Little Forest: Summer & Autumn

Rather than a movie review, this could be considered a travelogue.

In the summer of 2016, I watched *Little Forest*, and then bought a ticket to Japan, where I stayed in the countryside for three months, all the way until the winter of 2017.

I initially thought *Little Forest* was a romanticized film, but later I realized it actually follows a more realistic style.

**In winter:**

In the summer, I brought two friends to visit again. Japan is one of the most developed countries in Asia, so its infrastructure is very well-developed. I often tell others that even the toilet seats in the rural areas of Japan are heated. Transportation is convenient, most households have cars, there are trains, convenience stores, internet access, and even Amazon logistics work seamlessly. Even rural schools have highly advanced basketball courts, just like the ones in *Slam Dunk*, even though the local junior high only has 70 students and the high school only 200. Cafés, convenience stores, supermarkets—everything you need is available.

**Japanese rural cafés and children:**

When I use the term "rural," I fear it may cause misunderstanding, so I'd like to clarify: The "rural people" in Japan are different from the Chinese concept of "乡下人" (country bumpkins). In Chinese, "乡下人" often carries a derogatory tone, implying people who are uncultured. However, in Japan, "rural people" simply live in the countryside. Most of the people I met had received higher education, many had studied abroad, and their work quality surpasses that of many developing countries—not only in terms of the product's quality but also in terms of aesthetic appeal. Just looking at pictures of food can show the difference in quality.

Later, I brought friends to experience the Japanese countryside.

But what truly moved me about rural Japan wasn't the developed infrastructure or the refined experiences. It was, beyond all these external things, the way the local people think and live.

After living in a big city for a while, you start to notice that many people around you are anxious—anxious about income, career, the future, and relationships. But in *Little Forest*, despite the busy lives of the locals, everyone plays many roles, yet their mental states are full of vitality. While people in the city may feel drained, apathetic, or indifferent, those in *Little Forest* are vibrant, energetic, and full of life.

**Participating in food preparation:**

I met many people in *Little Forest* and heard one story. One girl, with a good background, had studied abroad, attended school in Tokyo, and even interned at the UN. But when I met her, she was out in the forest, hunting wild boar. I was curious why she was doing this.

She explained that the wild boar were damaging the local crops, and she noticed that the local farmers had a unique way of preparing wild boar, which resulted in very delicious dishes. So, she thought maybe she could develop a wild boar meat industry to help reduce crop damage while creating a new brand for the area, opening up a new economic industry.

At first, I thought she was just talking big. But when I saw her again a year later, she had already sold her wild boar meat to Tokyo’s top restaurants, and her story had been featured on NHK’s local TV station.

**When I first met the wild boar girl:**

Later, I met many more interesting people like her—some wanting to revolutionize education, others starting new kingdoms, some focusing on revitalizing the area, developing new food varieties, brewing, farming rice, protecting the mountains and forests, and so on. Unlike most people I’ve met in China who just shout slogans, these people were actually putting their words into action.

I also met a girl who was a lot like the main character in *Little Forest*, played by Ai Hashimoto. She worked hard, creating food in a refined and elegant manner. When I met her, it felt like stepping into a movie. Wherever she was, the air seemed gentler, filled with beauty. Having traveled to many places, over a dozen countries, and more than 200 cities, the tranquility of rural Japan and the gradually emerging upward, free-spirited atmosphere really resonated with me. I hope that, if I get the chance, I can bring more people to the *Little Forest* and let them discover the truth about this place.

Because it's a place that makes you say, "Wow, there are people who live like this."

It's also a place where you can quietly reflect on your own life.

Last night, I watched this film with my family and absolutely loved it. After a busy day at work, I was physically and mentally exhausted, but as soon as I finished watching the movie, I felt instantly healed. I’ve studied in Japan for over six years, so I’m quite familiar with the minimalist, fresh aesthetic of Japanese culture and the lifestyle there. However, during my time in Japan, I mainly stayed in the bustling metropolis of Tokyo, and didn’t have direct experience with rural life. The movie, especially, depicts the Iwate Prefecture in the Tohoku region, one of the least developed areas in Japan. My only direct contact with the region was when I volunteered there for three days after the 3.11 earthquake. I stayed in a guesthouse and didn’t interact much with the local farmers, but their simplicity, warmth, and resilience left a deep impression on me.

In the summer segment of the movie, there’s a line I didn’t fully understand at first, but it seems central to the theme of the film. When Yuta and Ichiko are working together, Ichiko asks Yuta why he returned to the countryside from the city. Yuta, driving a small truck, answers casually, "I didn’t want to live a life where people kill you and then complain about how they killed you." I initially thought this referred to the fierce competition in big cities, where people navigate a world full of deceit and struggle. Yuta returned to the countryside to escape that life.

However, upon closer listening today, I realized there might have been a slight mistranslation. Yuta’s original line is: 「俺はさ、 他人に殺さしといて、殺し方に文句つけるような、 そんな人生を送りたくないと思ったよ。」

The key part is understanding and translating 「他人に殺さしといて」, as it involves two colloquial contractions, leading to a misunderstanding of the meaning.

First, 「しといて」 is a shortened form of 「しておいて」, meaning “to do something in preparation for something else.” It’s common in spoken Japanese, where 「てお」 (te + o) is reduced to 「と」 (to).

Next, 「他人に殺さし」 isn’t a common phrase. In Japanese, "to kill someone" would be 「他人を殺して」, and "to be killed by someone" would be 「他人に殺されて」. But the phrase used here, 「他人に殺さし」, is actually a contraction of 「他人に殺させて」, meaning "to let someone kill" or "to have someone kill."

So, the full version of the sentence is likely: 「他人に殺させておいて」, but the confusion arises in what’s being killed. Given the context, Yuta is talking about the act of killing a fish, not asking someone else to kill the fish and complain about it. Before this line, Yuta was gutting a fish, and the camera focuses on him spearing the fish onto a stick. This suggests that the "someone" he's referring to is someone else killing the fish, which he finds wrong—complaining about how it was done after the fact.

I checked some Japanese reviews to confirm this interpretation. On the Japanese Wikipedia page for the film, the following line appears: 「ユウ太もまた都会から戻ってきていたが、彼は都会の人々の、自分自身の言葉を持たず、食べるものも『他人に殺させておいて、殺し方に文句をつける』ような空虚さを嫌悪している。」 This adds "food" before the line, clarifying that Yuta is referring to food, which makes more sense.

A Japanese reviewer also wrote: 「（食べ物に関して）他人に殺させておいて、殺し方に文句をつける」, which translates to, "When it comes to food, letting someone else kill it and then complaining about how it was done."

So, Yuta’s message seems to be: “When someone else prepares your food for you and leaves it there, but you still complain about how it was done, that’s not the life I want to live.” He’s expressing a desire for a life where he can engage directly, not rely on others, and not complain. Perhaps he wants a life that’s self-reliant, where he deals with nature and people with a sincere heart.

In modern urban life, where we can buy food with money, we might gradually lose the ability to make food ourselves and the drive to create something from scratch.

After Japan’s rapid post-war growth, the country is now in an era of declining birthrates and an aging population. While the three major urban areas—Tokyo, Osaka, and Nagoya—are still seeing slow growth due to the influx of young people, rural areas are facing population decline. Many small schools are shutting down or merging due to a lack of students. The remaining population in rural areas is mostly elderly, and once they pass away, Japanese agriculture and rural communities may be left without successors.

For young people working in cities, most choose to stay for better education and job opportunities, along with the conveniences modern life offers. But some choose to leave and return to the countryside, taking up farming or learning skills from experienced elders, living in the countryside with others and starting new lives.

This return isn’t about escaping—it’s a choice: a choice about oneself, about life, and about living in harmony with nature.

I deeply appreciate the spirit of Little Forest. From the young girl doing all the farm work by herself, to even removing the veins from a cabbage when cooking, everything reflects the spirit of living diligently and seriously. It's not a romantic, idealized film. Although it is set in the mountains, with wind, flowers, and four seasons, it’s much more than that. Urban dwellers who enjoy the "simple life" often long for the life depicted in the movie: flowing streams in the mountains, wild fruits under trees, the breeze in the wheat fields, and the warm sun in winter. They say: "That kind of life is so beautiful. Maybe I could get a few days, a few weeks, or a few months to experience it. But I can’t really expect to live like that…" Yes, you definitely can't live that way. People who can't even wake up early enough for work—how could they possibly get up at five to plant rice? And growing rice isn't the same as growing succulents. If you want to know how exhausting it is, try it yourself. Only then will you understand why no one complains about being tired after doing the “Zheng Doyan” workout.

The girl, Ichiko, who insists on picking a hazelnut from beneath the tree, knows that this is the strength she must persist with. (Do you really believe that was the reason for the breakup? It's clearly just a narrative device!)

The rice wine she makes is intoxicating, but you only truly realize how delicious it is after working under the summer sun to pull weeds. The candied chestnuts she makes are incredibly sweet, but you only truly appreciate them after bending over to collect fallen chestnuts, with your ears pricked up to listen to the sound of bears nearby.

Ichiko is really living diligently and earnestly. She’s alone, working the fields, harvesting enough rice to feed herself for the next year, helping the red-spotted trout "move" to make a little extra, and doing the work she needs to do without relying on the men for help. She works hard because she has to, not to escape into some idyllic countryside fantasy.

She can make her own hazelnut chocolate spread, various jams, salt-preserved tomatoes, and even Worcestershire sauce. During the hottest rainy season, she lights the stove to remove the moisture and then bakes a loaf of bread. After all that work, it’s just one loaf of bread? Yes, exactly. Who says bread is easy to get? Even in times of scarcity, she lives a refined life, and this refinement has an important point: it’s about using everything to its fullest, without waste, to create the perfect ambiance. She looks for wild vegetables in the mountain stream, comes back, and makes sticky wild vegetable rice. She spends hours bent over in the rice paddy, pulling weeds. When she stands up, the arch of her back to relieve the soreness is one of the most real moments of life.

I don’t envy her life; I admire her spirit. No life is easy. The beauty comes from their hard work and the fact that they don’t complain about their hardships. If you want to live this kind of life, start by removing the veins from your cabbage when you stir-fry it. Most people don’t even bother to remove the veins when stir-frying celery. Or start by making something complex yet delicious when you're hungry, rather than just boiling instant noodles. You’ll end up eating and getting thinner, just like Ichiko!

And I still love Hashimoto Ai. Although her face has become longer and more angular, her eyes and profile are still incredibly beautiful. The side profile of the young girl, sweaty and making bread on a hot summer day, with sweat trickling down her collarbone, is quite seductive (don’t even mention flat chests to me!).

Of course, people who do farm work really can’t be that fair.

At night, standing in front of the stove, watching the milk bubble in the pot, the only little light feels particularly warm. In winter, looking through the oven, seeing my puff pastry gradually rising and becoming flaky, my heart grows fuller along with it. On a summer afternoon, sitting on a small stool, mixing steamed mung bean paste, watching the mung bean cakes slowly take shape, I feel a deep sense of accomplishment... There are so many such moments, these little fragments of happiness that I cannot express or share with others. I can’t help but wonder, why does pleasure always seem to be related to food? Perhaps it’s one of the things closest to the essence of life.

Life in Komori is simple yet fulfilling. Happiness has nothing to do with others, it only depends on oneself. Planting in spring and harvesting in autumn, the cycle repeats, giving hard work to the earth, and the fields return an abundant harvest of grains and vegetables. Ordinary days grant rare peace of mind and joy. There are no phones, no internet, and even the TV is rarely seen, yet it’s just enough to slow down, to spend abundant time with oneself and with the world.

Shiko uses seasonal vegetables to create various delicious dishes: homemade bread, tangy fruit jams, salt-baked fish, salted tomatoes, walnut rice... On a summer night, sitting on the floor, leaning against a light behind me, quietly reading, occasionally turning off the light to watch the dancing fireflies. This is the ideal life I envision. Our pace of life is too fast, and we’ve been far from this serene contentment for too long. When was the last time we looked up and really admired the sky, quietly watching the clouds come and go? Everyone is rushing around, constantly complaining about work, life, and everything else, sharing their unhappiness, but no one is willing to change to accept it. And yet, no one really takes that step to change their lives. We all live the “life where others kill us, and we still complain about how they killed us.”

Recently, I’ve been at home, reading, watching movies, walking, and thinking about food. I’ve rediscovered the tranquility of being undisturbed. Slowing down allows me to appreciate the increasingly pure and simple things: reading, playing, watching the clouds, and loving food — all of these are part of life. To quote a philosopher: “We must watch the blue sky, we must sing, dance, write poetry, suffer, learn, and understand why, for all these are life.”

Well, I’m going to bake an apple pie now. May we all live the life we want to lead.

The film is adapted from the manga of the same name by Daisuke Igarashi. Set in a mountain village in Japan's northeastern region, surrounded by nature, it follows Ichiko—played by Ai Hashimoto—who returns to the countryside from the city.

The story depicts Ichiko’s journey toward a self-sufficient life amid the harsh natural environment, where she must learn to farm in order to gather food each day. The film was shot over the course of a year in Ōshū City, Iwate Prefecture, capturing the beauty of the local scenery through all four seasons.

It’s a very different kind of film, with a refreshingly unique directorial style. I think it’s an excellent piece to spend time with.