The sixth episode of “Usagi Drop” isn’t very coy about its metaphor. One might even find this week’s slice-of-life events a little dull and unexciting. After all, we’re planting trees! Although I have railed against slice-of-life anime in the past, I am not, however, against the idea of slice-of-life anime in general. I think the understated developments in this week’s “Usagi Drop” illustrates how to properly execute an episode in such a vein.

Daikichi wants to find the tree that commemorated Rin’s birth because it affirms her existence. It is a symbol of not only Rin herself but her family’s love for her — that her tree exists on her grandfather’s estate shows that at least one person cared for her back then. The tree metaphor, however, extends beyond this simple connection to the young girl. Like Rin, a tree starts out tiny and vulnerable — something so short and flimsy that it requires constant care and nurturing lest it be swallowed up by the harsh and brutal earth. When Daikichi teaches Rin how to use the whistle, it isn’t just about avoiding predators. The world is harsh out there and he has to protect her until she’s old enough and big enough to fend for herself.

Eventually, a tree will tower over the person it represents. Rin’s olive tree is already taller than her; Daikichi’s olive tree looms large over Daikichi’s mother and Rin. This, however, is merely representative of a person’s total self. Daikichi’s bag of flesh and bones may stand only around six feet tall, but this is a bachelor who selflessly took an abandoned child into his own home when she had nowhere else to go. He even sacrificed his career for her. So while he may physically stand only six feet all, he’s a greater, larger man than that. Is it any surprise, then, that his tree stands proudly in his mother’s backyard as a constant reminder of the son she has managed to nurture?

We can extend this metaphor to Daikichi’s mother. When Daikichi revisits Souichi’s estate, he finds something majestic: his mother’s tree leaves him completely awestruck. Her tree reflects not just her decades of experience on Earth, but also her legacy. Although she was reluctant to accept Rin into the family, it is nevertheless due to her mothering that Daikichi has grown up to be the man that he is — a man who would selflessly care for a child who isn’t his own. A tree doesn’t just represent the years a person has lived; it is also a remembrance of a how a person has affected the lives of everyone around them.

When Daikichi wistfully muses, “But long before that day we first met, we were all walking along a similar course,” it might smack a bit of “Well, duh,” but consider what a haiku does:

“…haiku makes no effort to teach or philosophize. It is not unduly emotional, but is capable of subtly eliciting emotional responses. This is done by understatement, by showing rather than telling.”

The personal space
I noticed at times that the world around the characters would disappear and the characters would appear closer to each other than they should:

Cynically, one might accuse Production I.G. of penny-pinching by simplifying the aesthetics of the scenes, but I’m not so sure about that. Backdrops are usually static so it’s not especially hard to maintain quality in this particular area. I think as the characters talk and get to know each other, their literal space subsides and their symbolic space takes over. This is why the characters appear “physically” closer to one another in this abstract space versus reality. Contrast the difference between the two screenshots below:

This implies that Daikichi is growing closer to Masako on a personal level, but why not? She is the mother of his “daughter,” anyhow.

A precocious little girl
I still don’t see Rin as a six year old girl, especially in this episode. Kouki serves as a reminder that children are kinda wild and impulsive, but Rin is whatever the author wants her to be. Is she a silly child? Yes, when she’s hopping back and forth over the mound where a loquat tree is supposed to grow. Is she wise beyond her years? Yes, when she crouches with melancholy over her loquat seeds.