A gentleman is doing research on fireflies and asks about a service that provides fireflies for parties. He tells us he lives on a small hill surrounded by trees with a huge expanse of rice fields below. Ideal for fireflies, he says, but they are exceedingly rare; his son has seen more on a single night in a back yard in Pittsburgh than he has in his span of seven years here. "Their fate is a tragedy most people seem to consider minor, but I think it is part of a much larger loss of the healthy relationship once shared by agriculture and the natural world in rural Japan," he adds.
Sad but true. We can no longer remember all the natural pleasures we once had. Japan misses its fireflies and is quite sentimental about them, which does nothing to create an environment that might coax them back. The firefly catchers gave up several years ago. Once, in summer, you could wander along the paths catching fireflies at Chinzan-so's garden in Ikebukuro. Traditionally, one would take them home and write a love poem by their light. After they disappeared, they were still flown in for the summertime pleasure of the guests. Now that too is gone.
However, something more than a memory remains. For the last few years the gardens have been filled with flickering lights thanks to the magic of fiber optics creating the illusion that thousands of fireflies are still there. It looks quite real, but you can't catch them and take them home. Still, I was grateful for the effort on a well-remembered night when I was invited to a Chinese feast at Yang Yuan Zhai in the Four Seasons Hotel, beautifully situated alongside the garden, and later strolled along the pathways pretending it was yesteryear. I'll remind you of this "almost firefly" festival next summer -- that is, if it is maintained as an old tradition adapted to the times.