Japan’s dwindling birthrate and aging population have been topics of discussion and concern for years. The World Economic Forum estimates that around 40% of the country’s population will be 65 or older by 2050.
Rural communities face the harsh cycle of residents moving away to the big cities for job opportunities — and, in turn, decreasing the infrastructure budget and government support that can only be sustained by a consistent population. Shops go out of business due to having no customers, schools close after their last students graduate and train lines terminate. It naturally becomes harder and harder to live in these disappearing villages.
Nagoro, located in the secluded Iya Valley of Tokushima Prefecture on Shikoku Island, is one of Japan’s minuscule communities, with a population of a little over two dozen. Not a single child has been born there in 20 years. The nearest supermarket or hospital is 90 minutes away by car, along a long and narrow road. Yet while Nagoro has very few residents, it is becoming famous for its large number of realistic scarecrows, known in Japanese as kakashi, which can be found all around the village.
Where Dolls Outnumber Residents
There are, in fact, more than 350 life-sized dolls scattered throughout the remote neighborhood, recreating everyday routines that used to be conducted by Nagoro’s real residents. You’ll see figures tending to their gardens, taking a smoke break, waiting at bus stops and sitting in long-abandoned classrooms.
At initial glance, the dolls may spur some uneasy feelings, bordering on the edge of the uncanny valley. But they also have a certain distinguishable charm and cozy nature that is sure to draw in curious minds.
Photo by Nadia Shira Cohen for The New York Times
From Scarecrows to Neighbors
The vast majority of the dolls were handmade by Ayano Tsukimi, who was born in Nagoro and watched what was already a small village of around 300 people gradually shrink as she grew up. Eventually, like most other residents, Tsukimi’s family moved to Osaka, where she married and started a family of her own. After retiring, Tsukimi’s parents returned to Nagoro. She later followed to take care of her ailing father, who became the village’s oldest inhabitant.
Her doll-making hobby initially started from necessity. She noticed that birds were digging out the freshly planted seeds in her field, so she created her first scarecrow in the shape of her father. Many neighbors would confuse the scarecrow for her actual father, leading to some funny interactions.
“They would sometimes say, ‘Good morning, you’re up working very early.’ It just started up a conversation between the scarecrow and the neighbors,” said Tsukimi in an interview with NPR in 2016.
A Community Repopulated by Dolls
Since then, Tsukimi has created countless more figures, staging them to replenish the village and recreate the community from her memories. As she meticulously stitches each of them by hand, she adds creative designs to their faces and clothing to give them individuality. She comes up with names and backstories to add personality.
Some dolls are also based on real people from her life in Nagoro. The former elementary school, which closed in 2012, has two dolls wearing the same clothes as the last students to attend class there. For Tsukimi and other Nagoro residents, the dolls are a fun way to bring life back to the village and avoid loneliness.
“I wish there were more children because it would be more cheerful. So I made the children,” she explained to The New York Times in 2019.
As the dolls grow in number, Tsukimi’s scarecrows have been gaining notoriety across the country and even internationally. They are also drawing in more visitors to this slowly forgotten neighborhood. Tsukimi also puts together an annual undokai, or school sports festival, where dolls and humans alike participate in various activities. The festival is complete with food stalls serving yakisoba and takoyaki, just like any other school festival around the country.
While the village’s population remains tiny and will one day disappear altogether, visitors can come to appreciate the craft skills of Tsukimi.
