Ikegami is a Tokyo ward less than an hour from Yokosuka assuming you switch to the right train in Yokohama which, of course, we did not. Thanks to two very helpful fellow passengers, we only had to backtrack one station to catch the train we wanted. Those two men were the first of many incredibly kind Nihonjin who touched our lives and hearts today.
Ikegami Baien, the plum garden, is roughly a mile due north of the train station. Today's glorious weather made for a pleasant stroll through the business district, across the Nomi-kawa river, and then through a residential neighborhood sprinkled with several small temples. Outside one house there was a flowering shrub that gave new meaning to the expression "Spring is in the air". Four noses twitched in unison and four faces were promptly buried in the shrub. Mmmmmm. I'd liked to buy a gallon bottle of that scent.
The garden was originally the residence of a famous Japanese painter and features two teahouses, oodles of stone lanterns, and hundreds of plum trees and azaleas. Admission was 100 yen (slightly over a dollar) although all of us were willing to pay ten times that much for the pleasure of wandering between those plum trees, especially when a light breeze sent a shower of pink and white blossoms drifting to the ground.
Most of the plum trees, thirty varieties in all, are grouped together on a hillside just inside the entrance. Above them, on the top of the hillside, are hundreds of azalea bushes which will bloom in late April or early May. (Note to self: schedule another visit to Ikegami when the azaleas are in bloom.)
Since the last thing the Krentz family needs is more furniture, Mike and I promised each other we would only buy garden ornaments, if anything, this time around. Stone lanterns appeal to me, the older the better, but I doubt we'll find any that fit our budget. Maybe I'll just have to settle for a stroll around the Tidal Basin in Washington, DC, every spring.
Ume is the Japanese word for plum, momo means peach, and sakura means cherry. That's generally the order in which they bloom. Some plum trees sure look a lot like cherry trees to this fruit novice but I don't suppose I need to be able to tell them apart to appreciate their beauty.
A man who works at the park insisted on taking our picture. That's Jane, me, Valerie, and Sherri. I think it's my sweater that's making my hair look reddish but maybe I need to start wearing a hat to protect my brunetteness (brunetteticity?).
What is it about old stone steps that makes them so irresistible? These were very slippery, especially coming down, and those handrails are only helpful if you are: (a) under five feet tall, (b) suffering from severe osteoporosis, or (c) not afraid of being mistaken for Groucho Marx. I chose Door Number Three.
We are all indebted to the elderly couple who steered us into a small enclosure in the middle of the garden and showed us how to position our ears over a bamboo pipe after pouring a ladle or two of water over the rocks at the other end of the pipe. I heard high, tinkling notes but Jane (left) says the water held low notes as well. My book didn't mention anything about singing rocks and there wasn't a sign anywhere near that little enclosure so we would have missed this special treat entirely had we not encountered that kind and generous couple.
