À la recherche du temps perdu ― Black Linen, Plovers on Waves

Hamanaka Akiko
Aug 7
2 min read

Woman in black linen kimono with plover-and-wave pattern, holding a parasol — A grandmother's wish, woven into waves and plovers. Seventy years later, I am the one who wears it.

A linen kimono, given to my mother as part of her wedding trousseau. An everyday garment. The occasional slub in the weave reveals it was never a costly piece. It was given to her, along with a man's jōfu, so the newlyweds could pass a summer together. The roundness of the sleeve is soft, impossibly thin — hold it to the sun, and blue sky shows through. Plovers play among the waves. When the wind blows, spray rises. When I walk, the plovers take flight. A kimono only begins to breathe once it is worn, once it walks. It may have belonged to my grandmother. There are mends at the sleeve and the body — rough, unpretentious ones. My grandmother must have repaired it herself. My mother kept this plover kimono in its storage chest for years. In fact, she never once wore it. My father, too, seems to have lived without ever knowing the jōfu made for him existed. Now, this linen kimono is mine to love. Plovers on waves carries the meaning of "weathering the world's rough waters together" — a symbol of marital harmony and a peaceful household. My grandmother, wishing happiness for the daughter she was sending off, wove that wish into the plovers on the waves. A kimono that must be over seventy years old is now mine to enjoy. How many garments like this still exist in the world, I wonder.