The tactile sensation of an umbrella and nature

When I pass by Onari Elementary School in Kamakura, I always look up at the big trees. I think they might be camphor trees, but on rainy days, the color of their leaves deepens, and the blackness of their trunks stands out even more. Walking beneath them with an umbrella, it feels as if the trees themselves are also like giant umbrellas. People have gathered in the shade of trees since ancient times, seeking refuge from the sun and shelter from the rain. Perhaps the umbrella, as a tool, is a small, portable version of that.

Thinking about the relationship between nature and umbrellas, I recall the rainy bus stop scene from 'My Neighbor Totoro' that I watched as a child. If I watch it carefully, Totoro initially holds the umbrella he received from Satsuki without knowing what it is. Then, he is surprised by the sound of raindrops bouncing off the umbrella and joyfully jumps around. Even though an umbrella is a tool to avoid rain, for Totoro, it seems like a "toy" for experiencing the sound of rain.

Totoro, in fact, lives next to a giant camphor tree. Totoro sleeps in a hollow-like space at the base of the tree, avoiding wind and rain, and is surprised when he touches a small umbrella made by humans. It's a scene that succinctly portrays the encounter between humans and nature (or gods). It really makes you realize that humans are creatures who create tools, whether consciously or unconsciously.

Come to think of it, an umbrella is a very primitive tool. It creates a roof over your head and protects your body from rain and sun. Despite having only that function, people have carried this small roof with them since ancient times, devising various materials and shapes.

According to 'Umbrella: A Cultural History of the Umbrella,' the origin of the umbrella was not merely as rain gear or sunshade, but a symbolic tool associated with authority and prayer. In ancient times, only kings and religious figures could possess (or be given) umbrellas, which apparently symbolized being "protected by heaven." Indeed, when I walk with an umbrella, even if only slightly, I feel like I have my own personal space. It feels like carrying a small room through the city.

It seems that people in the past called Western-style umbrellas "koumori-gasa" (bat umbrellas). This is because their open shape resembled a bat spreading its wings (more precisely, its wing membranes). Indeed, the sight of slender ribs radiating outwards has the presence of a bat's wing. Although it's a name rarely heard now, it retains the sensibility of an era when tools were grasped by their form. Perhaps the name also contained a slight surprise of seeing something exotic.

For a long time in Japan, an umbrella meant one made of bamboo and washi paper. While it was a tool to keep off the rain, well-crafted ones like 'bangasa' (sturdy Japanese umbrellas) also served as advertisements, displaying store names or family crests. Later, after Western-style fabric umbrellas arrived, they were distinguished as 'wagasa' (Japanese umbrellas) and 'yogasa' (Western umbrellas). If you only consider functionality, Western umbrellas might be more practical, but wagasa have a beauty that can even change the scenery on a rainy day.

Traditional bat umbrellas were meant to be repaired and used for a long time. You'd write your name on them, dry them properly on rainy days, and fix them if a rib broke. Hand grease would soak into the well-used wooden handles, and even the fading of the fabric would become part of the owner's history. At one point, there was such a strong perception of umbrellas as long-lasting items that many were circulated as second-hand goods. That changed, however, when inexpensive plastic umbrellas became widespread.

I'm not trying to criticize plastic umbrellas. There's no problem if one takes good care of a single one, and in fact, there's hardly any other tool that blends so seamlessly into the modern landscape. Sometimes I think the clusters of translucent umbrellas glowing under the convenience store lights are like ornamental plants welcoming customers. However, with inexpensive items, perhaps due to their convenience, there's a mindset that "it's okay if I lose it." They're left behind on trains, or mistaken for someone else's in an umbrella stand outside a store. That anonymity might be convenient, but at the same time, it might be creating a feeling of "belonging to no one."

That's why I feel there's a slightly defiant meaning in owning a favorite umbrella. Drying it when wet, repairing it when broken, and continuing to use the same umbrella for many years. Through this repetition, what was once just a tool gradually becomes an extension of one's own body. Not just for umbrellas, but for all tools, maintenance is important. Gently shake off water droplets and place it in a well-ventilated area. That's all it takes. The accumulation of these small acts of care fosters a sensibility of "cherishing things," and gradually the tool becomes a part of your body.

An umbrella that has expanded and become a part of your body makes you feel anew your place in nature. The sound of rain, the warmth of the sunlight, the direction and strength of the wind. Although an umbrella is a tool to protect against rain and sun, strangely, instead of distancing you from nature, it makes its sensations feel even closer. That's perhaps why I like the tool that is the umbrella.

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