Fortunately, a blueberry bush is growing vigorously in my small patch of earth.

 

Every summer, when the fruit ripens, I am blessed with the bounty of picking blueberries. First, there are the charming white flowers, and then, as they bear fruit, small green orbs appear. They change from green to pale purple, and under the sun, they slowly ripen into a deep, dark hue. If the birds don't get to them first, I pick them. In years when I can harvest a lot, I often make blueberry jam. I recently saw news that Tokyo boasts the largest blueberry harvest.

 

The first time I visited a farm where you could pick blueberries was quite a while ago, in Furano. Hokkaido's summer is intensely hot, and with few buildings around and no shade, the sunlight was direct and scorching. The blueberries in Furano were large, incomparable to the ones growing in my small garden space. During this time, around mid-August, Tokyo becomes profoundly quiet. Perhaps because fewer people are around or many businesses are closed, the city's atmosphere becomes remarkably serene. The trains run sparsely. Only hotels and commercial complexes remain bustling.

 

Around this time of year, I find myself gazing at the sky. My mother, born in 1935, lived through the war, experiencing the end of it at age ten. I am deeply grateful that she is still healthy and well at ninety.

 

Recently, I learned that she sometimes dreams about her wartime experiences. Although I had heard harrowing stories from her before, she mentioned that hearing the Koshien stadium siren or the sound of airplanes echoing in the quiet sky would trigger memories, and she would have such dreams about once every three months.

 

She described scenes of B-29s flying overhead, women in air-raid hoods forming bucket brigades to extinguish fires, only to be strafed and fall one after another. Back then, traditional Japanese houses had windows only on the upper half and weren't surrounded by tall buildings, so it felt as if she could make eye contact with the pilots. In such moments, she learned to lie flat under the window to hide, rather than retreating further into the room where she might be seen and targeted.

 

Beneath what was once the children's room, a large hole was dug like an air-raid shelter, and they would remove the tatami mats to take refuge there. She said she still remembers the cool sensation and smell of the earth from that time.

 

Regarding animals, she has already written about this in an article for Forbes JAPAN, but at that time, Japan had no resources, no food, and no clothing. If companion animals fell ill, there were almost no veterinarians available to treat them, as most were conscripted. It was impossible to find one. Even if an animal became sick, there was no choice but to let it die.

 

It was then that my mother decided to become a veterinarian. Her family had many animals. Among them, a large dog named Al and Happy were suddenly taken away one day. Does anyone know about 'requisition'? At that time, animals from ordinary households were suddenly taken away to serve the country. Later, when I researched the history, I learned that the requisition of dogs, cats, rabbits, and other animals from ordinary households occurred in various places across Japan.

 

Al and Happy, who had lived their days trusting humans as family, were calmly led into a military vehicle. My mother, still a child, called out to them, but they only glanced back in a final farewell. She said she vividly remembers their tails swaying sadly, a memory etched in her childhood mind.

 

It's hard to believe that untrained dogs could have served as military dogs. Perhaps they were 'useful' as food or clothing.

 

This year, amidst the quiet, serene Tokyo sunlight of Obon, a typhoon is approaching. The sky suddenly darkens, and a vast expanse of gloomy clouds spreads overhead. In my mother's dreams, large, unidentified planes and clearly visible B-29s still appear in the darkening sky. This year, I harvested blueberries amidst the strong winds that heralded the typhoon. Every year, I remember and pick blueberries during this season.

 

 

Akiko Shibauchi
Director of Akasaka Animal Hospital. After graduating from Nihon University's College of Bioresource Sciences, she worked in various capacities, including at the Clinical Pathology Laboratory of Nihon Veterinary and Zootechnical University, before becoming the director of Akasaka Animal Hospital in 2016. As the third-generation director, following in the footsteps of her father and mother, she promotes companion animal medicine and a practice centered on the "Human-Animal Bond." Her specialties include internal medicine, general surgery, and regenerative medicine. She has also served as a former member of the Veterinary Affairs Council of the Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries, and as an adjunct lecturer in the Department of Veterinary Medicine at Nihon University's College of Bioresource Sciences. She is dedicated to social contribution through veterinary medicine, including support for the coexistence of the elderly and animals, and animal therapy activities, with the lifelong goal of "creating a society where humans and animals can live happily together."