Most of my everyday contact with family and friends happens through messaging apps. For the past few years, I have rarely had occasion to write anyone a letter.
Mino City, in Gifu Prefecture, has a historic district known for its udatsu, raised firewalls built above the roofs of traditional merchant houses.
While visiting Mino, I was walking through the district when I came across a shop with a noren—a fabric curtain hung across the entrance—bearing the name Shiyu. Inside, the shelves were filled with washi goods: notepads, letter sets, and washi tape. I chose a mimosa-patterned ippitsusen, a small sheet of letter paper intended for a few handwritten lines; several sets of Soebumisen, Furukawa Shiko’s small seven-line sheets for short notes; and a patterned goshuincho, a book used for collecting seals from temples and shrines.
What drew me to the small sheets was the wording on the product, which described it as “the world’s shortest letter” for conveying one’s feelings, along with the fact that each sheet had only seven lines.
Back home, I decided to write a short note to accompany a gift for a friend. I assumed seven lines would be easy. Once I sat down with the paper, however, its shortness was precisely what made me think carefully about what to say.
There was room for only a sentence or two. I went through my memories and feelings, trying to find the words that mattered. It took far more thought than I had expected.
As I chose those words, I found myself recognizing anew how much I cared about the person I was writing to.
To me, a handwritten note carried more warmth than a message sent online. My friend was pleased to receive it. Since then, I have wanted to convey important things in my own handwriting.
Furukawa Shiko is a paper-goods maker based in Mino City, Gifu Prefecture. Its origins date to 1835, and it has worked with Mino washi for more than 180 years. Today, the company designs, manufactures, and sells paper goods, including letter paper, notepads, and other products made from Mino washi.
As more communication moves online, Furukawa Shiko says it wants to make paper goods for everyday life that help sustain warm connections between people. It regards the pleasure of writing, an awareness of the seasons, and the act of conveying one’s feelings as experiences that paper can bring into focus. By considering how paper fits into life today, the company continues to explore new possibilities for Mino washi.
Furukawa Shiko launched Soebumisen in 2007. Made from Mino washi, each sheet has seven ruled lines. It can be used for a brief letter or a memo.
A seven-line note is not necessarily easy to write. For me, its shortness did not make writing easier. It presented a different kind of difficulty: deciding what to leave out and what to keep.
The time I spent making those choices became a way of confirming what I truly wanted to tell my friend. Now that words can be sent before we have had time to consider their weight, I wonder whether there is value in pausing over a sheet of paper to choose a single sentence.
When I held one of the sheets up to the light, I could see the fibers in the paper. Its surface felt slightly rough, but not unpleasant; instead, I sensed a certain warmth in it. When I brought it close, I noticed a faint, plant-like scent.
Most of my day-to-day contact is still through messaging apps. But when I have something special to convey—a celebration or thanks—I choose paper.
It does not have to be special stationery. With any paper at hand, you might write one or two lines to a single person, then look at what you chose to keep and what you left out.
The next time you have something important to say, you might choose Mino washi. Unlike writing on whatever paper happens to be nearby, choosing the letter paper yourself allows its texture and scent to become part of what you send. As you picture those words reaching the hands of the person they are meant for, you may feel a little warmth, too.