Heritage

There are more than 100 moss varities at Saihoji.

I am now traveling in Japan for five weeks, from mid-June to mid-July—approximately the same dates as the rainy season. While I do not relish jumping across puddles and dodging umbrellas, I always remind myself that it's a small price to pay for what the rain brings—water to Japan's well-tended paddies, where neat rows of tender shoots are now sprouting above irrigated fields.

Luckily for me, the rainy season is also the best time of year to visit Kyoto's Saihoji Temple, popularly known also as Kokedera, the Moss Temple. Thus it was that I was ecstatic about the slight mist falling from the skies last week as I made my way to the western end of the city. After all, it's not easy to visit this UNESCO world heritage site. Fearing that adoring hordes would destroy this fragile ecosystem, the temple restricts the number of visitors. Even in this technological age, you have to apply in writing at least seven days in advance, stating your name, address, and desired date to visit (along with second and third choices) and include a self-addressed return envelope for the reply. So when you are finally granted permission to come, you feel like you've won the lottery. And here I had the bonus of rain. I couldn't have asked for a better day.

 

This pond at Saihoji is shaped after the kanji for heart.

Formerly the site of a villa belonging to Prince Shotoku, Saihoji was converted into a Zen temple in 1339. It's famous for its velvety-green moss garden spread underneath the trees and around a pond. Altogether there are more than 100 different kinds of moss, all growing naturally, with such popular nicknames as "water moss," and "cedar moss."

Before I could see the moss, however, I was ushered into a large tatami room along with all the other lucky visitors at our appointed time. We sat respectfully in rows behind tiny desks while monks lit incense, gonged a bell, and chanted sutras. We were then instructed to write down a wish on a wooden tablet with a calligraphy brush. I wished for a long and happy life, which seemed to encompass all other possible wishes.

Moss thrives underneath a tree.

That done, we were then turned loose in the garden and allowed to stroll through at our own pace. I was amazed at how iridescent the moss was, how varied and how inviting. There are several tea ceremony houses on the grounds, and a winding path leads around a pond shaped in the Japanese kanji for "heart."

I would have liked to stay all day, but alas, I had other sights to see. Strangely, after my visit to Saihoji, I began noticing moss everywhere, spread on temple gardens throughout Kyoto. Apparently, Kyoto's rainy season and high summer humidity create the perfect breeding ground for moss. Glad I have my umbrella.