Reunion of tekiyas echoing at the first market in Kita-Kanto, circa 1985-86

Reunion of tekiyas echoing at the first market in Kita-Kanto, circa 1985-86

The winter sky over northern Kanto was clear and the ridge of Mount Akagi glowed white. When the crew walked from the station to Hachiman Shrine, more than 300 men were lined up on the shrine grounds, shaking their bodies and shaking hands to reunite with each other. The shoulders of black jumpers touched each other, fur half-coats glinted dully in the morning sun, and several heads with punch perms stood in a row, the young crowd surrounding them in silence. On this morning, when the first market reception opened, the air was cold, but the precincts were filled with a rather warm body heat.

What I heard there was that short and thick exchange of reunion. The air is cold and the temperature is rather warm in the precincts of the temple. The mere exchange of these voices is enough to make the scenery of the precincts of the temple rise to life. The smell of long-distance travel and the heat from the engines that have driven through the highways late at night are still present in the breath of the conversation.

The period from 1985 to 1986 was the eve of the bubble economy in Japan, a time of both exuberance and anxiety. Although the mass consumption society was accelerating and local shopping districts were declining, the value of traditional markets and fairs was being reevaluated, and the first winter market continued as an event that symbolized the local economy and culture. In the northern Kanto region, the Maebashi Hatsuichi Festival is held every year on January 9 and is known as a market with a history of over 400 years. During this festival, the city center and the national highway are closed to traffic and lined with stalls selling good luck charms, a scene that echoes that of the first market depicted in this book.

At this time, tekiya, a street vendor, was an indispensable profession for seasonal events in local cities. Shobawari, or the division of the market, was an important event that determined the year's earnings, and the garden owners who were in charge of it were also the shadow managers of the community. A word of concern for the health of the head of the board, the head of the local family, was not just a greeting, but an important confirmation that the foundation of the work was not shaky.

The words of the man who rushed from Oshu on three hours' sleep clearly show that tekiya is a business that requires constant movement. In those days, there were no cell phones, and important consultations had to be done face to face. For this reason, reunion conversations were like confirming the survival of a business associate. Men who had traveled all over the country and lived by the lights of festivals would tap each other on the shoulder in the precincts of the temple in winter. Behind them are the lights of the trucks that weave their way along the national roads at night, and the long history of the Hatsuichi market quietly flowing in the background.

Under the tents, the previous year's hand boards are spread out and shobas such as hondoba and gari are assigned in order. The central earning area is said to be the most competitive, and sales are said to be several times higher than those in the outlying areas. The tension in the temple grounds is therefore palpable, and the words of reunion between brothers echo like a brief respite, a mixture of elation and anxiety.

On a winter morning in the dry winds of northern Kanto, more than 300 men meet again to make sure each other is safe and to exchange brief words about the year they have lived through. In these fleeting conversations, the hardships of travel, the pride of the profession, the history of the land, and the fate of the tekiya profession are all layered on top of each other. Behind the scene where the man from Oshu is tapped on the shoulder with a laugh, the climate of the northern Kanto region and the traditions of Japanese street vendor culture are alive and well.