Rinshinomori PARK

"Tokyo’s most precious treasures are the old forests that envelope the High City and the rivers that flow through the Low City.

Paris is Paris because of the architecture of its churches, palaces, and theaters; it would make do even without its trees and rivers.

But if Tokyo lost its lush forests, not even the majestic Tokugawa graveyard in Shiba could replace their beauty and grandeur."

– Fairweather Sandals, 1916

For centuries, the southwestern ward of Meguro had been home to a collection of small villages, dependent on the modest Meguro River. These farming communities were punctuated by vast forests and bamboo thickets. But today, most of that greenery has disappeared from Meguro–lost to decades of industrial, residential, and commercial development.

The anchors of Meguro date back to the ninth century. Ryusen-ji Temple was founded in 806. It burned in 1615, and was re-dedicated in 1634. The temple houses a statue of Fudo Myoou, the Immovable Wisdom King. The name Meguro means “black eyes,” and derives from the unusual black eyes of the statue. A small commercial district sprouted near the temple gate. It often drew tourists from the nearby city of Edo.

The nearby Ootori Shrine, founded in 808, has its own commercial tradition. Every November since 1835, it has hosted a farmer’s market called Tori no Ichi, or “Bird’s Market” -- a pun on the shrine’s name, which means “big bird.” Inside the shrine, local farmers set up booths decorated with bamboo rakes meant to “sweep in good fortune.” In the 18th century, small enterprises set up shop along the Meguro River. They used water wheels to refine sake, flour, and rice for sale on the market. For all its forests and farms, Meguro was by no means devoid of people. Its communities were just much more pastoral than those found along the Sumida.

Big changes came for Meguro soon after the rise of the Meiji government in 1868. Local farmers found themselves on the defensive as factories clamored to build more water wheels along the river, which damaged irrigation flows. Among them were the Army’s gunpowder factory and the brewers of Yebisu beer. A train station followed soon after, in 1885.

1900 | Meguro Research Forest

In 1900, the Agriculture Ministry took over an expanse to the southwest of Ryuzen-ji. There, the government established the Meguro Research Forest. Trees from across Japan and around the world were re-planted in Meguro for observation and study. It became the central node of a network of 15 forestry stations across the country, spanning from Hokkaido to Kyushu.. Since it was a research facility, the station was closed to the public.

This research was important. Forests are one of Japan’s greatest natural resources. Two thirds of the country is covered by forest. The Meguro station was used to study forest management, habitat preservation, disaster prevention, and timber logging. In those days, the station was surrounded by wheat fields, silvergrass, and bamboo thickets. Foxes hid themselves in the wheat, and preyed on chickens living on nearby farms. Early in the morning, wild rabbits scrounged for food in the fields, and fled back into the hills around nightfall.

1923 | Great Kanto Earthquake & Suburbanization

1923 brought tremendous change for Meguro. First, on September 1, 1923, the Tokyo region suffered a devastating earthquake. The dense Low City quickly caught fire, forcing refugees to flee west. 2 months later, the Tokyu Railway Company opened the Meguro Line between Yokohama and Meguro Station.

In 1924, Tokyu opened another line connecting Meguro to the Shibuya and Yokohama Stations. Residential development flooded the areas around the Tokyu lines. In 1932, Meguro was incorporated into the city of Tokyo along with 19 other outer wards. The old countryside had officially joined the big city.

1945 | Tokyo Air Raids

Sadly, the newly-dense streets of Meguro became a target in the final months of World War II. Throughout the spring of 1945, American firebombing raids killed over a thousand people in the Meguro area. Tens of thousands more were displaced. By war’s end, 30% of Meguro Ward had turned to ashes. The population fell by 40%.

1945~ | Receding Countryside

After the war, Meguro set about re-urbanizing a second time. But there were still two major hold-outs. First, local farmers. Meguro still had a good deal of farmland well into the 1950s. But farming largely disappeared as a result of postwar rebuilding and the walling in of the Meguro River. As late as the 1950s, fish could be seen swimming in the river. Children chased fireflies on the banks. Farmers relied on it for irrigation, and for washing produce.

But the Meguro River is narrow and shallow, which made it especially prone to flooding during heavy rains. Tokyo responded by enclosing the river with massive concrete walls. Today, the river is a popular cherry blossom viewing destination, but the ditch-ification is sad to behold. The second hold out was, of course, the Meguro forestry station. Over the decades it had grown into a vast thicket of beech trees, sawtooth oaks, zelkovas, and white pines. Even pawpaw trees from North America had made it into the mix.

As Tokyo rebuilt, dozens of species of bird found refuge inside the station too. But big changes were in store for the forest. As far back as 1957, the postwar plan for Tokyo included a provision for converting the forest into “Meguro Park,” should the land ever become available. That moment arrived in 1978, when the national government decided to consolidate its research facilities outside Tokyo, in Ibaraki Prefecture. Locals petitioned the city to deliver on its promise, and the park was approved in 1983.

Over the next 9 years, crews demolished research facilities and installed park amenities. In his classic Tokyo travelogue “Fairweather Sandals,” Kafu Nagai wrote:

Tokyo’s most precious treasures are the old forests that envelope the High City and the rivers that flow through the Low City. Paris is Paris by virtue of the architecture of its churches, palaces, and theaters; it would make do even without its trees and water. But if Tokyo lost its lush forests, not even the majestic Tokugawa graveyard in Shiba could make up for their beauty and grandeur.

Of course, Rinshinomori isn’t the most faithful time capsule. It’s not a "naturally-occuring" forest. Lots of the trees aren’t native to the soil they’re in. But the very fact of the place testifies to just how radically the High City has changed over the past 100 years. Rinshinomori is a vestige of a time when Meguro was a village, outside the city proper. Its transition from research park to city park tracks with the surrounding community’s transition from rural to urban.