Shiroyone Senmaida Sunset over the rice terraces and Wajima-nuri chopsticks

This time, I’d come to Noto to see the sunset reflected in the rice terraces during planting season. I drove the red convertible here from Ariake, and on the second evening of my 2-night stay, I followed National Route 249 to Shiroyone Senmaida. I wound along the coast and parked in the free car park at Senmaida Pocket Park. When I got out and turned toward the terraces, rows of little paddies descended the slope toward the sea. The view I’d seen in photos opened up in front of me, and for a moment I couldn’t find the words. The evening air was a little chilly, so I pulled my cardigan sleeves down over the backs of my hands.

Water in the paddies reflected the light in the sky. As I traced their shapes one by one, I noticed they weren’t all neat little squares. Narrow and curved plots joined together and spread across the whole slope. The paddies here are so small that even a tiller can’t get in, and I’d heard they’re still cultivated by hand the traditional way. Local farmers and volunteers also plant the rice by hand, and apparently they cut the grass again and again until harvest. Knowing all that, I could almost see traces of someone’s handiwork in every glint on the water.

Shiroyone Senmaida is a nationally designated Place of Scenic Beauty, and in 2022 it was also selected as a “Tsunagu Tanada Heritage” site. From inside the fence, the narrow ridges between the paddies looked like lines drawn across the slope. Grass peeked up here and there along the banks, making a clear edge against the shine on the water. I looked out toward the distant sea, then back to the paddies in front of me. Another shape caught my eye, and my gaze just wouldn’t settle.

I took out my Wajima-nuri chopsticks and held them up close to my face. The sunset caught their fine patterns, and the gold powder set into the carved lines began to glimmer. I tilted the chopsticks a little, then turned them back. I’d come to see the scenery, but now I was just as absorbed in the patterns. There was so much to look at; my eyes didn’t know where to go.

As I thought about which photo to send my friend, I wanted to get both the chopsticks and the terraces in the frame. What would a photo of me holding chopsticks with no food look like? Maybe she’d say I looked as if I were trying to pick up one of the rice paddies. I laughed at the thought, took just one photo, then lowered the chopsticks for a moment.

When I looked back toward the sea, the sun was lower than before. While I’d been studying the chopsticks, the light reflected in the paddies had been changing too. As the sun’s angle shifted, the patches of light gradually moved from one paddy to another, and the fields that had been shining a moment ago softened back into muted tones. I didn’t want to miss a single moment, and I couldn’t bring myself to put the chopsticks away.

I took my time looking out over the terraces and the sea until the sun went down. Even after the last light sank into the sea, a little brightness lingered on the water in the paddies; I watched until that faded too. As I put the chopsticks away, I wondered if eating with them back home would bring today’s view to mind. I heard you can even try making chopsticks with gold-inlaid designs at the Kōbō Nagaya workshop complex in Wajima. Next time, I want to bring a pair I made myself and watch the same sunset.

Back at the car park, I sent my friend the photo. Her reply came right away: “Are you trying to pick up the rice terraces?” It was almost exactly what I’d imagined her saying, and I burst out laughing in the driver’s seat. After I sent a reply, I started the engine and headed to the inn.