2018秋en

2/28

Autumn 2018ContentsCover: Aoi Huber1Kampo: Traditional Japanese Medicine2Special Report: Medicinal Plants of NaraSowing Seeds for the FutureThe Medicinal Traditions of NaraPreserving Herbal IngredientsText by Kyoko TakahashiImparting an Understanding of Kampo MedicineTechnical skills of the herbal wholesalerInterview with Kozo FukudaPhotographs by Shigeyuki Morishita20Takenaka TopicsKampo: Traditional Japanese MedicineDuring the Edo period (1603-1867), the Shogunate promoted the study and cultivation of medicinal plants. In 1729, the eighth Tokugawa shogun Yoshimune organized an expedition to seek out and catalogue Japan’s medicinal plants. Nara prefecture eventually emerged as the center of medicinal plant cultivation: its Buddhist temples had a long history of using herbal remedies, and the region’s terrain and climate were well-suited to the cultivation of these plants. During the Meiji era (1868-1912), the mass-cultivation of medicinal plants in Japan led to a decline in Nara’s competitiveness; yet through the efforts of medicinal plant wholesalers and farmers, production of quality seedlings continued, thus preserving many of the area’s unique plant species. Today, the Japanese traditional, primarily plant-based medical treatment known as kampo, is gaining focus within the scope of integrative medicine; however, 80 percent of crude drugs used for kampo medicine preparation in Japan are imported from China. It is becoming ever more important to nurture the production of high quality traditional medicinal plants, and in response, Nara prefecture is working to preserve and disseminate knowledge about these plants for future generations.*Opposite: A hyakumi-dansu chest of paulownia wood; the name literally refers to its hundred storage drawers for holding crude drugs used for kampo medicines.The medicinal plants mentioned in this feature are accompanied by their scientific names as referenced in the Japanese Pharmacopoeia, 17th edition.Learning from PlantsSawako AgawaThis past spring I received a packet of seeds, handed out as part of a “greening” campaign. The packet contained five envelopes la-beled basil, arugula, radish, sunflower and goya (bitter gourd).I have no talent for growing plants. No matter how blithely I may be handed a plant and told “it’s easy!,” my usual experience has been that it ends up limp and withered. Obviously I don’t have a green thumb. But my appreciation for plants is deep and sincere. I love observing the flowers that bloom in each season, and revel in their fragrance and beauty more than I can say. But when it comes to cultivating them myself, for some reason I always fail. So I re-ally had no confidence with this particular packet of seeds. But I thought, Why not? I’ll give it a try. So I bought a planter and some soil and set to making myself into a gardener. After planting the seeds, I began to look forward to visiting the veranda each morn-ing, impatient to see some action. “Come on, little seeds, show your faces! What’s keeping you?” I watered and adjusted the planter to get plenty of sun. I watched intently. Finally, after a week, the first green seedlings appeared, earth clinging to the crowns of their heads. They were so cute! The first to come up were the arugula and radishes; next came the basil. It was another two weeks before there was any sign of life from the sunflower and goya seeds. About the time I began to think they might have decided not to appear at all, their sprouts finally broke through the soil.I realized that, even though I had planted all the seeds on the same day, the different varieties were growing at quite different rates. What made the sunflowers and goya hesitate down there in the soil, I wondered. But having once shown their heads, the latecomers grew rapidly. They quickly began to put out leaves, one after another, and soon outstripped the plants that had germinated earlier. The basil, which had been in the lead after sending out a few leaves, suddenly seemed to give up, as if too tired to continue. The arugula and radish flourished to a certain point, then gradually lost momentum—and before my bewildered gaze, their leaves with-ered one at a time.Such is the fate of the amateur gardener. But even an amateur has much to learn just watching the growth of plants. The leaves of different varieties might appear similar, but I realized that each one possessed a unique character. The plants also made me aware of my obsession with speed. Who was I to be impatient with these plants, which go about their own business of growing slowly and steadily, sustained by sun, soil and water? They kept growing, slowly and steadily, no matter what I might say. And should something nibble at the leaves or attack the roots, the plant quietly withers, unresist-ing and without a word of complaint. By comparison, we humans ... where indeed do we think we are headed? Resisting nature at every turn, will we ever be satisfied with the speed of things and the pursuit of every possible creature comfort? Gathering up the withered leaves each day, I was learning such things from my silent, growing plants.