When you think of Japan, agriculture might not be the first word that comes to mind. Considering the digital reach of Sony and Nintendo, or the global presence of Toyota, Honda, and Nissan, you might rather think of the sprawling cities that drive this innovation, and the sooty smokestacks in the shipping ports that export all these products across the world. But for centuries Japan has been a country rich with blossoms, fruit groves, well-kept canals, and of course, expansive rice fields.

As such, with the summer coming to an end, the harvest has always played an important role in Japanese culture. Many dishes and ingredients are tightly tied to the seasons, and from September through to November the country celebrates one harvest festival after the other. Most of these involve music and dance, as they should, but each is also differentiated by particular traditions or customs. Let me present two.

Takayama is a mid-sized city tucked in a green valley of the Japanese Alps. Mount Norikura, over 3000 meters tall, guards the city from the East, and forms a brooding backdrop to the black-timbered houses of its old districts. But twice a year, these dark streets light up in celebration. Bright pageants run between the teahouses, with shrill flutes and deep drums announcing the procession. At the head of these, pulled by thick ropes and pushed by burly arms from behind, goes the star of the show.

Every October, after the rice has been cut and the grain brought into storage for the winter, the expert craftsmen of Takayama bring forth their expertise to create a most impressive puppetry show. Hidden inside the red-and-golden wagon, they pull the strings of their marionettes, to make them perform flips and summersaults, far beyond what seems possible. The royally dressed dolls seem to enjoy the circus completely through their own participation.

Just a valley away from Takayama’s puppets, the villagers of Shirakawa take up their own celebration. Shirakawa’s Doburoku Festival follows closely upon Takayama’s wizardry, perfect to drown the fears that immaterial puppets might start to stalk one’s dreams. Guided by more reed flutes and hollow drums, the priests carry forth an enormous wooden tub filled to the brim with Doburoku, an opaque liquor distilled from the recently harvested rice. 

One by one the eager ladies of the village approach the tub to fill their copper kettles, hasting towards the thirsty crowds, where they take care to pour everyone a cup, and a second, a third, or a fourth at that. How many did Mom have?

If the dancing puppets of Takayama still haunt your thoughts then, simply ask for a fifth, sixth, and a seventh cup. For they won’t stop pouring until the barrel is empty!