of the light in the shadows. I find the blue cast from Kodak Ektachrome the most pleasing of all the films, and usually only use Ektachrome in the winter, as opposed to Fuji Velvia the other seasons.

As a postscript, I am sad to say when I visited this scene again not too long ago in the spring I found that the farmhouse had been ripped down. I remember when I first started taking pictures of this scene, I would often see a single elderly lady tending to the adjacent garden. Winter on her own must have been very difficult, having to deal with clearing the roof of snow. Many of the elderly are vacating such dwellings to live in more convenient communal dwellings closer to towns. I don’t blame them. But it is a waste that the dwellings are torn down. I know of several foreigners that make a living renovating such farmhouses into attractive homes. For some reason, the Japanese seem  to be less interested in keeping this part of their cultural heritage alive.

This photo was taken in the prefecture of Nagano (長野） in early May, just after rice planting, near the tiny mountain village hotspring of Takazawa　（高沢）. I had just been driving through the Utsukushigahara (美ヶ原） highlands when I received an e-mail from the office that I had to sit in on an important telephone conference.  I had to quickly come down from around 2000 meters into the valley where my cellphone would pick up the signal. I was racing — while lamenting over the fact that I would miss watching the sunrise from Utsukushigahara as the call was scheduled for around that time.

To cut time I took a shortcut — an old mountain road that I had not been on since living in Ueda (上田) in the early ’90s. I had completely forgotten how isolated this area was, how much old-world scenery it still retained. I passed by several thatched-roof  ”kayabukiyane” （茅葺屋根 ) farmhouses, several idyllic  hamlets perched over the valley and many tiered rice paddies.

Racing along, I could not help but notice over my right shoulder the scene you see here with the flowers in the foreground and the lines of seedlings being lit from behind, a little to the side. It was perfect light that brought out the fresh bright green of the “nae” （苗）.

Risking to miss my important call I quickly pulled the car over and got to work setting up my tripod and Hasselblad. A farmer sitting off to the side looked on in amusement at this foreigner frantically grappling with all his gear.

I used a 180 lens, so the issue with this shot, given that I was shooting from an angle above the paddy, was the depth of filed — the area in focus both in front of and behind the focal point. I stopped down the lens to f32, and, using the old panorama focus technique (which you can’t do on the modern Digital camera lenses!!), aligned the infinity mark of the focusing ring to the f32 mark on the aperture ring, thus bringing everything within 7 meters and infinity in focus. Perfect.

Next, metering. As I was standing in the exact same light at the subject, and there were not any challenging conditions such as clouds or nasty reflections, I used incident metering, tilting the white sphere of the meter slightly toward me to simulate the angle the the sunlight was hitting the seedlings from behind. Just to be sure, I spot metered, but it turned out the incident metering was perfect. Actually, I use incident metering quite a lot in landscape photography if the lighting conditions of where I am standing and the subject are the same. Good sunny days are easy. On overcast days, a trick I learned from a Japanese photographer is to point the white semi-sphere to the sky and then increase the reading by a stop. That always works well for me.

I took 2 or 3 shots, the last on that roll and then hurriedly started to pack my gear so I could get going again and make my call.

And then it happened.

As I always do immediately after finishing a roll of film,　I began to take the roll out of the magazine so as to have ready for the next new roll.  However, in my half excitement (“Oh, this shot is going to turn out great!”), half-haste (“My boss is going to kill me!”), I neglected to roll the film forward completely on to the pick-up spool — and as I took the film out of the magazine, I realized that I had exposed the last few shots to the sunlight! The best ones!!!

I don’t remember if that farmer was still there, but he must have been doubly amused to see this foreigner, now, just minutes later, cussing streams of all obscenities imaginable to the valley winds.

Ahh, such is life.

No choice — I quickly loaded a new film an shot the whole roll (12) just to make sure.  Camera off  the mount, tripod folded (again, in excitement and haste, fingers pinched between the metal legs and more obscenities　– what was this farmer thinking?), in the car, in gear and — vroom — racing again to get into cell phone range.

Usually, photography is a more deliberative, meditative process for me. It makes no sense to me to hurry hurry hurry to “get the shot”. Photography for me is more about the process than the end result. But sometimes, when pressed for time but you just know the shot is a winner, you throw all that away and just go for it. I prefer the more leisurely pace, but I am glad I pulled over that day. Must have made that farmer’s day, too.