Okay, so it should be pretty apparent by now that I am not the world’s best blogger. In addition to my constant confusion over the formatting settings on this blog, my posts are infrequent at best, and perhaps a bit banal (except when I’m talking about worms). I promise to ramp up the excitement in the coming months-- starting today, with a tragedy. First, though, let me give a mediocre excuse for my seeming lack of devotion to this blog. I find that time spent in Tokyo is inversely correlated with my tolerance for sitting in front of a screen. In large cities, particularly this large city, it is easy to spend great portions of the day consumed by some form of screen, whether it be a computer screen, television screen, digital book screen, ticket sales screen, camera screen, train advertising screen, phone screen, video screen, bank teller screen, vending machine screen, toilet flushing screen or the like. The last thought on my mind at the end of the day is to sit down to talk at you at you through yet another screen. But then, here I am doing just that.

I promised you a tragedy. Though it might sound more like a horror story to some. The latest in the composting worm tales is that tails are scant. Tails of my red worms, that is. The millions of tiny white worms I previously mistook for the babies of my worms were, in fact, intruders… The deaths came suddenly. One day last week I checked on my worms. They seemed quite content, stirring about alongside their tiny white babies. But the next day when I peeled back the net lid of my box I noticed a fetid smell that only a worm composter would recognize: rotting worms. In a matter of 24 hours, my beloved red worms had melted into a mass of mush in the middle of the box. My mimizu! Their supposed babies, however, seemed quite alive. The internet later revealed them to, in fact, be pot worms, which love acidic conditions. My red worms did not. Most people would feel repulsed by such an experience. Rather, I was guilt ridden, and lonely from the loss of my only pets, as any loving caretaker would be. Further investigation on the balcony lead me to a likely culprit: soil I’d purchased from a local Itoyokado. I had supplemented the worm bin with this soil just days before the die off. This soil also turned out to be infected with a fungus (which prefer acidic soil) that has eaten the roots of my desperate beet seedlings. While my thumb may never have been green, it is looking a little gray these days. Despite the tragedy, I am inclined to see the positive side to my fitful and rather short lived experiment with red worms in Tokyo. I am now experimenting with a new way of composting namagomi (organics) on my balcony. Now that I have sealed off the lid, it seems to be composting fine just with the bacteria introduced by the food. When there is sun. As for winter composting, I am going to have to find another solution. More on that as the months pass.

A piece of the famous Hiroshima Panels, at the Maruki Gallery in Saitama

In other news… Rotarians will be interested to know that I spent a few days in Hiroshima on a Rotary-funded peace field trip. The experience was both enlightening and disturbing, as one can imagine. The result of this trip is that I made a new work of art in the studio of Tomoyo Hiraiwa, a local metal artist and Rotarian who has taken me under her wing and is currently helping me experiment with metal food cans. Thank you Tomoyo san! It was refreshing to see a city so dedicated to peace and the eradication of nuclear weapons. My friends back home worry about me living in Japan after the recent disaster and current threat of radioactive contamination. I must remind people living in the Pacific NW (USA) that the defunct Hanford Nuclear site, which produced the plutonium for the bomb dropped on Nagasaki, currently holds most of the US’s nuclear waste and is the largest, most contaminated nuclear waste site in the Western Hemisphere. Read up on the site’s continued struggles to contain its nuclear waste. Folks in the US should be just as concerned about our own country’s nuclear proliferation as we are about that of Iran or North Korea.

The famous Hiroshima Dome, which survived the bombing. And below is Sang Falsus, my latest work made from used food cans. I will be exhibiting the piece the weekend of June 23rd at MercyCorps' Action Center during Rotary's highly anticipated Peace Conference in Portland. My work will be shown alongside two amazing nuclear bomb installations made by Yukiyo Kawano from her grandmother's old kimonos. Yukiyo is a second generation Hibakusha (nuclear bombing survivor) from Hiroshima. Here is a link to her Fat Man performance: http://vimeo.com/36885934. Okay, I can't get that link to work. Sorry, copy and paste, folks. Here is my description for Sang Falsus: Mushrooms and meat, spinach and seafood, green tea and dairy…such foods are most susceptible to radioactive contamination. Living in Japan today, we know this. But suspicion of the very food we eat is not a unique condition. Headlines just in the past month revealed that 70% of Indian milk is contaminated with fillers like fertilizers and detergents, that shiitake mushrooms grown near Tokyo were found to be highly radioactive and that most ground beef sold in the US contains “pink slime.” The illusive search for food that is definitively nourishing has grown akin to that for the Holy Grail, the Sang Real. What distinguishes food from waste, holy from ordinary, real from false, saying grace from a simple act of faith? These are mysteries requiring more effort to unscramble than most are willing to put forth. So raise your glass, ladies and gentlemen, to the new era of nutritional chance, tricks and illusions, wonders and edible mysteries.

Finally, to leave things on a lighter note, I have confirmed my summer internship. Starting in July, I will spend three months in Southern Bhutan assisting the Jongkhar Initative (http://sji.bt/) with their new zero waste initiative. I am honored to be their first intern, and look forward to joining them in July. So, as promised, this blog is soon to get a bit more interesting or, at least, slightly less tragic.

A wall made from broken roof tiles (Matsuyama, Shikoku).

A window frame made from wood scraps (Kyoto).

And Zori sandals, traditional Japanese sandals that I learned how to make from old sheet scraps (Tokyo).

Waraji Sandals at a temple in Kamakura were proof that I can, in fact, find shoes my size in Japan.