Last night the shrine near our neighborhood held its 夏祭り — the summer festival. The kind that fills every space between the stalls with people, where the smell of yakitori and takoyaki drifts through the humid evening air, and half the crowd has come in yukata despite the heat.

We came home with three goldfish.

How 金魚すくい works

金魚すくい, kingyo sukui — goldfish scooping — is one of those games you find at virtually every Japanese summer festival. A shallow tank of water, goldfish moving through it, and a tool called a poi: a thin circular frame with Japanese paper stretched across it. That paper is the whole game.

You hold the poi in one hand and a small bowl in the other. The poi goes into the water gently — too forceful and it tears immediately. You slide it under a goldfish and lift carefully. If you get the fish into your bowl before the paper gives way, it's yours to take home. When the poi is completely torn and only the wire frame is left, the game is over.

The skill is in reading the paper. You can feel it softening in the water, the structural integrity changing with each moment it is submerged. Experienced players use the edge rather than the flat surface, making quick, precise movements. Most children — and most adults — tear through several poi without catching much. The occasional person who scoops fish after fish with a single poi draws a small crowd.

Why goldfish, specifically

Goldfish have been part of Japanese summer culture for centuries — introduced from China around five hundred years ago, initially kept by wealthy merchants and samurai as a luxury. Over time they became widely kept, and their association with summer deepened: the flash of orange and gold in a glass bowl, the movement of fins in clear water, the cooling effect of looking at something aquatic on a hot day.

The red color of goldfish was understood to ward off misfortune. The gold, to invite prosperity. By the time 金魚すくい became a festival game, goldfish were already thoroughly woven into the visual language of Japanese summer.

The three who came home with us

Our three are now in a bowl on the table. They are small and fast and seem entirely unbothered by the journey from the festival tank to our house. This is always how it goes — you play the game half-expecting to lose the poi immediately, and then somehow end up responsible for new living things.

It is one of the more charming ways that summer festivals create unexpected continuations of themselves, long after the lanterns have come down.

If you are visiting Japan in summer, a 夏祭り is worth finding — most neighborhoods hold one, often at the local shrine, usually on a weekend evening in July or August. The goldfish stall will be there.