# The Time That Grows on Stone #### Overview Eight people who came from different places stepped a little past their fear and their own limits to see the view beyond together, each bringing their own time into the same hours, and shaping one shared time. ![[takamiishi-lichen.webp|Pale green lichen growing on grey rock]] *Takamiishi, Kita-Yatsugatake (Nagano, 2026). Green lichen on the rocks at the top.* --- *November 6, 2026. A day of climbing from Mugikusa Pass over Maruyama to Takamiishi and Shirakoma Pond, organised by a colleague who loves the mountains. Eight of us went, designers and design engineers I work with.* We started at Mugikusa Pass. Crossing the birch path first was a very good way to begin. Past the birches, the trail climbs a little and threads faintly through the trees. Moss grew lightly on them, and I thought: this is old-growth forest. I climbed on with the feeling of walking through a forest that has been here for a very long time. The footing was narrow, and I kept finding where to step as I went up and up. I had imagined something like a hike, so it was only when the muddy path and the awkward stones went on and on that I realised I had come for real mountain climbing. Now and then the trail levelled out, opened up, let the light in. "Reward time," the people climbing with me called it. A colleague from England looked at the moss and said the forests in England are far mossier. Hearing that, I felt the Rolling Stones, or rather the proverb, faintly overlapping with Japan's national anthem, *Kimigayo*. A rolling stone gathers no moss. *Kimigayo*, on the other hand, sings of pebbles becoming a boulder "until the moss grows", moss growing over long years. It is the same moss, yet two ways of seeing time cross in it. I found that interesting. --- The summit of Maruyama has little more than a very small sign. The real destination was Takamiishi Hut. When we came down a little and reached the hut, it was not the hut I had imagined. We came out into an open space, and ahead on the left, large rocks were piled up. I thought the view from the top must be wonderful, but I never imagined we would climb it. Then the organiser said, "We're all going up here," and went up first, quickly. Some of us were too scared to go on, but the organiser patiently encouraged them: "You can do it. I'll help you." In the end, all eight of us on the climb saw Shirakoma Pond from the top of Takamiishi, far below. Shirakoma Pond really did sit there like a hollow in *Made in Abyss*, an opening that had become a lake. I was drawn to the faint green on the rocks of Takamiishi. I have seen this pale green somewhere, I thought. No, not somewhere. What is it? I like it. I took photo after photo. I know this green. It was the colour I came across on a hike from San Jose, California, with a friend's family. That was when I realised: I like walking through landscapes like this. All of us saw the same view. The party matters. Because there is a party, we go somewhere, we manage to arrive, there is a view to see. A good leader, good members: these are only the materials that produce what happens. What matters is what view lies beyond them, and how we see it. Here too, I thought again how much the party matters. --- Beyond Takamiishi, we went down and down, with one colleague leading the way. Shirakoma Pond turned out to be a lake you can walk all the way around, and it reminded me of walking a lakeside in Seattle with my family. At times the scenery recalled the Olympic Peninsula. I thought how good it would be to walk through nature this beautiful together with my family. I also remembered walking around Lake Ippeki on a trip to Izu. We had said maybe we did not need to go that far, but the lakeside we walked together has stayed with me. Shirakoma is about forty minutes around, up and down, well kept. Just walking it once with my family would probably make a very good memory. From there, heading back toward Mugikusa Pass, a path appeared that walked over rocks and trees like a corridor in the sky. Looking at some of the stones, I saw that the lichen that had been faint at Takamiishi was growing thickly here. A bright green, and a fainter green. There seemed to be several kinds. We were back around four. We had set out around eleven, so about five hours there and back. The tiredness was just right; any more would have been hard. For me, it was the backs of my knees and the tops of my thighs that felt it, but all of us made our way home with the sense of having done it fully. --- Back at the lodge, we bathed, had dinner, and gathered around the fire pit. We drank beer and talked a lot. It was a very good time. One of us was sitting on the slope and rolled over and fell, and we all saw it in slow motion. The wind was circling around the fire, so all of us were smoked for a long time. That smell, too, is part of a good memory. Last, on the way home. Looking closely, as I now did, at the stones in front of the lodge, I found a rock where the lichen had grown well, almost mossy. After a time like this, back home, I thought I might try growing rocks, moss and lichen a little more. Do rocks, moss and lichen let us project ourselves, each in a different time? And is it by having something in a space onto which we can project our senses and our being that we are able to settle them? --- - [[2026-11-01 Party|The Over50 Party Reminds Us Who We Walk With]] — the party matters, again