Category: Almanac

December: Shi-wasu

December is traditionally known as “shi-wasu”. The end of the year is a time when people asked priests (shi) to come to their homes to recite sutras. Demand necessitated running from place to place (wasu). December 13th marks “koto-hajime” (the start of preparations for the new year) in Kyoto. Everyone becomes busy finalizing business affairs and attending innumerable “bonenkai” (forgetting-the-year) parties.

In the garden, a sense of quiet descends after the fanfare of November’s brilliant colours. Stripped of their leaves, persimmon trees (kaki) become more sculptural with fruit and branches clearly silhouetted against the pale winter sky. Here and there in my neighbourhood, cheerful clusters of red berries belonging to the sacred bamboo (nanten) emerge. Used in “kadomatsu”, a New year’s decoration in which branches of japanese black pine (kuromatsu) and sacred bamboo are placed in front of a stout bamboo (take) approximately 1.5 metres high, with its top cut sharply at an angle to reveal the inner structure of the bamboo. Placed outside entrance-ways to buildings and homes, the “kadomatsu” serves as a temporary dwelling place welcoming the god of fortune.

(A few branches of sacred bamboo also make a great Christmas tree substitute and my tokonoma alcove is currently resplendent with an oversized ikebana arrangement of it).

Now is also a wonderful time to notice an exotic variety of ripening citrus fruits (many of which we never see in western gardens). My favourite amongst these is the knobbly skinned “yuzu”. A somewhat unprepossessing appearance belies the delicate fragrance that imparts a distinctive accent to all manner of things ranging from soups to cosmetics.
Winter solstice (Toji) falls around the 22nd of this month. On this day, it is customary to put “yuzu’ in the bathtub. My local public bath (sento) still observes this tradition.

Towards the end of December, I am also excited by the gentle flowering of the wintersweet (ro-bai). Originally from China, it is also known as “kara-ume” or “nankin-ume”. Waxy yellow flowers on a bare branch emit an elegant fragrance not unlike narcissus (suisen). Its characteristic shape makes it a favourite for tea ceremony.

Ro-bai ni / tsuki no tare min / misoka-goro

Ro-bai looks like the sliver of moon around the 30th.

— Kanka

November: Shimo-tsuki

A traditional name for the month of November is “Shimo-tsuki” given that frost often forms around this time.

Coming from Australia where the trees are almost completely evergreen, the spectacle of colour that November brings is a real entertainment. For me, the “show” begins with the coppery reds of the cherry (sakura) leaves. However amongst locals, given the traditional value of modesty (kenkyo), scant attention is given to this particular colour change. With the focus that the cherry receives for its blossoms in Spring, it would seem extravagant to praise it again in Autumn.

Japan has a culture that is historically saturated with an awareness of the seasons. Nature is highly aesthetically codified and words/images often have a symbolic seasonal connotation (kigo). As I study the aesthetic more deeply, it is simultaneously daunting and liberating to view my environment with “blue eyes.” As a foreigner residing in Japan, I am not bound by the weight of established cultural associations and am therefore free to enjoy the beauty of falling cherry leaves.

And so as the month progresses, the “colour show” continues with the understated russet hues of the japanese zelkova (keyaki) leaves. Zelkova trees are largely invisible throughout the year, typically occupying anonymous public spaces like median strips of major roads. Now for a brief moment, they take a bow before losing all their leaves. Then, one of my personal favourite colour changes of the month belongs to the gingko (icho) tree. The fan-shaped leaves of this ancient species, glow with deep golden hues and can often be spotted above the rooflines of traditional neighbourhood houses and temples. As the leaves fall to the ground, an exquisite carpet is formed.

The grand finale to this “Annual Leaf Show” most decidedly comes with the turning of the japanese maple (momiji). Akin to its Spring counterpart, the blossoms of the cherry (sakura), the scarlet red leaves of the japanese maple (momiji) are the quintessential image of the season. While guiding my mother, freshly arrived from Australia, at my neighbourhood temple Shinnyodo this afternoon, I once again realized some of the reasons this species takes centre stage right now.
Slender of trunk, its graceful branches either seem to float horizontally, cantilever fashion or drape on a cascading diagonal. The leaves themselves are delicate, almost cut out in origami patterns and glow translucent in the late afternoon sun.
Sometimes, even within a single leaf, we can see the passing of the season in the gradation of colour from green through yellow to red. Interestingly enough, it has never been the main specimen in traditional Japanese garden design. That role has always been occupied by the pine (matsu) or big leaf yew pine (maki). Rather it is relegated to a supporting role, but it undoubtedly upstages its fellow “performers” come late Autumn. For most Japanese, the gradual turning of the momiji leaves captures the ephemeral melancholic beauty of Autumn.

Savour the words of Haiku poet Basho’s disciple:

Momiji
Urayamashi
Utsukushu natte
Chiru momiji

Maple Leaves
How I envy maple leaves
which turn beautiful and then
fall!

— Shiko

October: Kami-nashi-zuki

One of the old Japanese names for October is “kami-nashi-zuki” since it is the season to ferment newly harvested rice into sake, or, as is commonly explained, the gods (kami) are not available (nashi) because all of them got together for a conference at the Grand Shrine of Izumo.

While trimming my garden after summer vacation recently, I became acutely aware of a strong, sweet fragrance. I soon noticed the myriad, tiny orange flowers on the sweet osmanthus (kin mokusei) tree. This is but one of the heralds of October, a lovely month here in Kyoto. Nearby, bush clover (hagi) in pink and white blooms, extends in graceful arcs, swishing in the wind. In the Man’yoshu, Japan’s oldest poetry anthology, 141 verses are dedicated to bush clover (hagi) alone. It is one of the “seven flowers of Autumn” here in Japan, the others being: eulalia (susuki), kudzu (kuzu),pink (nadeshiko), yellow patrinia (ominaeshi), Japanese boneset (fujibakama) and Chinese bellflower (kikyo). Typically understated, the delicate forms and colours of the seven Autumn flowers make them popular motifs in a variety of crafts and looking for them in kimono and ceramic patterns is another pleasure of the season. Increased urbanization has made these flowers far less common than they once were, but still they evoke the feeling of early autumn. Walking in the Higashiyama hills we are more likely to see the “seven flowers” as well as chestnuts. In the words of the poet Tameie:

Yo no naka wa
aki ni nari-yuku
waka-guri no
shiburu-shiburuya
emite suginan

“Another autumn! Young kuri just keep smiling even though they are astringent inside. This is no different from me.”

September: Naga-tsuki

To reflect increasingly longer nights, another name for September is Naga-tsuki. The heat of summer continues unabated even though it is officially early Autumn in the solar calendar. This year has been particularly hot. Japanese residents eagerly anticipate the arrival of the Autumn Equinox (Higan) around September 21st, as it is usually accompanied by a sudden drop in temperature.

Autumn is a much vaunted time in Japan. It has long been extolled in the Japanese Arts. The “Man’yoshu”
(“Ten Thousand Leaves”) is perhaps the first anthology of Japanese poetry and song. Written in the mid eighth century of the Nara period, many of the verses celebrate the
“seven grasses of autumn” (aki nanakusa).

Flowers blossoming
in autumn fields-
when I count them on my fingers
they then number seven
The flowers of bush clover,
eulalia, arrowroot,
pink, patrinia,
also mistflower
and morning faces flower.

aki no no ni
sakitaru hana o
yubi orite
kaki kazoureba
nana kusa no hana
hagi ga hana
obana kuzubana
nadeshiko no hana
ominaeshi
mata fujibakama
asagao no hana

—Yamanoue Okura (C.660-733)
Manyoshu: 8: 1537-8

First mentioned is the bush clover (hagi) which surprisingly appears over 100 times in the “Man’yoshu” making it the most famous of the autumn grasses. A deciduous shrub of the pea family, bush clover can be found growing wild in fields and mountains. Overhanging branches laden with reddish-purple flowers sway gracefully in the breeze. The small and delicate flowers scatter as soon as autumn winds begin. In the most famous work of Japanese literature, “The Tale of Genji”, an early 14th century novel, as Genji’s wife Murasaki lies on her deathbed, she is visited by Genji and his daughter the Empress. Their thoughts move elegaically to the (hagi) as they bid final farewells.

Next mentioned is eulalia (susuki). Closely associated with the autumn moon reputed to be the most beautiful of the whole year, the silvery tops of the eulalia blowing in the wind is an enduring image inextricably linked to the ambiance of the moonlit sky artistically.

Other flowers that count as part of the seven include: arrowroot (kuzu). It is a climbing vine and it’s leaves were particularly admired by poets and painters of the Heian period (784-1185). Fourth mentioned is pink (nadeshiko) with it’s delicately fringed petals resembling those of a carnation. In the Japanese language (nadeshiko) means ” an affectionate touch for a child”. The Man’yoshu treats (nadeshiko) as both a summer and autumn flower.

Next is the patrinia (ominaeshi), a perennial herb that grows in mountainous areas. The tall stems of the (ominaeshi) fan out at the top bearing small five-petalled yellow flowers. Once again in Japanese classical literature, it’s appearance is likened to a beautiful woman.

Sixth is the mistflower (fujibakama) which has tiny white blossoms tinged with purple on the top of long stems. It is similar to the aforementioned (ominaeshi) but as the literal Japanese translation is “purple trousers”, it usually connotes a man rather than a woman.

Although the last of the seven autumn grasses is officially written as (asagao) morning face, it is more likely to refer to (kikyo) chinese bellflower or balloon flower. This is a late summer/early autumn flower characterised by five pointed, blue-purple trumpet shaped blooms.

Autumn grasses also feature in a later Heian period anthology called the “Kokinshu“. Elegant language highlights the subtle nuances of love and life in the aristocratic court society, brilliantly illustrating that nature and flowers powerfully evoke the “seasons” of interior emotion.

It is also well known that the “seven autumn grasses” could evoke deep emotional responses amongst Japanese people in olden days as exemplars of beauty tinged with sadness. They epitomise the particular Japanese aesthetic of “wabi” and “sabi“. Notoriously hard to define, “wabi” connotes elegant austerity while “sabi” amongst other meanings connotes solitary melancholy. Together these Japanese aesthetic principles lead to another Japanese aesthetic concept known as “mono no aware” which describes a sentiment of pathos referring to the fleeting nature of our relative world. It relates to seeing beauty in fragile, impermanent nature, even suggesting that without impermanence, genuine beauty cannot exist.

Another image that conjures up the feeling of “mono no aware” is the plaintive singing of insects in this season.
From another poem in the “Man’yoshu” anthology:

Rain falling on the garden grass
hearing the sound of the night cricket
I know autumn has arrived.

niwagusa ni murasame furite korogi no naka oto
kikeba aki tsuki ni keri

— Unknown (Eighth century)

August: Ha-zuki

In the lunar calendar, August was the month in which leaves (ha) began to fall, hence the name “Ha-zuki“.
The official beginning of Autumn “Risshu” comes around the 7/8th day. However in the Gregorian calendar, August finds Japan still in the middle of lingering summer heat: sultry and sweltering.

One of the flowers commonly seen in Kyoto neighbourhoods this month is the Rose of Sharon (fuyo). It reaches a height of about three metres and the reddish-purple, five petaled flowers bloom until October. Some varietal strains bear white, pink and mixed colour flowers. In the tea ceremony world, this flower is representative of summer and is a favourite for the Chabana style of flower arrangement, expressing the ephemeral quality
of all things.

In this season of mid-summer, lotus (hasu) flowers are also linked to the Japanese psyche. According to ancient chronicles, the lotus was originally cultivated for medicinal purposes.
Later, different varieties were introduced from China with today’s most common types of lotus, having been introduced from the continent during the Meiji period (1868-1912)

There is an interesting etymology for the Japanese name for the lotus (hasu). After blooming, a hard honeycomb shaped pod is left. Since this looks like a beehive (hachi-no-su), the entire plant is referred to by the abbreviated (ha-su).

Lotus also have an essential role to play this month as decorations at the OBON festival, Japan’s great annual celebration of the returning dead. Offerings of food, flowers
and incense are given to every family grave in Buddhist temple cemeteries. Some of the other interesting rituals involving lotus include: pouring sake (rice wine) onto the big plate-like leaves with their hollow stalks stuck between people’s lips to act as metre long drinking straws.

Fundamentally, the lotus is the flower of the Buddha and is considered a divine and sacred plant. The lotus flower with it’s huge corolla, in blooming offers a fleeting vision of delicate shades of pink and white. The lotus symbolises birth and rebirth by the fact that petals open when the sun comes out and close when the sun sets. The long stem illustrates connection to our origins, growing from the muddy depths that symbolise the challenges of our everyday human existence.

In 1688, the famous Haiku poet Basho visited one of his disciples on the occasion of “Tama Matsuri” (Festival of the Spirits) which is a Buddhist custom to honour the departed (deceased) spirits of one’s ancestors. Cut lotus flowers were among the offerings placed on the spirit shelf “tamadana“. His haiku implies that lotus flowers blooming in a small pond are just as much offerings without being cut.

hasu ike ya/ ora da sono mama/ tama matsuri

lotus pond!/ not-pick this as/ festival of spirits

— Basho

July: Fumi-zuki

Fumi-zuki comes from “fumi-hiroge-zuki” which means to “open fumi (writings)” based on the idea that Japanese people used to write on the occasion of Tanabata on the seventh day of the month. Tanabata originated from a Chinese folk legend concerning two stars- the weaver star (Vega) and the cowherd star (Altair) said to be lovers who could only meet once a year on the seventh night, of the seventh month, providing it didn’t rain and flood the Milky Way. In Japan, Tanabata was merged with Buddhist and Shinto Festivals becoming what may be described as “consoling the spirits of the Kami and the Buddha”. The festival was also co-opted by the third Shogun of the Muromachi period, Ashikaga Yoshimitsu. In 1399, he held a flower arranging contest in his newly built Golden Pavilion, using many vases from his magnificent collection of Chinese porcelain marking an important event in the enjoyment of flower arranging as an art form.

In modern times, the Japanese custom for Tanabata, is to decorate the branches of freshly cut bamboo with long narrow strips of coloured paper on which romantic aspirations and wishes are written. The branch is then set up outside the family home and turned towards the lovers in heaven.

As for flowers: many people associate July with the cheerful Morning Glory (asagao). The Japanese name directly translates as “morning face”. Neighbourhood gardeners often construct elaborate bamboo and twine trellises to train the tendrils of this delicate looking creeper on fences. The funnel shaped flower is seen in a multitude of colours ranging from white through to pink,red, blue and purple. It blooms in the morning and wilts before noon. It has been fashionable to cultivate and hybridise Morning Glories since the Edo period.

In the Japanese tea world, there is a marvellous story about the Tea Master Sen no Rikyu’s use of the Morning Glory. In the sixteenth century, the Morning Glory was still somewhat rare in the Japanese garden. Rikyu had an entire garden planted with it which he lovingly tended. The garden became quite famous and the most powerful military leader of the time Hideyoshi Toyotomi, demanded that Rikyu invite him to see it. However on the appointed day, when Hideyoshi arrived not a single Morning Glory was to be seen in the garden. The ground had been levelled and strewn with pebbles and only the stubble of the stalks remained. Greatly angered, the Shogun entered the tearoom and was completely surprised to find a single Morning Glory exquisitely arranged in a vase in the alcove.

In Japanese poetry, the Morning Glory’s flower has been associated with the impermanence of life and thus it’s blooming is a joy to behold.

Asagao ni/ ware wa meshi ku oto kana

I am one who eats his little breakfast gazing at Morning Glories

— Basho

June: Minazuki

In June it is traditionally said that rice sprouts “mina-tsukitaru” (all take root) hence the name Minazuki. In the Japanese calendar, the fifth “unofficial”season is “tsuyu” or the rainy season. Typically it lasts about a month until the big summer festival in Kyoto, the “Gion Matsuri“. Days are characterised by sudden heavy downpours as well as constant rain. Skies are often a deep grey colour. The residents of Kyoto become more aware of the beginning of summer with the onset of steadily increasing heat and humidity. The abundant rain makes everything grow rapidly and there is a rich variety of summer flowers.

One of my favourite flowers this month is the Bell flower (hotaru-bukuro). In Japanese, its name poetically conjures an image of a firefly resting in a pouch. The plant has long hairy leaves coming to a point and the flowers are spotted white or purplish red. Fireflies are a traditional summer image and feature in many haiku. To go “firefly viewing” with friends has long been a favourite summer pastime. Wild thistle (azami) can also be seen in hills and fields in a variety of colours ranging from purple through to red, pink and white. The Day flower (tsuyukusa), although considered a weed by many western gardeners, is accepted in Japan as the plant which heralds the rainy season and brings hope for a good rice harvest.

At the beginning of June, the most prolific of the Japanese irises (hanashobu) is often seen in specialised plantings which bloom enmasse in pond gardens that attract thousands of visitors to places like the Heian Shrine in Kyoto. The iris has been an important horticultural plant since the early part of the Edo period. It is well mentioned in literature and is also a prominent motif in Japanese art.

Recently I found myself very attracted to a famous Tea master’s phrase “Summer should be cool”. This can be summed up in the Japanese “ryo-ichimi” which translates as “an item of coolness”. This does not mean we need to rely on technology such as airconditioners and fans. Rather, “coolness” is a “mental construct”, an attitude of being that helps keep us fresh through the long summer months: the scene of a breeze blowing through a field of fresh green rice shoots, the image of a waterfall. There are many ways to generate “coolness”.

For me, one of the ways to entertain “coolness” in these sticky months is through the inky blue blooms of the Japanese hydrangea (ajisai).There are many varieties and it is popular as both a garden shrub and container plant. I particularly enjoy the more delicate blooms of the Hydrangea serrata or “yama ajisai” with its fertile flower in the centre surrounded by broad petalled sterile flowers. More than almost anything else, it is this beautiful colour gradation from the deepest purple-blue to a lighter watery blue that I adopt as my personal “ryo-ichimi”. Cycling around town seeing large clumps of hydrangea makes me “feel” cool as summer unfolds. In the words of the most famous Heian period arbiter of all that is to be savoured:

Summer is at its best in the evening especially when the moon is out, but even without it, summer is wonderful.
The heart will be warmed when the fireflies flow all around.
It is a wonderful sight to watch a few flies about here and there.
A summer evening is also charming when it rains.

— Sei Shonagon

May: Satsuki

May is also known as “Satsuki“. It is the month in which rice sprouts sanae are planted and also the season of samidare or “early summer rain”. Both Sanae-zuki and Samidare-zuki can be abbreviated to Satsuki.

After the fanfare of cherry blossom (sakura) in April, the beginning of May is much quieter, although the shobu or Sweet-flag makes an appearance at the Boy’s Day Festival on May 5th. Shobu no sekku or Boy’s Day is one of five seasonal festivals, closely following Hina Matsuri for girls. The power of shobu originates from a Chinese legend. It’s leaves are used in traditional decorations and were known to ward off evil spirits and avert fires. At this time of the year, leaves are bundled and placed in the bath shobu-yu.

Speaking of iris, one of my favourite flowers of this month is katkitsubata or Rabbit-ear iris, which is usually grown in waterside areas or ponds. The leaves are sword shaped and grow in clusters. From a long stalk , flowers bloom, the most beautiful are deep blue/purple. They look magnificent enmasse and can be appreciated in various shrine gardens around Kyoto. As the flower looks like a flying swallow,, the Chinese characters meaning: “young-of-a-swallow-flower” are used to depict the name in Japanese.

Wisteria fuji is also an emblematic flower at this time. It can be seen in many places: high up in the Kyoto hills, aggressively wrapped around tall conifers as well as meticulously trimmed specimens, trained carefully over arbors in both domestic and temple gardens. Mauve is the most common colour for the Japanese Wisteria floribunda although the larger white flowered variety can also be seen.

Continuing the purple theme so prevalent this month is the delicately flowering “miyako-wasure“. It is a form of summer chrysanthemum. On each 15-20cm stalk, there grows only one flower, usually dark purple in colour. Legend has it that a high ranking exile gazed intensely at the flower which enabled hime to forget about “miyako” (the capital) and so it is called “miyako-wasure“.

However, May is not a month for melancholy. The colour green is now in abundance. Fresh green leaves seem to be bursting out everywhere and many Japanese enjoy going to visit the mountains and gardens to appreciate the beauty of the new growth. The term “shin-ryoku” is a well known seasonal word (kigo) and conjures up the vibrancy of early summer (shoka). Young Maple leaves (ao-momiji) in particular are prized for their delicate new greenery and many tourist spots have begun extolling the virtues of “ao-momiji” as a drawcard in a season that is seen as having reliably pleasant weather.

Kage hitasu/ mizu sae iro zo / midori naru /
yo-mo no ko-zue no / onaji waka-ba ni

With fresh greenery at all points of the compass, it is no wonder that the water with the reflection of the treetops is also green.

— Teika

April: Uzuki

Another name for April is “Hana-zangetsu” meaning that there are still some flowers left. Although officially it is the second month of Spring in the solar calendar, traditionally it corresponds to the end of the season.

April is all about the ubiquitous cherry blossom (sakura). Revered as the national flower and referenced in countless songs and poems, these blossoms steadfastly represent the aesthetic beauty of Japan.

Samurai in the middle ages, not afraid to die at the peak of life were symbolized by the image of the cherry blossom falling off a branch while still perfect and unwithered. There are a number of phrases related to sakura, my favourite of which is “sakura fubuki” which connotes “cherry blossom blizzard”. It is quite startling to behold petals fluttering to the ground enmasse, as they fall off branches in sudden gusts of wind.

In modern Japan too, this is an auspicious time of beginnings. Not only is it the start of the financial year when university graduates are inducted into company life as “freshmen/women”, it is also the start of the school year from elementary through university. There are many social gatherings to celebrate these rites of passage and epitomized by large “hana-mi” (cherry blossom viewing” parties. A hana-mi party in full swing is a site to behold. My favourite party venues tend to be at shrines like Hirano in the west of Kyoto or under the “grand dame” of Weeping Cherry “shidare-zakura” at Maruyma Park near Yasaka Shrine downtown. There is more than a distinct air of gaiety (bordering on raucousness) particularly in the evenings as sake and beer fuel impromptu public karaoke sessions and the populace dare to “let their collective hair down” in a manner that is quite atypical for such an etiquette focused culture.

Speaking of cherry trees themselves: there is a large variety.
The season begins with higan-zakura which tend to have small single blossoms; yama-zakura that bloom at the same time that their delicate browny-pink leaves come out. The most common and quintessential image is that of somei-yoshino. the sight of the fluffy white blooms resembling clouds against a backdrop of blue sky is indeed magical to behold. Finally, the double pink yae-zakura which look like nothing other than pink candy floss. Notwithstanding the range of blossoms, the entire blooming season is still relatively short and emphazises for the Japanese the ephemeral beauty of nature.

Although sakura receive all the attention this month, there are many other things to enjoy in domestic and temple gardens round the city. The delicate mauve coloured, frilled petals of the Japanese iris(shaga) forms carpets where it is allowed to spread freely. Mid month also sees the blooming of the intensely yellow kerria (yamabuki), (member of the Rose family). It occurs in either a single or double bloom and can be appreciated along the canal that runs alongside the famous Philosopher’s Path in the north-east of the city. It has long been loved as a flower native to Japan and even appears in the ancient poetry text, the Man’yoshu. Seen adjacent to the kerria is mitsumata which is a deciduous shrub of the Daphne (jinchoge) family. Flowers are yellow and cylindrical appearing before the leaves. It is a raw material for traditional papermaking.

Nevertheless, the limelight squarely belongs with cherry blossom this month and various sweets are made with the pickled leaves of sakura with a sweet bean paste filling (sakura-mochi). The blossoms may also be preserved and infused in hot water to make a fragrant tea.

Kono-iro ka / hito ni mo utsuse / sakura-mochi

Transfer to us your feminine charms, Sakura-mochi

— Kyokusen

March : Yayoi

An alternative name for March is Yayoi which comes from “iya oishigeru” meaning “plants grow luxuriantly”. Spring is coming slowly and often mornings are still acutely cold.One of the most tangible indicators of “haru meku” meaning “becoming very spring-like” is the budding green of the new leaves on willow trees (yanagi) that line the east side of the Kamo River. It is this “beginning” of the season that is most significant aesthetically for the Japanese.

shunshoku koge nashi

Spring is now in its full glory everywhere for everyone

By the time the cherry blossoms (sakura) arrive at the beginning of April, Japanese feel that Spring is already fading even though it buoyant mood still lingers.

Walking around my neighbourhood, I am hit by the pungently sweet fragrance of the white and crimson pink flowering daphne (jinchoge). Here and there we can also see the blossoms of the Japanese quince (boke) which is actually a deciduous tree of the Rose family. Quince blooms resembling plum blossoms in form, flower prior to the appearance of leaves. The branches are often contorted in angular shapes which make for dramatic placement in ikebana arrangements.

My favourite plant of this period is the Rapeseed flower (na-no-hana) (member of the Mustard family). With the warming of the air in early Spring, the bright yellow green flower erupts in fields in rural areas.
Farmers cultivate it for food, pickling the flowers with salt and calling the product “hana-na-zuke“, sold as a famous product of Kyoto. This simple flower (said to be a favourite of the esteemed Tea Master Sen no Rikyu), is one of the symbols of Spring.

 

Na no hana ya/ Yodo mo Katsura mo/ wasure mizu

The impact of na no hana everywhere obscures the Rivers of Yodo and Katsura

— Gonsui

February: Yukige-zuki

In the lunar calendar, February is the time when the snow starts to melt, hence “yukige-zuke” (snow melting).

Japanese culture is traditionally inflected by twenty four seasonal points and the day after Setsubun (February 3rd or 4th), marks the beginning of Spring, a time known as Risshun.
It is still cold, but here and there emerge signs of the new season.

One of the indicators is “yuki-ma-gusa“. This is a young sprout (gusa) peeping out from under the crust (ma) of snow (yuki).
A famous poem explains the sentiment of this month.

Hana onomi/matsuran hito ni/yama-zato no/yuki-ma no kusa no/haru o misebaya.

To those who lust after only cherry blossoms, I want to point out the mountain hamlet spring grasses breaking through the snow.

— Ietaka

Recently, I was reminded of these words after visiting a famous Kyoto tea shop, where I watched a master handcraft a delicious, earth coloured tea sweet (wagashi) that featured delicate green tufts spiking through a light veil of snow coloured confection. Multiple aesthetic references create a deeper resonance. This sensitivity to the nuances of seasonal change is something that is impossible to tire of here in Kyoto.

Actually, more than anything else, it is the blooming of the Japanese plum (ume) that most truly heralds the end of winter and the beginning of Spring. The Japanese have long appreciated the resilience of these blossoms, pushing their delicate buds through the piercing cold and bracing air.
Plum blossoms also resonate for the Chinese and feature prominently in poetry from both cultures.

Itten baika no zui sanzen sekai kambashi

One plum blossom makes the whole world fragrant.

— Anonymous

Plum blossom (ume) is typically five petalled and the most common varieties to be seen in Japanese gardens are either: white (shiro/haku) or red (aka/ko). In traditional Japanese paintings, the plum is usually depicted in a pairing with the sweetly voiced bush warbler (uguisu).

This month I have also enjoyed visiting a masterpiece of Japanese landscape design called Joju-in (a subtemple of the famous Kiyomizudera). Like so many wonderful gardens, it is not known clearly who the designer was, although both Soami and Kobori Enshu have been attributed. In addition to the magnificent execution of borrowed scenery (shakkei), using the adjacent Yuya valley, another highlight of this garden is the gracious four hundred year old “Wabisuke Tsubaki” (wabisuke camellia), thought to have been planted by the famous warlord Toyotomi Hideyoshi. The “Wabisuke” camellia is one of many varieties of winter blooming camellias and is particularly prized in the tea ceremony world for its small, single red flowers which never open fully and are therefore seen as appropriately modest and tasteful.

February is indeed an underappreciated month in which to enjoy the pleasures of the Japanese garden and while the lingering cold might prove challenging to stay at length in landscaped space, this is more than compensated for, by the fact of sharing the experience with far fewer people. There is a lot to be said for an “off season” visit.

January: Mu-tsuki

One of the traditional names for this month is “mu-tsuki” meaning to go visiting friends and acquaintances to greet the New Year. The festive New Year season is incredibly important to Japanese and there are many rituals and aesthetic symbols connoting the turning of the solar calendar.

As part of the seasonal decorations from January 1st to 15th “matsu-no-uchi”, pine (matsu) features heavily.
In addition to being a constituent piece in the “kadomatsu” decorations, pine also features in the traditional triplet arrangement known as “sho-chiku-bai”. (pine-bamboo-plum). This is often seen as a miniature landscape of potted plants carefully arranged in a blue flat bowl, surrounded by tiny white pebbles and stones which symbolize the sea and mountains. It is often displayed at New Year’s, decorated with branches of sacred bamboo (nanten).This triplet of pine/bamboo/plum symbolizes good luck and happiness and is also used for comparisons. Instead of describing something as the greatest, greater or great, the Japanese would refer to it as: “matsu” (greatest), “take” (greater) and “ume” (great).

On January 10th, I was lucky enough to be invited to my tea teacher’s home for the first tea ceremony practice of the year “hatsugama”. This is a big event in the tea world and as one of the preparations for this occasion, we tidied the garden to welcome our three guests. Taking care not to sweep too hard lest I destroy the delicate moss, I relished the opportunity to “manicure” my allotted portion. To remove every fallen leaf and other debris, took much longer than I had anticipated and brought home to me yet again the fundamental importance of maintenance in the upkeep of a meticulous Japanese garden. I found the work to be meditative and my efforts were rewarded with a wonderful feeling of calmness.

This first tea practice “hatsugama” is laden with aesthetic symbolism and I particularly enjoyed the long slender branches of a knotted willow tree “musubi-yanagi” where two or three boughs measuring about three metres had been arranged in a freshly cut, green bamboo vase, hung high in a corner of the sacred alcove (tokonoma). The branches drape to the floor and the shortest of these was made into a loop about 30cm in diameter at a position a little higher than the middle and the rest of the draping branches were passed through the loop. The loop was secured by wrapping the other branches around it a few times. In Japan, to tie things together or to tie a relationship is to make a promise and this is a symbol of happiness. Tea ceremony in general, is a wonderful repository of seasonally inflected Japanese customs.

Yet another symbol of winter decorations is the widely used ornamental kale “ha-botan”. I planted this variety of cabbage in blue terracotta pots, positioned at the entrance to my house. Purple, green and white leaves (ha) like crepes, wind around one another resembling the bloom of a peony (botan). Leaf colour is affected by temperature, the colder the weather, the better the colour. This plant was introduced to Japan by Dutch traders during the latter part of the Edo period (1603-1867).

Now that the month has come to a close, I have realized that January is particularly rich in the symbolic usage of plants and flowers to mark key dates in the Japanese calendar.

Everything changes in this world;
but the flowers are just the same as the Spring of yesteryear.

— Ryokan