Riding the shinkansen always gives me a certain thrill. It still boggles my mind how one can travel so comfortably and effortlessly at 285 km/h. (Just imagine a jeepney going 90 km/h—you’d be clutching the rails for dear life, right?) And this time, the excitement was doubled because I was traveling with close friends to a place none of us had ever been before.

We were headed to Yama No Ie, a small lodging nestled deep within the forested mountains of Shizuoka, Japan’s largest green tea-producing region. But tea wasn’t what brought us here. We came in search of sanctuary—a quiet refuge far away from the rush, noise, and endless commotion of city life. It felt like a pilgrimage, a retreat into nature to find silence, stillness, and peace.

We came prepared, carrying food supplies for two days, excited to explore the surrounding forest and visit the meditation spots just downhill from the cottage. But—oh yes!—I forgot to mention: the weather forecast had predicted heavy rain for our entire stay.

The caretaker who greeted us was a cheerful lady who gave us a warm tour of the place. “The house is big,” she said, laughing. “So enjoy yourselves indoors. It’s going to rain until tomorrow.” Then, with a grin, “Too bad you won’t see Mt. Fuji... Oh, and be sure to lock the doors so you don’t get any unexpected visitors—by that, I mean insects.”

Phew.

The lodging house used to be an old school building, later renovated into a summer camp lodge for kids and youth. Our room was spacious enough for the four of us to lay our futons side by side, perfect for late-night whispers, throwback stories, and songs from our younger days. We sang tunes that once inspired us back when we were young, idealistic volunteers fresh out of college—years (or was it decades?) ago.

Eventually, the reminiscing quieted. My three friends drifted off to their own dreamlands, while I stayed up alone, writing in the wide ante-room. Feeling the exhaustion slowly creeping in, I finally stood up to stretch and prepare for bed when—

I saw it.

A fast-moving creature made its way toward me, and I knew instantly what it was—and what it could do. I instinctively raised a slipper. Not to squash it—it was way too huge for that—but to defend myself. It was the biggest I had ever seen. I shouted, “Tomomi! Wake up! Help! It’s heading toward the bedroom!” Without missing a beat, Tomomi jumped up, looked it straight in the eye—if it had one—grabbed a slipper, and swiftly shooed it away. It scurried out through the gap beneath the door. It was a centipede. More than 20 cm long. Red and black, thick, crawling with way too many legs—and way too much confidence.

The next morning, when we told the caretaker about our night-time terror, she brushed it off with a laugh. “Ah, that’s just mountain life! That must’ve been a very impressive centipede—must be the pure water from Mt. Fuji and the rich Shizuoka soil.” I was still traumatized, but I had to admire her cheerfulness. And we were grateful—it could have been a snake!

Expecting another rainy day indoors, we were overjoyed to see bright sunlight pouring through the windows early the next morning. The rain had retreated, perhaps satisfied after its night-long performance. With camera in hand, I explored the grounds, the caretaker happily guiding me along.

Walking under the canopy of white, pink, and dark pink ume blooms just a couple of weeks ago, I couldn’t help but feel a little downhearted at the thought that not many people today are aware of and appreciate these classic blossoms that have long been at the heart and soul of the Japanese psyche. While it’s unsurprising that these flowers have inspired both nobility and ordinary Japanese alike to immortalize them in songs, poetry, novels, and books, somewhere along the eras following the Nara period, the once-revered ume has been overshadowed by the more popular sakura.

But let me share another side of this timeless ume—one that some of us may not have encountered while living in the Land of the Sourest Ume.

Refreshing Wine and Healthy Drink

While sakura petals flutter away with the wind, ume blossoms transform into little green plums, ready for harvesting. Many plums fall before they fully mature, as the trees can only sustain so many. This natural process provides the perfect source for making wines and other refreshing beverages.

I recall our early days in Japan when my children’s kindergarten introduced them to ume picking. The school had a vast ume orchard next to a charming chapel, and the kids came home with grocery bags full of green plums—too sour to eat, too young to ripen. I had no idea what to do with them at the time! Looking back, I now realize that, for Japanese mothers, those green plums were gold.

Nowadays, I wish I owned an ume orchard so I could make enough plum wine to last a whole year! I prepare ume wine with alcohol for my husband and a non-alcoholic version for myself and my grandkids. Through this tradition, I’ve discovered the many health benefits of drinking ume wine and its non-alcoholic counterpart daily.

The Umeboshi as a Superfood

Umeboshi, the pickled plums gathered in late spring and early summer, are a staple in traditional Japanese breakfasts. Packed with essential minerals that boost endurance and strength, umeboshi are commonly eaten with rice in the first meal of the day.

Obento boxes are often decorated with umeboshi, either placed on top of rice or as a flavorful filling in onigiri. These pickled plums not only enhance the taste but also prevent food from spoiling and protect the body from dehydration during the hot summer months. They replenish essential salts and minerals, combat fatigue, and boost energy levels.

Whenever flu or sickness strikes at home, okayu (rice porridge) with a large umeboshi is the go-to remedy. Not only does it whet the appetite, but it also revitalizes the body and spirit—often resulting in an instant smile from the patient.

The health benefits of this superfood cannot be overstated. Historical records mention how salt-pickled umeboshi have been used to reduce fever, ease coughing, and counteract nausea. They are also believed to alkalinize the body, aid digestion, eliminate toxins, and process excess sugar and alcohol—making them a well-known hangover cure. While the West swears by the saying, “An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” the Japanese version might as well be, “An umeboshi a day keeps the doctor away.”

Beyond pickling, ume has seamlessly integrated into Japanese cuisine. From ume-flavored udon and soba to ume pasta, jams, spreads, candies, cakes, salts, sauces, and dressings—this fruit has been a treasured part of Japanese culture for centuries.

Gazing at Plum Blooms With Different Eyes

As I admire the plum blossoms this spring, I no longer see just their fleeting beauty. Instead, I look at them with gratitude, hope, and anticipation for all the benefits they bring to both body and soul. Truly, they are a manifestation of the wisdom and artistry of our Creator—a miracle to be appreciated in every form.

One type of bloom that fascinates and sparks curiosity during the coldest months of the year is the mid-winter flowering tree the Japanese call roubai. Its name means “candle-like,” referring to the waxy texture of its petals—plump, shiny, and luminous. These blooms may appear delicate, but they are surprisingly solid and sturdy to the touch.

Belonging to the plum family, roubai stands out not only because of its vibrant yellow hue but, more so, for its sweet, intoxicating fragrance. The scent fills the crisp winter air, guiding you like a compass as you make your way to a roubai orchard.

Close your eyes and imagine holding a scented candle. The fragrance of roubai is akin to the sampaguita, but stronger and more pronounced. It also evokes the richness of ilang-ilang or tropical jasmine varieties.

What’s in a scent? It’s widely believed—and scientifically proven—that aromatherapy can be a powerful path to healing. Essential oils derived from flowers and other parts of plants can uplift the spirit. Floral scents, in particular, create a natural energy that boosts happiness, increases confidence, and reduces feelings of stress, anxiety, and agitation.

Perhaps this is why so many Japanese make it a point to visit roubai orchards in the middle of winter. Amid icy temperatures and snow-covered landscapes, these radiant and fragrant blooms emerge as beacons of beauty and balm for the soul.

This winter, I find myself once again drawn to the roubai blooms at Kyodo Forest Park. As I walk slowly and meditatively along the roubai-lined path, I pass a few couples enjoying the scene. Overhearing a conversation between two of them, I couldn’t help but smile:

The woman said, “We used to travel up north just to see these blooms and savor their lovely scent before spring arrived…”
The man replied, “I’ll never tire of their fragrance. It brings back so many memories.”

How can one not become scentimental?