We approached during a downpour, uncertain whether our destination would be open because of Ōgon Shūkan—a period beginning at the end of April and lasting for about a week into early May, also known as Golden Week. Four national holidays fall within seven days, giving Japanese workers a rare chance to take extended leave from their jobs, socially secure in knowing that others are doing the same. Sure enough, when we arrived, we found nobody—only a Japanese house with an attached garage workshop, backing onto an expanse of urban farmland, silent except for the sound of rain and passing traffic. However, it didn't feel like a wasted journey, as the main attraction was at the front of the property, accessible to anyone from the street: a vast collection of thousands of bonsai trees, some priceless.

The miniature trees on display varied from those still growing from a more extended parent tree branch to majestic 100-year-old specimens, several feet tall with gnarled trunks, perfectly formed branches, and a sense of wisdom about them—just like a centuries-old full-sized tree can convey. As the rain fell, the trees remained silent and unperturbed, with droplets rolling off their leaves and sinking into the soil in their pots. We decided to dial the number on the Google listing. After a few rings, a voice answered, and a few minutes later, Kitadani Ryuichi emerged from the garage.

Anyone who has searched YouTube for bonsai-keeping tips might have come across Kitadani's channel, where he teaches the art of bonsai. Recognising the considerable interest in bonsai outside of Japan, he includes subtitles in multiple languages and localises his titles. I had found his videos a few years before during an initial attempt at keeping bonsai. However, I quickly realised that what I was trying to achieve with my garden-centre-bought indoor tree in my London apartment was mostly incompatible with his seasoned expertise.

Kitadani is also innovating his millennia-old vocation by offering enthusiasts a way to participate in maintaining one of his finest, oldest trees via NFT. The idea isn't drastically different from what I set up for my Ko-fi page. Kitadani is pressed for time, caring for his extensive nursery of bonsai trees at various stages of life, which requires several hours of daily monitoring and watering, along with seasonal pruning and repotting. Moreover, he explained to us that tending the land has to take priority over the trees, which means they don't receive as much attention as they might and thus don't always live up to their potential.

By purchasing one of several tiers of NFT, you're buying him the time to dedicate to his chosen tree, a 200-year-old black pine, which he will work on diligently to enter into a competition. It's twofold, as not only do patrons help nurture the tree, but these competitions are a vital part of a bonsai nursery's marketing strategy. He's also been able to use funds for wiring to control and shape the branches and to commission a new pot for the tree, which isn't usually available in this size. 

When you buy an NFT, your name is put on a wooden tanzaku nameplate in the garage workshop, much like the wooden plates hanging on izakaya walls that list menu items written vertically in kana and kanji. Extra time and effort are involved in directly communicating with those who purchase the more expensive, high-tier NFTs; he offers pieces of his time to these privileged patrons. He is a kind but busy man, and accordingly, he limits our impromptu visit to a generous 20-minute chat before departing, letting us know we are free to spend as long with the trees as we wish. However, time was shorter than I would have liked, as this was our last stop on a brief tour of Takamatsu city, and we were due on a flight to Tokyo.

Last week, I found myself back at Haneda Airport, but this time at the domestic terminal. The floors gleamed as usual in the departure hall, and despite the Golden Week crowds, the atmosphere remained calm. Getting your boarding pass, going through security, and finding the gate is remarkably stress-free. Within two hours, you can reach almost any of Japan's airports from Haneda's domestic terminal. Takamatsu is the principal city in Kagawa Prefecture on Shikoku Island, the smallest of Japan's main islands. Kagawa is also the country's smallest prefecture. Kitadani Yōseien, interpreted as Kitadani Bonsai Nursery, is in the Kinashi district of Takamatsu, known as a Bonsai Village for its high concentration of bonsai growers.

Japan's Golden Route includes Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka, with variations like Mount Fuji, Hakone, Kobe, and Hiroshima. Few overseas visitors stray from that path to the island of Shikoku. Many Japanese citizens haven't been there either. Indeed, I had planned to stay close to the Greater Tokyo area during this trip. Still, since starting Tokyothèque, one of my goals has been to not only explore Tokyo's creativity and essence but also to detail the routes radiating out from the city. While the country's entire culture is concentrated here in some form, it is also the geographical launchpad for nearly all inbound travel—the interchange necessary to access the vastness of Japan. My intention to venture out from the metropolis was to start somewhat more gradually than Shikoku, a solid 683 kilometres south of Tokyo, past Kyoto and across the waters of either Osaka Bay or the Seto Inland Sea. However, I was invited to Kagawa and couldn't resist. It proved to be worthwhile and thought-provoking.

One of Japan's major contemporary issues is the depopulation of its regions. Just a few weeks ago, the Japan Times reported on a study by the Population Strategy Council, which revealed that more than 40% of Japan's municipalities face a significant risk of disappearing due to a persistently low birth rate. The study identified 744 out of 1,729 local municipalities that could vanish. It also notes that municipalities focus on preventing migration to urban areas like Tokyo rather than increasing birth rates. There are also instances of competition between neighbouring cities to attract younger populations—a zero-sum game. It suggests that even when regional Japan successfully retains or attracts young people, it does not make a significant impact unless they have children.

Everything I write in this newsletter relates to the magnetism of Tokyo, but as someone who loves Japan as a whole, I feel the need to engage with the problem of regional depopulation. It's a complex topic, but for now, I suggest one thing: visit these places. A gentle distribution of tourist flow might help revitalise them. But if the worst happens and we truly cannot prevent regional cities, towns, and villages from fading away, the mission remains crucial: to experience and support these areas while they still exist in their current form. It's not easy to leave the comfort of the Golden Route—even as a seasoned Japan traveller and former resident, I wished someone had made a Tokyothèque-like resource for Takamatsu to help me understand the city better. I want to help with this in the future, and hopefully, as this project grows, its scope can widen beyond the borders of Tokyo.

Kitadani Ryuichi's goals for his NFT patronage venture surpass maintaining his bonsai nursery's prized tree. He is the fourth-generation keeper of Kitadani Yōseien, and from his vantage point in Takamatsu, which produces 80% of Japan's pine bonsai, he has seen several challenges in recent years, including a shrinking domestic market and a shortage of business successors. These problems are directly tied to declining populations. He's using a globally focused YouTube channel and an NFT patronage programme not as a novelty or purely to subsist on but as an effort to secure a future for his industry and hometown. A young successor who loves his family business and intuitively understands technology's possibilities is a rarity: payments in Ethereum for precision pruning a 200-year-old miniature tree may not be the definitive answer, but the mindset to embrace these innovations is vital.

Until we meet in Takamatsu,

AJ