Japan has 22,380 farm stands and farmers’ markets, with total annual sales reaching 1,087.9 billion yen, according to the 2022 Comprehensive Survey on the Sixth Industrialization by the Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries. These places not only help increase producers’ income but also play a role as community hubs, enabling people to gather and socialize.
I live in Kawasaki City, Kanagawa
Prefecture, which is only 20 km from central Tokyo but has as many as 184 farm
stands. A growing number of people in the city have given up their farmland for
inheritance and other reasons, but many still keep working hard as farmers.
Indeed, there are four or five farm stands within walking distance of my house.
My favorite stand is called “Minami,”
located near a waste collection site and only a two-minute walk from my house,
where you can buy a variety of vegetables and flowers with a 500-yen coin.
At Minami, our conversation would start with “Welcome!” by Auntie Setsuko, the owner of the stand, followed by something like:
“Good morning. What do you recommend
today?”
“How can I cook this leafy green?”
“The veggies I bought the other day,
they were sweet and delicious!”
Setsuko, aged around 80, has been
through a lot, such as loss of her husband a few years ago, a severe burn, and cancer
surgery. Despite all these and other challenges, she stays strong and keeps selling
vegetables. Her son and his wife have taken over the farm work.
Setsuko isn’t the most friendly or
efficient person in the world, but everybody loves Minami.
One of the reasons for Minami’s
popularity may be the visibility of Setsuko’s farm from the street. We can
watch her vegetables and flowers grow as we take trash to the collection site,
where I often hear neighbors’ conversations like, “I can see her daikon radish
is almost ready,” “I can’t wait to taste her taros,” and “What? She is growing
cabbages?”
Even my father, aged 82 who can
easily feel lost at supermarkets because they sell too many items, enjoys
shopping at Minami. He would come home from Minami, saying with a joyful voice
like, “I’ve got Chinese cabbage, just the right size for making pickles,” and “The
Japanese green onions were really cheap. She even gave me overgrown cucumbers!”
The mother of my sister-in-law has moved
to my neighborhood from Yamaguchi Prefecture, almost 1,000 km away, after her
husband passed away. She knew no one in the community, but she goes to Minami
all the time and has made friends with Setsuko, who often gives her extra
vegetables and flowers. The mother-in-law seems to have gotten acquainted with
other Minami customers, and now spends more time chatting with them when
walking her dog.
We cook special New Year dishes in
Japan, and some vegetables are essential for making these. As in the end of any
other years, Auntie Setsuko’s stand was filled with these veggies, and we
enjoyed conversations like:
“Satoimo taros are available till
when?” “They’re all gone, but Yatsugashira taros are coming.”
“This Chinese cabbage is too big for
us,” “Alright. Come back tomorrow, I’ll get you a smaller one.”
“I wish I had a little more Komatsuna
green,” “Hold on a minute. I’ll have my son go to the field and pick some more.”
“I’d like to buy pansy plants,” “If
you buy three, you get one free. Go to the field and pick whichever you like.”
The busiest time of the year for
Minami is summer, the season for edamame beans and corn.
The stand opens at 9 a.m., but a long
line is formed way before then, consisting of all kinds of people including moms
with their kids in strollers, seniors in the neighborhood, dads who've rushed
by bike to do the shopping for their wives, and small kids running errands by
themselves. Everyone is covered in sweat in the heat with no shades.
While waiting for the opening, I can
hear conversations among people in line:
“It’s really warm, isn’t it? I’ll
keep your spot here, so why don’t you take your child to the shade?”
“I’ve brought a chair, so I’ll sit
here.”
“I have a parasol, so let’s share the
shade.”
“Hey kid, have this barley tea while
waiting.”
“All I need is Setsuko’s edamame beans
and corn to enjoy my beer!”
And then, a message starts coming
from the front of the line: “Only three bags per customer today!”
Once the clock hits 9:00 a.m., the
edamame beans and corn fly off the shelves. When they are almost gone,
customers would consider others behind them to make sure they can buy the items
as well, saying, “I’ll just take one bag today,” and “I’ll buy corn tomorrow.”
Before they know it, those customers have become buddies who have endured the
heat together.
Meanwhile, Auntie Setsuko has her
hands full trying to manage the line. In her tiny stand, which can only take
three people or so at a time, she has to serve these customers, handle cash
(she only takes cash, of course), and calculate total prices in her head (she
doesn’t have a cash register, of course) at the same time. Naturally, she can
get a bit panicky once in a while.
But these customers are there to help
her: “Auntie, the total is XX yen,” “He’s the next customer,” “You don’t have
change? I have some, so I go first and you can use those coins for them.”
Everyone there is part of the business
and the community.
The farm stand Minami is a place to
sell vegetables, but it also lets us rediscover the joy of buying and selling
items through conversation, and reminds us that all these people out there,
from kids to seniors, are our neighbors.
This new informal hub is now helping
us grow a loose network of neighbors.
Written by Mamiko Kashima
The map of 184 farm stands and
farmers’ markets in Kawasaki Cｉｔｙ (in Japanese)
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