Every June, just before the full heat of summer settles in, there’s a small seasonal ritual I’ve come to love—umeshigoto, or plum work. It’s a quiet, meditative task that marks the start of early summer here in the Japanese countryside, and this year, our old plum tree gifted us with a bumper crop.
Not wanting to let good fruit go to waste, I decided to make a fresh batch of umeshu—Japanese plum liqueur. It’s a simple process, but one that feels rich with tradition, especially when done in a home like ours—a 100-year-old farmhouse tucked between the fields and the forest.
A Gentle Task with Deep Roots
Umeshigoto starts with a gentle rhythm: washing the fruit, removing the stems, and laying everything out to dry. I usually sit in the engawa—that quiet, wooden corridor that runs along the outside of the house—where the breeze comes through and time seems to slow down. With a basket of green plums on one side and a small tray on the other, I work through each fruit one by one.
Some people might call it tedious. I think of it as grounding.
There’s a peacefulness in doing something by hand, season after season, and seeing how the results improve little by little each year. Maybe that’s what I like most about life in the countryside—it invites you to participate, not just observe.
Why I Started Making Umeshu in My 40s
I didn’t grow up making umeshu. In fact, for most of my adult life, I wasn’t much of a drinker at all. But after moving here and settling into a slower rhythm, I started to notice the natural cycles more: when the plums turn yellow, when the cicadas start humming, when the first eggplants are ready in the garden.
Living in this old house, with its creaky floors and smoky summer kitchen, has made me curious about the kinds of things women used to do here before me—how they preserved the seasons, used what they had, and passed down those small domestic rituals.
Making umeshu became a way for me to connect with that. I may not drink it often, but I love seeing the jars on the counter—plums floating in crystal rock sugar—and knowing I made it with my own hands.
A Small Surprise from Nature
This year’s harvest was plentiful, but not without a reminder. While picking the fruit, I discovered that ivy had quietly crept up the tree’s trunk—thick, green, and clinging like a viney centipede. We cleared away as much as we could, hoping the tree will bounce back strong. Nature always finds a way, but it’s moments like this that remind me how quickly things can change if left unnoticed.
The Comfort of Small Traditions
After bottling the plums with sugar and liquor, I placed the jars on our red-tiled kitchen counter—another vintage detail that feels like it belongs in an NHK morning drama. Now comes the waiting. Over the next few months, the flavors will deepen and mellow, just in time for autumn.
Umeshigoto isn’t flashy or urgent. But it’s one of those things that makes this life feel just right. A few hours in the engawa, the sound of birds outside, and a basket of sour fruit that will sweeten slowly over time.
Just like life out here.
🎥 Watch the vlog
If you’d like to see the process (and what umeshigoto looks like in real time), I filmed a short video from our farmhouse. It’s up now on YouTube