For the next three instalments in this new series, we shall introduce those of you with a passion for pottery to the region of Tajimi, that have long prospered because of ceramics, delving into its history as we go.
In modern times, Tajimi stands among Japan’s foremost cities for ceramic production, yet it owes this distinction to clay and landscapes perfectly suited for pottery since ages past. Some towns in the city are literally built on pottery; even now, businesses connected to ceramics continue to flourish, bearing the vestiges of a community steeped in the art. Such traces add a lovely dash of nostalgia to your travels in Tajimi, enriching your experience with vivid memories that linger long after the journey is done.
There are five areas featured in this series, each a town with its own singular devotion to ceramics. Yet what makes them truly fascinating is the distinct variety of pottery each produces—a delightful uniqueness shaped by history itself. This situation harks back to the Edo period, when there existed a regulation called 'Oya-nimotsu.' Under this system, each locality—be it village or hamlet—was assigned its own type of pottery, one that could not be produced elsewhere.
The intent, it’s said, was to stave off the pitiless effects of price wars from competing products. Of course, such regulations have no place in the modern era, but thanks to these historical circumstances, the expertise and specialties of each town have been charmingly preserved, handed down from generation to generation.
For the very first instalment in our series, let us turn our gaze to Hirano and Honmachi, merchant towns at the beating heart of Tajimi’s ceramics industry. This area fans out from the present-day city hall, forming the nucleus of Tajimi.
Hirano, perched up a slope to the southeast of city hall, provides a sweeping vista of the city’s bustling centre. Below it lies Honmachi, now reborn with new streets but retaining the charming atmosphere of yesteryear as Oribe Street. From the waning days of the Edo period (the early 19th century) right through to the 1940s, these towns saw the ceramics trade reach feverish heights—and even now, a gratifying number of old buildings stand as dignified testaments to their storied past.
Back in the early Meiji period, the region encompassing Tajimi was divided into no fewer than seventeen villages, the largest of which bore the very name Tajimi. The bustling heart of Tajimi Village lay in what is now home to the city hall and Honmachi, and was graced by the ancient Shimokaido, a principal road of old. This road—known as Shimokaido—was one of the great arteries of the Edo era, branching off from the Nakasendo and winding along the Toki River all the way to Nagoya, a route much favoured by the common folk. (Indeed, you may find further musings on Tajimi’s Shimokaido on this very site.)
So fundamental was this thoroughfare that records whisper of its use as far back as 1313, when the revered Buddhist monk Muso Kokushi chose it as his path to found Eihoji Temple, further adding to the road’s tapestry of historical significance.
This stretch of Honmachi lining the old Shimokaido was once a flourishing centre for pottery merchants. But just how did ceramics and prosperity become so exquisitely intertwined here? The answer lies in the grand historical currents that swept from the Edo period into Meiji—a time of profound transformation, punctuated by the enterprising spirit of merchants who navigated these shifting tides with remarkable aplomb.
Let us now turn our focus to that very era, delving into the adventures and triumphs that shaped the destiny of Tajimi’s pottery trade.
In the Edo period, the shogunate kept trade on a rather tight leash; a world in which selling wares freely was more a dream than a reality. Tajimi, nestled in the Province of Mino, found itself under the jurisdiction of the Owari Domain; pottery produced here was ruled to be the domain’s property. Sales to other regions could only proceed with the blessing—and, indeed, the license—of the Owari (Nagoya) warehouse overlords. Direct exports from Tajimi itself were strictly off limits.
Yet, as the Edo era creaked towards its twilight and the shogunate’s grip began to loosen, the winds of change started to blow. Common folk—merchants, village headmen and the like—grew in influence and confidence. These same currents of transformation began to stir in Tajimi, heralding a new era where the old order’s restraints slowly melted away.
In modern times, Tajimi stands among Japan’s foremost cities for ceramic production, yet it owes this distinction to clay and landscapes perfectly suited for pottery since ages past. Some towns in the city are literally built on pottery; even now, businesses connected to ceramics continue to flourish, bearing the vestiges of a community steeped in the art. Such traces add a lovely dash of nostalgia to your travels in Tajimi, enriching your experience with vivid memories that linger long after the journey is done.
There are five areas featured in this series, each a town with its own singular devotion to ceramics. Yet what makes them truly fascinating is the distinct variety of pottery each produces—a delightful uniqueness shaped by history itself. This situation harks back to the Edo period, when there existed a regulation called 'Oya-nimotsu.' Under this system, each locality—be it village or hamlet—was assigned its own type of pottery, one that could not be produced elsewhere.
The intent, it’s said, was to stave off the pitiless effects of price wars from competing products. Of course, such regulations have no place in the modern era, but thanks to these historical circumstances, the expertise and specialties of each town have been charmingly preserved, handed down from generation to generation.
For the very first instalment in our series, let us turn our gaze to Hirano and Honmachi, merchant towns at the beating heart of Tajimi’s ceramics industry. This area fans out from the present-day city hall, forming the nucleus of Tajimi.
Hirano, perched up a slope to the southeast of city hall, provides a sweeping vista of the city’s bustling centre. Below it lies Honmachi, now reborn with new streets but retaining the charming atmosphere of yesteryear as Oribe Street. From the waning days of the Edo period (the early 19th century) right through to the 1940s, these towns saw the ceramics trade reach feverish heights—and even now, a gratifying number of old buildings stand as dignified testaments to their storied past.
Back in the early Meiji period, the region encompassing Tajimi was divided into no fewer than seventeen villages, the largest of which bore the very name Tajimi. The bustling heart of Tajimi Village lay in what is now home to the city hall and Honmachi, and was graced by the ancient Shimokaido, a principal road of old. This road—known as Shimokaido—was one of the great arteries of the Edo era, branching off from the Nakasendo and winding along the Toki River all the way to Nagoya, a route much favoured by the common folk. (Indeed, you may find further musings on Tajimi’s Shimokaido on this very site.)
So fundamental was this thoroughfare that records whisper of its use as far back as 1313, when the revered Buddhist monk Muso Kokushi chose it as his path to found Eihoji Temple, further adding to the road’s tapestry of historical significance.
This stretch of Honmachi lining the old Shimokaido was once a flourishing centre for pottery merchants. But just how did ceramics and prosperity become so exquisitely intertwined here? The answer lies in the grand historical currents that swept from the Edo period into Meiji—a time of profound transformation, punctuated by the enterprising spirit of merchants who navigated these shifting tides with remarkable aplomb.
Let us now turn our focus to that very era, delving into the adventures and triumphs that shaped the destiny of Tajimi’s pottery trade.
In the Edo period, the shogunate kept trade on a rather tight leash; a world in which selling wares freely was more a dream than a reality. Tajimi, nestled in the Province of Mino, found itself under the jurisdiction of the Owari Domain; pottery produced here was ruled to be the domain’s property. Sales to other regions could only proceed with the blessing—and, indeed, the license—of the Owari (Nagoya) warehouse overlords. Direct exports from Tajimi itself were strictly off limits.
Yet, as the Edo era creaked towards its twilight and the shogunate’s grip began to loosen, the winds of change started to blow. Common folk—merchants, village headmen and the like—grew in influence and confidence. These same currents of transformation began to stir in Tajimi, heralding a new era where the old order’s restraints slowly melted away.
Amble south-west from Tajimi City Hall for a mere five or six minutes, and you’ll come upon a stately, antiquated gate encircled by stone walls, guarding a quietly elegant Japanese garden. The residence that once stood here is, alas, no more, but at the garden’s heart rises a commanding stone monument inscribed “Site where Emperor Meiji’s palanquin stopped.” A free translation would be something like “Resting place of Emperor Meiji” (meaning a place he stopped or overnighted).
A dragon-mouthed water basin stands nearby for ritual purification, evoking the splendid presence that must have once graced the site. Here, still and dignified, is a landmark that bears witness to the indelible legacy of the Nishiura family—a name that continues to echo through the annals of Tajimi’s history.
(And as a delightful aside: the residence that once adorned this garden was relocated, in 1917, to Hōkyō-in Temple in Sagano, Kyoto.)
A dragon-mouthed water basin stands nearby for ritual purification, evoking the splendid presence that must have once graced the site. Here, still and dignified, is a landmark that bears witness to the indelible legacy of the Nishiura family—a name that continues to echo through the annals of Tajimi’s history.
(And as a delightful aside: the residence that once adorned this garden was relocated, in 1917, to Hōkyō-in Temple in Sagano, Kyoto.)
The Nishiura family, having long served as village officials in Tajimi, began selling firewood to the local kilns during the era of the second-generation Enji (the second person with the name Enji in the family line). This venture naturally led them into the business of brokering Mino ware ceramics. The second-generation Enji yearned for the freedom to sell Mino ware unhindered, but met steadfast resistance from the Owari Domain—his wishes thwarted at every turn.
Undaunted, the mantle passed to a third-generation Enji, who redoubled the family’s ambitions. His relentless pursuit to liberate the trade of Mino ware at last bore fruit: he secured the coveted rights of the Owari (Nagoya) warehouse, allowing the Nishiura family to handle the majority of new ceramic products made in Mino. Shops soon sprang up in Edo and Osaka; for the first time, direct sales from Tajimi became a vibrant reality.
This all happened at a most opportune moment. The Tenpō Reforms had just abolished the kabunakama merchant guilds, shaking the privileged stranglehold of urban merchants and granting provincial entrepreneurs, eager to peddle their wares in the great cities, a favourable wind.
And so, it was not only the Nishiura family—Tajimi’s merchants as a whole began to sell ceramics all across the length and breadth of Japan. Their method, quaintly known as tabimawari or ‘the travelling round,’ involved lugging hefty samples of pottery on journeys far afield, knocking on the doors of local wholesalers in town after town, securing orders one painstaking visit at a time.
Records in the Nishiura family archives tell us that this peripatetic commerce was underway as far back as the late Edo period. Their Osaka branch, for example, kept detailed logs of representatives dispatched to Kyoto and Shikoku, Izumo and Tottori, Hiroshima and beyond—each area had its own dedicated emissary, complete with favourite inns at every stop along their route.
This extraordinary tabimawari of ceramics began in the latter years of the Edo period—a time, remember, when trains were but a distant dream. Merchants faced Herculean challenges, both in canvassing for business and shipping those formidable wares. When venturing toward Edo or Osaka, the route took them onto the Nakasendo; to reach Nagoya, it was the venerable Shimokaido. That old road, so central to the region, soon became fringed with grand pottery emporiums; one can easily imagine Honmachi thriving as a bustling artery of commerce.
With the dawn of the Meiji era, Tajimi was swept up in the grand tide of modernization. Of all its innovations, none loomed larger than the railway station. In 1900, the line linking Nagoya and Tajimi sprang to life, transforming Tajimi Station into the town’s gleaming gateway. With steel rails stitching the land together, the once-daunting sales journeys and shipments grew markedly simpler, and the volume of ceramics dispatched soared. By 1912, records show Tajimi’s station handled more ceramics than any other in Japan—even outstripping Nagoya itself."
Undaunted, the mantle passed to a third-generation Enji, who redoubled the family’s ambitions. His relentless pursuit to liberate the trade of Mino ware at last bore fruit: he secured the coveted rights of the Owari (Nagoya) warehouse, allowing the Nishiura family to handle the majority of new ceramic products made in Mino. Shops soon sprang up in Edo and Osaka; for the first time, direct sales from Tajimi became a vibrant reality.
This all happened at a most opportune moment. The Tenpō Reforms had just abolished the kabunakama merchant guilds, shaking the privileged stranglehold of urban merchants and granting provincial entrepreneurs, eager to peddle their wares in the great cities, a favourable wind.
And so, it was not only the Nishiura family—Tajimi’s merchants as a whole began to sell ceramics all across the length and breadth of Japan. Their method, quaintly known as tabimawari or ‘the travelling round,’ involved lugging hefty samples of pottery on journeys far afield, knocking on the doors of local wholesalers in town after town, securing orders one painstaking visit at a time.
Records in the Nishiura family archives tell us that this peripatetic commerce was underway as far back as the late Edo period. Their Osaka branch, for example, kept detailed logs of representatives dispatched to Kyoto and Shikoku, Izumo and Tottori, Hiroshima and beyond—each area had its own dedicated emissary, complete with favourite inns at every stop along their route.
This extraordinary tabimawari of ceramics began in the latter years of the Edo period—a time, remember, when trains were but a distant dream. Merchants faced Herculean challenges, both in canvassing for business and shipping those formidable wares. When venturing toward Edo or Osaka, the route took them onto the Nakasendo; to reach Nagoya, it was the venerable Shimokaido. That old road, so central to the region, soon became fringed with grand pottery emporiums; one can easily imagine Honmachi thriving as a bustling artery of commerce.
With the dawn of the Meiji era, Tajimi was swept up in the grand tide of modernization. Of all its innovations, none loomed larger than the railway station. In 1900, the line linking Nagoya and Tajimi sprang to life, transforming Tajimi Station into the town’s gleaming gateway. With steel rails stitching the land together, the once-daunting sales journeys and shipments grew markedly simpler, and the volume of ceramics dispatched soared. By 1912, records show Tajimi’s station handled more ceramics than any other in Japan—even outstripping Nagoya itself."
Honmachi as it stood in 1934—Showa 9. Source: Tajimi City Library Local History Archives.
As Tajimi’s ceramics industry flourished in tandem with the city itself, an idea took hold among grateful merchants, craftsmen, and townsfolk alike—to honour the esteemed forebears who had first brought the art of pottery to this land. Thus, to venerate Kato Kagemitsu (1513–1585), revered as the founding spirit of Mino ceramics, a monument was erected at the Konpira Shrine, perched on the high ground near Honmachi.
The dedication ceremony in 1906 was, by all accounts, a day of unbridled jubilation. There were rice-cake tosses, fireworks, performances by geisha, and—rather thrillingly—new electric lights circling the pottery founder’s monument, just making their debut that year. The entire town came alive in celebration.
One can hardly help but conjure images of Honmachi Street in its bustling heyday, now known as Oribe Street. Should nostalgia ever tug at your heart, a walking tour of Hirano and Honmachi will surely delight you. Many of the buildings from that golden age still stand proud, some housing businesses to this very day. Allow me to offer a few tips for your own stroll through these storied streets…"
The dedication ceremony in 1906 was, by all accounts, a day of unbridled jubilation. There were rice-cake tosses, fireworks, performances by geisha, and—rather thrillingly—new electric lights circling the pottery founder’s monument, just making their debut that year. The entire town came alive in celebration.
One can hardly help but conjure images of Honmachi Street in its bustling heyday, now known as Oribe Street. Should nostalgia ever tug at your heart, a walking tour of Hirano and Honmachi will surely delight you. Many of the buildings from that golden age still stand proud, some housing businesses to this very day. Allow me to offer a few tips for your own stroll through these storied streets…"
Jōyatō—literally, 'eternal night lantern'.
Erected along the Shimokaido, these lanterns served both as beacons for safe passage at night and as way markers for travellers on the old road. In days gone by, their gentle glow was kindled with candles or rapeseed oil, casting a warm and reassuring light into the darkness.
Erected along the Shimokaido, these lanterns served both as beacons for safe passage at night and as way markers for travellers on the old road. In days gone by, their gentle glow was kindled with candles or rapeseed oil, casting a warm and reassuring light into the darkness.
Kominka KoyaKoya
An old folk house built in the 20th year of Meiji (that’s 1887, if you’re keeping score) has been lovingly revitalized as the commercial facility known as KoyaKoya. Here, you’ll find a delightful blend of pottery shops, eclectic goods, and cosy cafés.
The white-tiled section, once a beauty salon called ‘Salon de Mamie,’ has since undergone several metamorphoses and is now reborn yet again as a charming café—a testament to the building’s ever-evolving character.
An old folk house built in the 20th year of Meiji (that’s 1887, if you’re keeping score) has been lovingly revitalized as the commercial facility known as KoyaKoya. Here, you’ll find a delightful blend of pottery shops, eclectic goods, and cosy cafés.
The white-tiled section, once a beauty salon called ‘Salon de Mamie,’ has since undergone several metamorphoses and is now reborn yet again as a charming café—a testament to the building’s ever-evolving character.
Yamatsu Shōten—Yamatsu Shop
A ceramics wholesaler with a distinguished lineage, spanning four generations from the Meiji era right up to the present day, still trading pottery in Honmachi, along Oribe Street. The building, tucked inside the gates, was reportedly once the office of the Tajimi village administration—a silent witness to the ebb and flow of local history.
A ceramics wholesaler with a distinguished lineage, spanning four generations from the Meiji era right up to the present day, still trading pottery in Honmachi, along Oribe Street. The building, tucked inside the gates, was reportedly once the office of the Tajimi village administration—a silent witness to the ebb and flow of local history.
Matsushō · Yamatake Residence
This ceramics merchant’s house, built in the middle of the Meiji era, now finds new life as the restaurant Matsushō—a fine establishment where traditional Japanese rooms, with their distinctive shoin and tsukeshoin designs, are used just as they were in days gone by.
Next door lies the Yamatake residence, itself built around Meiji 35 (that would be circa 1902) as the main house of a ceramics wholesaler. What’s delightfully unusual is that both buildings were constructed as sister houses, at the very same time, separated by nothing more than a single wall—a rare layout that has preserved their original forms beautifully.
This ceramics merchant’s house, built in the middle of the Meiji era, now finds new life as the restaurant Matsushō—a fine establishment where traditional Japanese rooms, with their distinctive shoin and tsukeshoin designs, are used just as they were in days gone by.
Next door lies the Yamatake residence, itself built around Meiji 35 (that would be circa 1902) as the main house of a ceramics wholesaler. What’s delightfully unusual is that both buildings were constructed as sister houses, at the very same time, separated by nothing more than a single wall—a rare layout that has preserved their original forms beautifully.
Yamaka Residence · THE GROUND MINO
This stately main residence of a ceramics merchant was erected in the early Showa era. Next door to the west stands their former home, now splendidly reincarnated as ‘THE GROUND MINO’—a vibrant complex housing pottery shops, restaurants, and even a tearoom. A marvelous blend of history and modernity, all devoted to the celebrated art of ceramics.
This stately main residence of a ceramics merchant was erected in the early Showa era. Next door to the west stands their former home, now splendidly reincarnated as ‘THE GROUND MINO’—a vibrant complex housing pottery shops, restaurants, and even a tearoom. A marvelous blend of history and modernity, all devoted to the celebrated art of ceramics.
Oribe Utsuwa-tei
This stately building once served as the home and shop of a rice wholesaler during the Meiji era, where, it’s said, sacks of rice were stacked in the earthen-floored entry. Today, it has been charmingly transformed into a ceramics gallery, shop, and café—the echoes of commerce past now mingling with the convivial hum of modern appreciation.
This stately building once served as the home and shop of a rice wholesaler during the Meiji era, where, it’s said, sacks of rice were stacked in the earthen-floored entry. Today, it has been charmingly transformed into a ceramics gallery, shop, and café—the echoes of commerce past now mingling with the convivial hum of modern appreciation.
Kawachiya
Founded in the 1920s, at the tail end of the Meiji era, this establishment began its life as a high-class restaurant. The building itself was reconstructed in the early years of Showa, yet it retains every ounce of the dignified charm of those 'good old days.' Today, it enjoys a second, rather splendid existence as both a wedding venue and a restaurant—where the spirit of history mingles with the celebrations of the present.
Founded in the 1920s, at the tail end of the Meiji era, this establishment began its life as a high-class restaurant. The building itself was reconstructed in the early years of Showa, yet it retains every ounce of the dignified charm of those 'good old days.' Today, it enjoys a second, rather splendid existence as both a wedding venue and a restaurant—where the spirit of history mingles with the celebrations of the present.
Time, of course, is nothing if not change. The grand emporiums of Honmachi, so gloriously prosperous from the close of Edo right through to the early Showa period, gradually fell into decline. The outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War in 1937 saw the heads of these pottery firms—the bantō (managers)—called away to the front in succession. Their job had been to travel far and wide, drumming up sales, and without them, business inevitably shrank.
Further trials came with the Pacific War and, eventually, the end of hostilities. Yet the pottery industry in Tajimi did not vanish; instead, it was handed down to a new generation, who brought fresh vigour in the era of rapid economic growth.
These grand stores in Honmachi have marked some of the most luminous pages in Tajimi’s history, quietly observing the passing ages. Their time as emporiums may have ended, but they have re-emerged in new guises and continue, to this day, to welcome locals and visitors alike. For the people of Tajimi, this area remains deeply cherished—a place where history will surely continue to weave its intricate tapestry.
Further trials came with the Pacific War and, eventually, the end of hostilities. Yet the pottery industry in Tajimi did not vanish; instead, it was handed down to a new generation, who brought fresh vigour in the era of rapid economic growth.
These grand stores in Honmachi have marked some of the most luminous pages in Tajimi’s history, quietly observing the passing ages. Their time as emporiums may have ended, but they have re-emerged in new guises and continue, to this day, to welcome locals and visitors alike. For the people of Tajimi, this area remains deeply cherished—a place where history will surely continue to weave its intricate tapestry.
