For nearly half a century, the first weekend of September has transformed the Missouri Botanical Garden in St. Louis into a living postcard of Japanese culture. When the garden's Japanese Festival returns September 5 through 7, 2026, for its Labor Day weekend run, visitors will gather in the shadow of Seiwa-en, the fourteen-acre "garden of pure, clear harmony and peace," to hear taiko drums thunder across a four-acre lake, watch sumo wrestlers collide in the ring, and stroll candlelit paths beneath shoji lanterns as they have for generations. But behind the sound and spectacle lies a quieter story — one of an interned community offering its deepest thanks to a city that chose to welcome it.
The festival's roots reach back to World War II, when Japanese-Americans were forced into internment camps. Ed Shimamoto was born behind barbed wire in 1944. When the war ended and his family was finally allowed to leave the Rohwer, Arkansas, internment camp, they had nothing to return to — their strawberry and grape farm in California was gone. They headed north to St. Louis because they had heard it was a friendly place to live, less prejudiced than other cities. As one St. Louis Post-Dispatch account of the festival's history notes, St. Louis had earned that reputation.
In the 1970s, these families resolved to give something back, and in 1977 the Missouri Botanical Garden dedicated Seiwa-en, designed by Koichi Kawana, a professor at UCLA. Modeled on the chisen kaiyu-shiki, or "wet strolling garden," a style developed by wealthy landowners of the late Edo period, the garden unfurls around a lake with four islands — Tortoise Island and Crane Island, symbols of longevity; Paradise Island, formed by three stones; and Teahouse Island.
The founders—about two dozen families—offered the festival to St. Louis as an omiyage, a gift of gratitude. That first festival, held at the Garden in 1977, has since evolved into one of the largest and longest-running festivals of its kind in the United States, drawing more than forty thousand visitors each Labor Day weekend.
The festival's heartbeat is the sound of taiko, performed by the St. Louis Osuwa Taiko drummers. The festival opens Saturday morning at ten with a ceremonial procession from the Spink Pavilion to the Japanese Garden, where honored guests break open a sake barrel in the traditional kagamiwari ritual as the Osuwa drummers provide the soundtrack. Over the long weekend, visitors can watch sumo, Japan's national sport, whose roots lie in religious performances to the Shinto gods, with the festival partnering with USA Sumo to bring rikishi such as Ichi, a former top-division professional who won the Emperor's Cup and attained the elite sekiwake rank. There are kimono shows tracing the formal art of dressing by season and occasion, bonsai and ikebana demonstrations, rakugo storytelling, cosplay competitions for anime fans, a cultural marketplace at Linnean Plaza, and a food court serving everything from fresh sushi to Japanese-style sandwiches. Children's activities in the Spink Pavilion let little ones try calligraphy, origami, and games like kendama and otedama.
Two experiences, though, belong singularly to the garden itself. Teahouse Island, closed to the public the rest of the year, opens for special tours during the festival. And on Saturday and Sunday evenings, when the day crowds thin, the garden empties into an ethereal scene as self-guided candlelight walks thread through Seiwa-en, the landscape splendidly illuminated by shoji lanterns. It is here, perhaps, that the festival's founding intent is most fully realized — a community that was once unjustly imprisoned offering its culture as a gift, and a garden built in that spirit glowing with light for a city that, a generation earlier, chose warmth over prejudice. For the thousands who gather on the Shaw Boulevard grounds each September, that survival is worth celebrating together.