Spring

Late spring has always been one of my favorite times of year.  The weather has finally stopped with the hot, cold nonsense that usually ends up with me having the sniffles.  The flowers are in full bloom and the world in general has come back to life.  Like sap thinning and then finally moving in the ancient trees, the world thaws and awakes.

In me this usually brings on a ravenous hunger and a desire to move.  Swimming, dancing, running, I am desperate to work the winter out of my body.  Being cooped up inside all winter, I get antsy at the first signs of spring.  In South Dakota this usually spelled disaster since I would start spring cleaning and planting long before the last gasp of winter.  We lost a lot of seedlings and ended up with significant heating bills one tenacious winter.

Spring in Japan comes in the same starts and stops, drizzly weather, and air of anticipation.  However when Mother Nature finally decides it is time to start the floral new year, it is something beyond words.  It makes the cold, dreary days of winter more poignant as you realize the bleak depressing weather was to cleanse you pallet between brilliant autumn and the breathtaking beauty of spring.  Like everything else here, the seasons have a keen sense of aesthetics.  So very Japanese.

The school year was almost over.  You could feel the tension and energy mounting as the students counted down the minutes till haru yasumi.  In America, we call it summeritis.  In Japan the school year starts and ends in spring.  It is a time of transition for baby plants and baby humans.

The first flowers started showing themselves in February.  Plums.  While not the Empress of Spring, they are still strikingly beautiful.  From pure white to vivid magenta, they sounded the death knell of winter.  In Osaka, the best place for plum blossoms is the plum orchard at Osakajo.  Still wearing coats and with trusty umbrellas, people timidly emerged from their dens on the first days of spring.  Under lead colored skies, they marveled at the amazing power and beauty of nature.

Soon the vibrant blossoms were gone, replaced by tender green leaves.  But other plants had take up the mantle of beautiful spring.  Magnolias and daffodils took the moment to shine.  But everyone was still holding their breath.  Still waiting for the imperial jewel of Japanese spring – sakura.

The sakura wave starts slowly, a few isolated trees here and there.  Then suddenly, the world, or at least the parks, gardens, and pretty much any public areas, erupt in pink and white blossoms.  People swarm to these places.  Where only a few weeks ago only the bravest were on hand to witness the glory of ume, it seems all of Japan comes out for sakura.  With blue plastic tarps that mimic the color of the spring sky, makeshift picnic tables, and enough food and sake to last the whole weekend, they spend the afternoon with good company enjoying the beauty and brevity of life in a celebration called Hanami.

Anata and I rode the Sakura Wave from Kagoshima up Kyushu to Kumamoto.  We caught the iconic castle at the peak of its seasonal beauty.  We celebrated our own Hanami under its ancient cherry trees.  But that is a story for another time.

All too quickly the sakura petals fall, like the snow just months before.  But while their passing is sad, it does not dishearten.  Because spring is here.  The new year has arrived.  Schools return with students attending opening ceremonies on a carpet of sakura petals.  And, as if they have been waiting for the goddess to pass, the other flowers begin to raise their colorful heads.  Yellows, oranges, reds, purples, blues.  The delicate whites and pinks of sakura are replaced by the flashiest blooms of spring.  They have waited patiently in the wings for their time to shine. 

This is when my favorite flowers, wisteria and irises, emerge.

Spring is truly an amazing season.  It seems even more so in Japan.  Japanese philosophy is the perfect fit for this astounding and fleeting moment.  Like the glimpse of an embroidered sleeve from under a bamboo screen, the call of a lone bird in the silent mountains, the intricate details present in every element of life, but easily overlooked.  The deep connection with this particular moment.  The understanding that the world cannot be changed, only inhabited.  A harmony of life, death, and moments in-between.