A Return to Obon

 

7/18/26 Obon festival, Seattle Betsuin Temple, Central District

As a child and teen, I looked forward to Seattle Betsuin Buddhist Temple’s annual Obon festival every summer. For my friends and me back then, it was mostly about socializing, dancing (traditional folk dances) and eating street food, but the festival itself has religious roots related to honoring deceased loved ones (I gave my shorthand of the roots in this 2016 post). This year, of course, I had more reason to go than usual and especially to attend the formal service that precedes the festivities. (Aside: As I listened to the minister talk about Obon, I realized it’s quite similar to El Día de los Muertos in intention and spirit.)

When I was young, the lead dance instructor barked out strict rules of dress and conduct during rehearsals: No blue jeans! No short pants! No tennis shoes! No chewing gum! We were to wear only traditional kimono or happi festival jackets over dark pants. Now participants wear anything they want, and I enjoy seeing the mix of styles.

I continued attending Obon annually as an adult, and Greg had loved participating as much as I did. He enjoyed and appreciated the small-community feeling, and of course, we both enjoyed the food and socializing. For a long period, though, we kept missing Obon because it always seemed to coincide with the many Urban Sketchers Symposiums we attended or other travel. Then COVID happened, followed by Greg’s worsening dementia, and I realized last Saturday that I hadn’t been to Obon since 2017. No wonder I had missed it so.

Taiko drumming, usually performed by Seattle Betsuin's own taiko group, is a highlight of the festivities.

Attending with a friend since elementary school, we reminisced about simultaneously dreading/hoping to see certain boys (middle school) and how the kori (shave ice or snow cones in other parlance) we just paid $7 for used to cost 75 cents. We caught up with another friend we went to middle school with and had danced with at many Obon. She introduced us to her grandkids in tow. Much reminiscing commenced.

Obon is where we count time by decades as much as by years.