If I stared too long, the glossy, petrified tree trunk seemed to pulsate energy through the roof, down into the walls and past the fragile washi paper screens. “The house breathes,” Akihiro Tokunaga, the building’s owner, explained, snapping me out of the hypnosis. “You can feel that this tree is still alive.”

Some 140 years ago, laborers on Kyushu, the southernmost of Japan’s four main islands, soaked a massive felled tree in the ocean for 12 months. Once dried, the solidified trunk became the center pillar of a house, with everything else taking shape around it. Despite the architectural achievement, the home — and 140 years’ worth of abandoned belongings inside it — was next in line to be flattened into a public parking lot. After seeing an online alert from local activists to protect this piece of heritage, Toku­naga and his wife, Yuki, purchased the house and transformed the space into a cafe called Calali.

Cultural treasures on Kyushu reveal themselves almost as frequently as the ubiquitous vending machines found on Japanese street corners. I moved to the island to research energy development and the country’s depopulation crisis, and my travels across the region revealed how residents maintain local traditions under these modern pressures.

Of Japan’s four main islands, Kyu­shu is the second smallest, after Shikoku. Its seven prefectures offer distinct landscapes shaped by more than 70 volcanoes. Rich soil, vibrant coastlines and grasslands set against prominent mountains offer some of the highest-quality food ingredients found in the country. And people here are happy, with access to some of the best hot springs in the world, dynamic biodiversity, a rich cuisine and a generally slower pace of life.

Still, Kyushu faces challenges. Technological convenience mutates centuries-old routines that harmonize with the natural rhythms of the seasons. A low birthrate coupled with decades of a youth exodus to cities like Tokyo has resulted in quieter, emptier towns, and an aging population struggles to maintain seasonal festivals and traditional practices that can attract tourism and stimulate local pride. One tangible effect is the forgotten traditional homes waiting to provide familial warmth again.

Despite these struggles, Kyushu is rich in exquisite Japanese crafts, history and culture. I easily navigated the island relying on public transportation and an occasional small plane.

Here are four destinations to consider beyond Fukuoka, Kyushu’s largest and best-known city.

Saga prefecture: Karatsu

In March, I first rode the seaside train southwest from my home in Fukuoka prefecture to its last stop, the city of Karatsu. During the Edo Period, between 1603 and 1868, Karatsu was a powerful coal mining town overlooked by its fortress, the Karatsu Castle. Four hundred years later, Karatsu’s defensive stone walls continue to tower over the local attractions, including the historic Takatori Residence, once the home of a coal tycoon.

Beyond defensive walls and a boom-and-bust coal economy, Karatsu is home to one of Japan’s oldest pottery styles. From the train station, I ventured along the town’s self-guided pottery tour, where centuries-old kilns and masters, such as the Nakazato family, present their earthen Karatsu ware to admirers.

While we were enjoying matcha at Calali cafe, Yuki Tokunaga shared sentiments of Karatsu’s empty streets and the greater effects of Japan’s depopulation crisis, namely a decline in community pride. “People say we don’t have a lot in Karatsu,” she said, reflecting how her family relocated to the quiet town after living in Tokyo. “For us, we think there is beautiful nature. It’s close to the mountains, the ocean. It’s culturally rich.”

Miyazaki prefecture: Takachiho

To reach the inland town of Takachiho, I took a 45-minute flight from Fukuoka to the coastal city of Miyazaki. From there, I caught a train to Nobeoka, followed by a bus into the mountains.

In Takachiho, some 11,000 residents coexist with the forest that surrounds them. Tomonori Tasaki, a town representative, shared that although Taka­chiho became a tourist destination only about 40 years ago, the Japanese have long recognized it as a setting for Japan’s creation stories and mythology.

The most famous attraction is Taka­chiho Gorge — a deep chasm carved out by several explosions from the nearby Mount Aso, Japan’s largest active volcano. On the opposite side of town is Amanoiwato Shrine, where legend holds that the sun goddess Amaterasu hid in a cave, shrouding the world in darkness. In the evening, I headed to Takachiho Shrine to view a 800-year-old Kagura performance. Here, local performers reenact Amaterasu being lured out of her cave and pray for a successful harvest season.

Takachiho’s population has declined by about 200 people annually for the past 40 years, and finding participants to continue Kagura performances proves challenging. Tasaki, who grew up in Takachiho and returned after completing university, felt hopeful about his community’s future. “If we realize the value of Taka­chiho,” he explained, “maybe more people will stay.”

Nagasaki prefecture: Nagasaki City

In Nagasaki, a pink cable car takes you from the bullet train station to Japan’s largest Chinatown district. I visited during the Lunar New Year Lantern Festival, when hundreds of paper lanterns give the city a festive, red glow.

Nagasaki plays a pivotal role in Kyushu’s nickname as Japan’s “Gateway to Asia.” The city was Japan’s only trading port open to the world during the country’s 200-year period of isolation. An influx of foreign culture and perspectives, mostly from Japan’s close neighbor China, contributed to the development of the area, which was rebuilt after the United States detonated a nuclear bomb over the northern part of the city on Aug. 9, 1945.

Amid New Year celebrations, the streets were filled with vendors and tourists. Still, just beyond Chinatown was the inescapable hush of a city experiencing one of Japan’s highest rates of depopulation. After indulging in celebratory treats and needing exercise, I climbed a staircase leading through a residential hillside. A small coffee shop, aptly named Coffee House on a Hill, and minuscule gardens filled the spaces between quiet homes.

Fukuoka prefecture: Itoshima

From Fukuoka, you can reach the city of Itoshima in less than an hour by train. The population of roughly 100,000 is spread across the western peninsula’s spacious beaches, mountains and rice paddies. Here, Kyushu’s humble ingredients shine.

Born in Itoshima, Aya Takamatsu, who runs a backyard coffee shop called Gallery Yasu, spoke about the recent decrease in farmers and fishermen, and how young people continue to leave for larger cities. Her hopes for the future resonate with Kyushu’s way of life. “We want to continue as we are,” she said, “where everyone can live peacefully and happily, even in the countryside.”

On the walls of Takamatsu’s shop, her father’s paper cutouts depict scenes of daily life. In one of them, a fisherman patiently sits above the neighborhood river.

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This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

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