Nara Village Shaped by 1,400 Years of History

The village is often described by the old word “mahoroba,” meaning a wonderful and comfortable place to live, a term that seems perfectly suited to Asuka. Terraced rice paddies that change with the seasons, clusters of red spider lilies lining narrow farm paths, children chasing insects through the fields, and traditional festivals held to pray for family prosperity and abundant harvests all form part of the enduring scenery.

These landscapes and customs have been shaped by centuries of life centered on rice cultivation, a way of living that has been passed down through generations and continues to define the character of the region.

Among those helping sustain these traditions is the Segawa family, who moved to Asuka Village in 2014. Ken Segawa and his family cultivate rice using organic methods that avoid pesticides and chemical fertilizers, working to revive agricultural practices rooted in the area’s history.

Segawa and his family often share simple moments around freshly cooked rice. "Yes… it’s standing, it’s standing," one voice says while checking the pot. "I’m glad it cooked well. It smells great." As they taste it, the reactions are immediate. "This is a life with rice. Delicious… wow, this is amazing." Someone jokes that rice grown where weeds thrive might taste better, explaining that if weeds grow vigorously, the soil must be rich and full of life.

That daily rhythm of growing rice has long protected and nurtured the village.

About an hour by car from central Osaka, beyond the mountains, lies Asuka Village in Nara Prefecture, home to roughly 5,000 residents. The ancient word “mahoroba,” meaning a wonderful and comfortable place to live, perfectly describes the quiet settlement.

Many residents say the scenery still reflects Japan’s original landscape. One local remarks that the village has hardly changed since childhood: the view is almost identical to what it looked like when he attended kindergarten and elementary school more than 60 years ago.

The village’s distinctive scenery has been shaped by both history and nature. Archaeological remains dating back to the Asuka period 1,400 years ago remain scattered throughout the area, and the landscape itself is protected by law.

Yet it is people who have preserved the village’s timeless appearance. Their lives revolve around rice.

Everything begins with a single grain. Each year, one grain of seed rice produces hundreds more.

Segawa is one of the farmers continuing that cycle. Before moving to Asuka, he worked in retail sales at a general store, but he had long admired the idea of growing rice directly from the soil. Seven years ago he decided to relocate to the village and enter the world of rice farming.

"When people around me say I’m starting to look like a real farmer, it makes me feel relieved and happy," Segawa says. "I also love the clean air and the beautiful stars at night. Being able to live in a place I’ve always liked feels like a blessing."

Rice farming has also become a source of community connection. Before planting season, children sometimes play in freshly prepared paddies, splashing in the mud. One child laughs at the unusual sensation of sinking into the warm soil. Another recalls the first time getting stuck in the mud and being unable to move.

For Segawa, planting seedlings in the paddy resembles sending children out into society. "It’s like releasing them into the world," he says.

However, many traditional customs surrounding rice cultivation had already begun to disappear from the village.

One example is a ritual food known as “saburi mochi,” in which crushed wheat dough is shaped into balls and placed on rice plants as an offering to pray for a good harvest. Reviving such customs has helped reconnect villagers with one another.

"When people gather like this and interact, the community grows," Segawa explains. "Culture is preserved in those moments. It’s an ideal situation, and I want to share it with others."

Rice cultivation follows the rhythm of the seasons. Summer brings both vitality and hardship.

Weeds known as konagi can quickly spread across paddies, stealing nutrients from the rice and preventing proper growth. Because Segawa avoids both pesticides and fertilizers, his fields require careful and time-consuming weeding by hand.

Even so, nature sometimes presents unexpected challenges. In 2020, an outbreak of planthoppers—the worst in Nara Prefecture in roughly 50 years—severely damaged rice crops across the region. Some paddies were completely wiped out.

"When you’ve spent an entire year working on a crop and it ends like that, it’s painful," Segawa admits.

Yet his pesticide-free fields suffered less damage than many others. He believes this is because diverse insects living in the paddies help control pests naturally.

"Other insects eat the planthoppers," he says. "It made me realize that the hints for living in harmony with nature might already be right here."

By autumn, the rice plants mature into golden stalks. Spider lilies bloom along the edges of the fields, their red and yellow contrast forming a distinctive seasonal landscape. The bulbs of these flowers are poisonous, which historically helped keep away mice and moles that might damage crops—another example of traditional agricultural wisdom.

Still, the future poses challenges. As the population declines, residents worry about how long they can maintain the paddies and pass on the landscape to the next generation.

Families with young children often visit the fields for walks, enjoying the gentle wind and quiet natural surroundings. Nearby farmers proudly display the year’s harvests of vegetables and rice.

Despite the difficulties, Segawa continues to believe in the value of natural farming.

"Human power can’t overcome nature," he says. "This is work that requires learning to live alongside it."

The year’s harvest eventually arrives. Holding the ripened grains in his hand, Segawa smiles.

"They shine. The shape is uniform, and the grains are full," he says.

Rice farming, he explains, is both unforgiving and forgiving. A single event can ruin a crop, yet the cycle always begins again with a new seed.

"As long as you have the motivation, you can start over anytime," he says. "Plants teach us that."

People who taste the rice often remark that it carries something beyond flavor. "It’s sweet and delicious," one visitor says. "You can almost feel the care Segawa put into growing it."

Winter brings another side of life with rice. Materials left over from farming are reused for community and welfare projects, creating a sense of shared abundance.

Traditional rituals also continue, such as the making of sacred rope decorations and protective boundaries meant to keep misfortune away.

Over the years, Segawa has gradually become a trusted member of the community. Villagers praise his dedication to local events and his willingness to take on responsibilities.

"At first people wondered who he was," one resident recalls. "But now everyone sees how hard he works."

Through steady effort, Segawa has planted his own roots in Asuka.

The cycle of rice farming ends each year with the burning of the sacred ropes used in rituals—a symbolic closing of the season.

"If I could grow old in this village, that would make me very happy," Segawa says. "I want this to remain a place that we can pass on to the next generation."

Years have passed since he first arrived. Now, more than a decade later, new apprentices have begun learning the craft of rice cultivation under his guidance.

"For Japanese people, rice is the foundation of our food culture," Segawa says. "So the next generation of people who can grow rice is also being born."

In Japanese, one interpretation of the word for rice plant, “ine,” is “the root of life.”

In Asuka, those roots spread quietly and deeply through the fields, continuing to support the enduring life and culture of Mahoroba Asuka.

Source: YOMIURI