A Spring Gasshuku

With the koshi finished, the horigotatsu set, and a new barbecue space ready, Aoba-an was finally prepared for its first larger group. Ten students from Doshisha University’s Innovation Club arrived for a two-day gasshuku.

They came to think about the year ahead.

I was curious to see what would happen if they were given time, space, and a different rhythm.

From the moment they stepped through the gate, the mood shifted. The rooms, the gardens, the scale of the place — it didn’t feel like a typical stay. Someone laughed and said, “You could get lost here.”

After settling in, they set out on bicycles along the coast, guided by neighbors who know this area well. It was the hottest day of the year so far. Koinobori moved in the wind above the road as they rode toward the sea.

Back at Aoba-an, we gathered in the kura. Large and quiet, filled with tables, books, and light, it naturally pulled people together. We began with a simple exercise about assumptions and decision-making. Later, outside in the garage overlooking the Tochucha fields, the students worked in small groups, imagining new ways the space might serve the community.

Ideas came quickly. Dozens of them. More than anyone expected.

Only after that did we light the fire. As evening settled in, the barbecue began. Food cooked slowly. Conversations drifted. Later, they returned to the kura, laptops open, voices carrying late into the night. The lights stayed on until nearly three in the morning.

The next day began quietly. A yoga session in the washitsu. Soft light through the shoji. Slow movement. Then breakfast, and more time to refine plans and ideas together.

In the afternoon, the group joined a beach cleanup, supported by neighbors and local businesses. Work finished, they gathered once more, took photos, and began to drift back toward the wider world.

The following morning, the house filled again. Local women arrived for a neighborhood yoga session. Familiar faces, new introductions, tea shared after. Someone brought Tochucha. Someone else prepared lunch. Conversation lingered.

It felt like the circle closing naturally.

Aoba-an did what it is meant to do —

held people, quietly, while something real took shape.