April 15, 2019 (清明)
Today on 3Quarks, Mary writes about the arrival of spring, blossom by blossom.
One of the earliest spring ephemerals, harbinger of spring, may be the most inconspicuous. The plant is usually no more than a few inches tall when it blooms, and if you don’t keep an eye out for it, you could walk right by and not know it’s there. Unless you kneel down and look closely, the leaves are little more than a small green patch dotted by tiny white flowers. Closer inspection reveals that the flowers have five white petals and deep red anthers, which darken with time and give the flowers a charming salt-and-pepper look. Harbinger of spring can appear as early as February, when the weather has been cold for months and the trees are bare. It’s a minute but electrifying herald of warmer and greener days to come.
Her post brought such happy memories to mind.
In Japan, it is the cherry blossoms which famously take center stage. But I wonder if people realize that the Japanese have an entire calendar of seasonal events, which are recognized, loved and attended to? Mary's descriptions of the inconspicuous spring ephemerals in her neck of the woods, reminded me so much of how we used to look forward to going out to see the dogtooth violets every year. Growing along shady hillsides, we loved going out to see these spring ephemerals in early spring. [And I wonder if Mary wrote her post a month ago (when spring ephemerals arrive in Tochigi, in early March) OR whether she gets spring so late in her neck of the woods? I know she is further north].
Understated is to put it mildly. These stubby little lilies are reminiscent of wildflowers but because they don't all flower every year, they are more spread apart, and perhaps even less noticeable. Especially compared to the cherry blossoms which bloom about a month later and which are so dramatic they are able to utterly transform an entire landscape. Compared to that, these little blossoms seem hardly worth the time. And yet, the hillside was always to be founded teeming with people out to appreciate them.
I can still see them all now. Men with huge closeup lens camped at the edge of the path waiting for the perfect shot."The perfect shot." And in addition to the flower photography enthusiasts, hikers and flower lovers were hiking upward toward the top of the hill: "Oh, look, aren't they adorable?" "Look at the lovely white ones." Like I said, at first glance it was almost hard to believe. But then looking a little closer-- yes, those little dogtooth violets could really break a person's heart they were so charming. I couldn't find too much information about them online, but they somehow seemed almost prehistoric, with their one heavy flower bobbing on the end of a leaf-less, squat stem. The Japanese variety have very attractive mottled leaves which are almost mossy or ferny looking. Built low, the pendant flowers seem like they are almost too heavy for the stems to support.
I really should call them by their Japanese name, katakuri (片栗). Foodies will know of the lily because was traditionally powdered and use as a thickening ingredient, like how we use potato starch today.
In Japan, the humble katakuri have been revered at least since the times of the Manyoshu Poems. The Collection of the Thousand Leaves is not only Japan's oldest poetry anthology, it is without question its most beloved. The poems in the collection date from 600 to 794 ad, and they are really thought to capture the spirit of the Japanese people. I think I mentioned before that poems about sakura are surprisingly absent from the collection. Still the collection is full of flowers-- to put it mildly! And, not surprisingly, our little dogtooth violet makes an appearance.
大勢の乙女たちが入り乱れて水を汲む、寺の泉のほとりにひっそりと咲くカタクリの花よ。
Dogtooth violets inconspicuously blooming/ In the crannies of the fountain, where young women are noisily drawing water
Because their heads point shyly downward they have been idealized as lovely young women since ancient times, and even in the year 2007, all around the hillside we heard them praised for their feminine gentleness やさしい and prettiness 可憐な.
Watching the men who lined the hillside path cameras held patiently in their white-gloved hands, I wondered what exactly they were each hoping to capture? And, how would they even know when the perfect moment had arrived?
For me, that perfect moment was right there holding Kazy's hand as we walked along the hill, sometimes bending down like Mary said to get a better look at these adorable and yet shy little flowers. Sweet little spring ephemerals.
Mary writes that
In Ancient Greek, ephemeros means daily or for the day, and the English word ephemeris carries this meaning of something associated with a particular day. Ephemerides are used in astronomy and celestial navigation; they list the positions of celestial objects for each day (along with various other attributes, such as rising and setting times, brightness, and/or distance), the phase of the moon, and any interesting celestial events such as a conjunction of two planets or an eclipse. Ephemeris reflects not a sense of brevity but rather the particularity of each day, with its configuration of planets and asteroids, moon and sun. The spring ephemerals can also be looked at in this light. Each day in the woods is a little different from the day before, as each plant moves through its season of leaf and bloom. It’s worth going out often to see the leaves and buds and flowers of this day. This one and only day.
There here and now. I just finished a wonderful book by Gary Gach called Pause Breath Smile. I really loved it and felt it was a much-needed reminder about mindfulness. The word for mindfulness in Japanese (念) is composed of two parts: on top is “the now” (今) and at bottom is “heart” (心). This word for heart in Japanese, kokoro, is suggestive of an embodied heart/mind. So, we have right there in the character itself a kind of wakefulness. An attentiveness to the moment of body and mind and heart, which suggests in the most evocative manner possible the way in which mindfulness is about a heart/mind presence in the here and now.
