23. 紅花栄: "The Safflower Blooms"

(BGM: "Feel" by Robbie Williams)

Shichijuni-kou (72 Seasons) Calendar Listing
 初夏 Shoka: "Early Summer"
Season No. 8: 小満, Shouman: 
"Grain Full" 

Shouman: the time of year when farmers can hope to see kernals forming in the "ears" of cereal crops such as wheat and barley. This sign allows them to heave a small sigh of relief, hence the term "shou-man," or "small satisfaction."

Climate No. 23: 紅花栄
Benibana Saku
"The Safflower Blooms"
(May 26 -May 30) 

The happiest little flower I've ever seen!

"Eye brow brushes
   Come to mind
     Safflower blossoms."  -Matsuo Basho 


Back in Alaska, I once ordered a packet of safflower seeds from a California-based seed company and tried planting them, completely disregarding the kind of soil or climate they would need. I didn't see any sprouts for the entire season and figured they were duds. But the following summer, I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw in my greenhouse a full-grown safflower right there in the dirt below the shelf where I had originally planted the seeds! Despite all odds, one grew for me! Talk about a survivor! 

Safflower (Jpn: 紅花 beninbana, Carthamus tinctorius), has played an important role in Japan's art culture for centuries. Their densely-colored spiky flower heads of happy, reddish-orange and mustard yellow petals produce a fine crimson oil known as "Kyo-beni," which was once employed to color the lips of geishas. According to history, the deep red dye paste "kurenai" made from safflower was once so coveted by Japan's elite that it was said to be more precious than gold!

In greater demand today as a source of oil than a clothing dye, safflower cultivation still continues along the gentle, sloping mountainsides of Yamagata Prefecture. Set in rural Yamagata, the delightlfully realistic 1991 Ghibli animated film  "Omohide Poroporo" (Eng: "Only Yesterday") features the story of a young Tokyoite woman who takes a summer off to pick safflower blossoms in the tempermental rains of early summer. The process of harvesting and processing safflower pulp is gorgeously illustrated in painstaking detail, giving the viewer a real sense of appreciation for all the hard work involved.

"Benibana" (C) Gen, Genkilee 2014 (Digital Watercolor On Photo)

Time, exposure to nature and the slow life all help the leading character to address and heal from painful childhood memories. The safflower seems particularly significant as a recurring theme in the movie, plain in appearance yet precious for its potential -symbolic of both the pain and beauty of life.

May I be as cheerful as the safflower in my own rainy seasons!

Taste Of The Season: さくらんぼ, Sakuranbo, Cherries

Ripe and ready to eat! (Yamagata City, Yamagata Prefecture)

Plump and juicy, these sweet little treasures are just in season now. Japan has several species of edible cherry. But the most famous can be found in, you guessed it: Yamagata Prefecture, where 70% of the country's cherries are grown.

The Fruitful Mountainsides of Yamagata Wrapped In Rain (2004)

I was invited by some dear friends to join them for a fun-filled day of cherry picking! We packed up the minivan with food and drinks and cruised up Route 8 through Fukushima Prefecture. We took a left through Tochigi around a still-steaming Mt. Nasu and ended up in the gentle, greenhouse-covered valleys of Yamagata City. We rolled into town right at daybreak.

Only a tiny bit of snow was still visible on the tallest peaks of the Alps to the north, but otherwise we were surrounded in a sea of glittering emerald and spring greens. The air was intoxicating with a soothing fragrance blowing in from the distant tree-covered mountains. It shook the insomnia out of me like a strong cup of coffee.

The smile on my friend's face is as sweet as the cherries!

Tying woven bamboo baskets around our waists, we balanced carefully on metal ladders to get to the highest possible treetops and carefully plucked the jewel-toned ruby orbs of juicy delight. Though we were told to put the reddest ones in our baskets, the cherries coyly beckoned us to revel in their tangy sweetness.

"Suppai! Suppai!" ("sour!") my friends muttered, mouths full of saliva and seeds that they'd spit on the ground one after another. Though it sounded like complaint, the joy written on their faces told me they were in cherry heaven. More seeds were on the tarp below than there were cherries in their baskets!

We laughed and picked under the hot greenhouse sun, surrounded in steam rising from the cool early afternoon earth. The sun played a vigorous game of hide-and-seek with the clouds, revealing itself after a few teasing drops of rain which would splatter on the overhead plastic sheeting. Below us, tiny juvenile tree frogs would hop lightly on the plastic tarp, making the most endearing rubbery, sticky sounds that punctuated their bell-like chirps. When our stomachs became painfully full of cherries, we concentrated on our real job of helping bring in the year's harvest.

Carefully sorting the cherries (Yamagata City, 2004)

The sorting was left to the experts as we rested in the farmhouse with ice-cold glasses of smoky, thirst-quenching barley tea (麦茶 mugicha). We watched as deft, discriminating hands sifted through the fruits of our labor, packing the prettier ones in fancy boxes while leaving us with the lower-grade cherries to enjoy on the way home. Our portions were much larger than what they'd reserved for gifts and we couldn't have been happier!

Whether our picking was that bad, or the Grannie of the House was feeling generous, we don't know. But one thing is sure true: each of us had wrapped in our hands over 3,000 yen's worth of Yamagata cherries! 

Life is sweet, indeed!

Copyright 2014 Genkilee, Gen. All rights reserved. No part of this blog (written or photo content) may be reproduced or reprinted without the expressed permission of the author.

22. 蚕起食桑: "Silkworms Eat The Mulberry Leaves"

(BGM: "Caterpillar" by The Cure)

Shichijuni-kou (72 Seasons) Calendar Listing
 初夏 Shoka: "Early Summer"
Season No. 8: 小満, Shouman: 
"Grain Full" 

Shouman: the time of year when farmers can hope to see kernals forming in the "ears" of cereal crops such as wheat and barley. This sign allows them to heave a small sigh of relief, hence the term "shou-man," or "small satisfaction."

Climate No. 22: 蚕起食桑
Kaiko Okite Kuwa Wo Hamu
"Silkworms Eat The Mulberry Leaves"
(May 21 -May 25) 

Silkworms. (Source: Wikipedia, a Public Domain Image)

Japan has a long, rich history of silk production (sericulture), spanning from the 7th century AD to the mid 1970's. Though recent decades have seen a worrying decline in production, Japan's sericulture industry might get a well-needed boost thanks to rekindled government interest in silk's many applications beyond clothing.

"Crawl out here!
   Under the silkworm nursery
     The croak of a toad."  -Matsuo Basho

Walking through an average Japanese drugstore, it's easy to see how the demand for silk products has changed over the years. The hair and skin care aisles are well-stocked with shampoos, conditioners and facial masks containing silk proteins as a key softening agent.

A couple years ago, while lurching around our local Tsuruha for a collagen mask to soothe my scaly, winter-worn skin, I was surprised to find a package of silk cocoons! Called "silk balls," they're actual chrysalides touted to remove blackheads and oil while softening the skin!

Silk Balls By Rira Company (Product of Korea)

Using them is fun and simple: just soak one silk ball for few minutes in hot water, place it on your pointer finger and gently scrub in tiny circular motions over a wet, washed T-zone! Presto!

After just one use, I noticed a very pleasing velvety plushness on my cheeks like peach fuzz that I hadn't felt in years! The idea of caterpillars contributing to the beautifying of my face was eye-opening to say the least!

On the Korean Peninsula, where sericulture is has a stronger foothold than in Japan, silkworm larvae contributes to health in a more sinister, yet delicious way. Known as beondegi (Kor: 번데기), the helpless pupae are boiled by street vendors in a soy sauce broth and served piping-hot in white paper cups to the hungry masses as a high-protein snack food.

While strolling leisurely arm-in-arm with my Korean Hubby down Nandaemun Market in Seoul, we chanced upon a beondegi vendor slowly stirring his steamy, wicked cauldron promising us relief from the subzero cold. I just had to try them, especially when Hubby piped that the little pupae were "particularly good for women's skin."

Cup O' Bugs, anyone?

Having lived for over a decade in a country where people will eat just about anything, I was no longer freaked out by the idea of consuming insects. With hot white cup in hand, I speared the plump, bloated carcass of a tiny pupa and popped it into my mouth. To the teeth, the casing was smooth and thin like the skin of a cooked kidney bean. Biting through it with a slight popping sensation, my teeth eased into the flesh: powdery with a startchy softness (think of mashed potato if that helps). The first taste was undeniably meaty in nature. But the aftertaste was a beautiful cross between honey, rose petals and legume starch. Unlike this unfortunate woman whose experience with beondegi was less than pleasant, I finished the whole serving and would've gone back for a second cup had the treat been less filling.

Critter Of The Season: 毛虫, Kemushi, Caterpillars  

I realize that insects in general tend to gross people out. But part of the joy in working with the old Chinese solar calendar is learning how to appreciate the overlooked, and caterpillars are seriously due their day in the sun. I can't help but be fascinated by the ethereal, dare I say "holy" transformation that caterpillars undertake, as if born twice in one lifetime. Culturally, we in the West are trained so see caterpillars as "grotesque" and the butterfly stage as "beautiful," but how arrogant of our species to judge another!

Hummingbird Hawk Moth (Macroglossum pyrrhosticta) Caterpillar (C) 2010 Gen, Genkilee, All Rights Reserved)

Literally translated as "hairy insect," the term kemushi is a general term applying to all caterpillars, even those without hair. My life in Japan has afforded me the chance to see a dizzying array of fashion-forward lepidoptera in both stages, and they all fascinate me to no end. The more I educate myself on these mystifying creatures, the more I can appreciate them for exactly how they are in the present moment, no matter what stage of their development. (Consequently, this helps me to appreciate people in the same way). ;-)

Here are few beauties I recently spotted on my afternoon walks:

Mourning Cloak Butterfly (Nymphalis antiopa)

(c) 2014 Gen, Genkilee, All Rights Reserved

Clearwing Hawk Moth (Cephonodes hylas)

(c) 2014 Gen, Genkilee, All Rights Reserved

Euthrix Moth (Euthrix albomaculata)

(c) 2010 Gen, Genkilee, All Rights Reserved

Flower Of The Season: 紫陽花, Ajisai, Hydrangea 

Hydrangea (Iwakuni, Yamaguchi Prefecture)

With the onset of the rainy season (Jpn: 梅雨 tsuyu), these fluffy floral pompons burst with luminescent pastel colors echoing the insides of an abalone shell. The various shades of purple, blue and pink on a single petal bleed together effortlessly, like watercolors mixing on wet mulberry paper.

Freeform Color (Otake, Hiroshima Prefecture)

In Japan, the hydrangea is synonymous with tsuyu (梅雨), the rainy season that lasts from the middle of May to the beginning of July. Many hydrangeas bloom well before the rain fronts blanket the land in a thick misty veil. This is the best time to catch hydrangeas before taking pictures becomes a challenge. Sometimes, I get lucky.

Hydrangea With Tiny Cricket (Mt. Ibuki, Shiga)

No matter what the weather, there's great pleasure to be enjoyed in every season. Nature is a neverending source of sensual delights and learning. It is my art gallery and library. As I continue my training in awareness of the natural world around me, every walk down my driveway reveals new secrets, new clues to questions long asked in my childhood. It's always a satisfying feeling when knowledge and appreciation are increased, as if heart and mind are in bloom with the flowers.

And to think that I'm attempting to describe just one pixel of an entire picture! If any of you Readers are tempted to start your own 72-seasons calendar based on the ecosystem of where you live, please drop a line (and a link!) about it in the Comments section! I'll be sure to feature your link on my homepage! :-)

Happy Blogging!

Gen.

Copyright 2014 Genkilee, Gen. All rights reserved. No part of this blog (written or photo content) may be reproduced or reprinted without the expressed permission of the author.

21. 竹笋生: "Bamboo Shoots Up"

(BGM: "A Rose In The Wind" by Anggun)

Shichijuni-kou (72 Seasons) Calendar Listing
 初夏 Shoka: "Early Summer"
Season No. 7: 立夏, Rikka: 
"The Start Of Summer" 

According to the website theworldofchinese.com, the season rikka (from the Chinese lixia or "start of summer"), was traditionally celebrated by the eating of "red eggs" (double hard-boiled eggs cooked in black tea powder) to help strengthen the heart against summer heat.

Perhaps a lingering tradition borne of this Chinese custom, eggs in some form continue to top the ever-popular summer dish hiyashi chukka (冷やし中華) -ramen noodles served cold with shredded ham, julienned cucumbers, tomatoes and other cool additions. Any food that can soothe an overheated body is welcome this time of year! It's getting hot out there!

Climate No. 21: 竹笋生
Takenoko Shouzu
"Bamboo Shoots Up"
(May 15 -May 20) 

Bamboo shoots in a planter on display for the "Bamboo Festival" (Takehara, Hiroshima)

The first time I ever saw bamboo (竹 take), in the words of Matsuo Basho, "my sleeve became wet with tears." My host sister from Kyushu had taken me to the bamboo grove near her house where she used to play as a kid. The smooth, bright-green stalks as straight as pencils towered over us, with their spear-shaped feathery plumes swishing gracefully overhead in the winter breeze. Whenever a strong gust blew through, the tops of the bamboo knocked together, making a delightful music like wooden windchimes.

The famous Chikurin Bamboo Grove behind Tenryuji Temple, Arashiyama (Kyoto).

I was astonished by the strength and flexibility of these fantastic plants; the visual impact alone was enough to move me. But in my mind, they were also the ultimate symbol of the Far East. And there among real bamboo (not the unrelated and misnamed "lucky bamboo" sold in the States), I felt as if I had finally come home.

Me holding a felled stalk of young bamboo I found on the ground, still soft and pliable like rubber and covered in its fuzzy, protective husk. (Bamboo Joy Highland Park, Takehara, Hiroshima)

Bamboo is a much-celebrated plant in Japanese culture for its beauty and usefulness. To give you an idea of how much bamboo one can use in a single day, here's a short list of ten random ways I encounter it in my everyday life. In an average day, I...

1. Add bamboo salt (竹塩 takeshio) to my cooking.
2. Rest on a bamboo mat (竹シートtakesheet) to keep cool.
3. Use a bamboo scratcher (竹バックスクラッtチャー take bakkusukurattcha) when my back itches.
4. Use bamboo chopsticks (おはし ohashi) to eat with (nice ones, not disposable).
5. Cool myself with a bamboo folding fan (扇子 sensu).
6. Wash with bamboo charcoal soap (竹炭石鹸 takesumi sekken).
7. Place bamboo charcoal (竹炭 takesumi) under my sink and in the fridge to absorb odors and moisture.
8. Practice painting with bamboo brushes (竹筆 chikuhitsu).
9. Use a bamboo paddle (しゃもじ shamoji) to serve my rice.
10. Eat bamboo shoots (竹の子 takenoko) stir-fried with vegetables.

A dense bamboo thicket in Tamari, Takehara (Hiroshima Prefecture).

Bamboo has always played an important role throughout my life in Japan. I look to it for personal reminders of the reasons why I stay in this country. Their steadfast, evergreen stalks help me visualize how I wish to be as I grow older: strong, yet flexible enough to bend in the howling wind without snapping. When I feel particularly down or stressed about something, a walk through a bamboo thicket refreshes me like a cup of matcha tea, bright with cheerful positivity. It is the one plant I contemplate and meditate upon, visually soothing and serene.

 "A cuckoo cries, 
   And through a thicket of bamboo, 
     The late moon shines."  -Matsuo Basho

A secret bamboo trail in Takehara, Hiroshima.

If nature is a teacher, then bamboo must be the headmaster. I'll try to be a good student. ;-)

Taste Of The Season: 竹の子, Takenoko, Bamboo Shoots 

Grilled bamboo shoot with special Takehara miso and pickles (Kampo No Yado, Takehara, Hiroshima).

In the States, when we hear the word "bamboo shoots," we automatically recall little tin cans or glass jars with corny, pseudo-Chinese names, filled with slimy yellow slices of bitter, metallic fibrous mush.

I gotta put my foot down, here. That is not how they're supposed to taste!

Braised takenoko in sake broth. (A sweet present from a sushi chef in Takehara, Hiroshima).

When preserved in water and subject to an unnatural supermarket shelf life, bamboo shoots are robbed of all the sugars that give them their sweet, slightly caramel nuttiness. If harvested and prepared properly, the taste is smooth and gentle (definitely NOT bitter or tangy!) with the texture of perfectly-cooked carrot. This culinarily versatile food can be served a myriad number of scrumptious ways: tossed in stir-fries and stews, steamed in rice dishes or grilled over hot coals.

I was treated last year to a fantastic meal at Kampo No Yado (広島県竹原市湯坂温泉かんぽの宿), a hot springs resort with a restaurant featuring local delicacies from around Hiroshima and the Chugoku region. Gracing the menu were fresh-picked bamboo shoots from Takehara, a city famous for (and named after) its seemingly endless bamboo forests. (Takehara hosts bamboo festivals in both summer and winter). It was one of the most memorable meals I've had in Japan, finished off with a small cupful of precious Taketsuru sake brewed just around the mountain.

A few of the many dishes I enjoyed at Kampo no Yado in Takehara, Hiroshima.

If you have access to fresh bamboo, it's worth trying out a few recipes of this nutritious, delectable vegetable. An invaluable natural resource, bamboo is definitely food for both body and mind.

Copyright 2014 Genkilee, Gen. All rights reserved. No part of this blog (written or photo content) may be reproduced or reprinted without the expressed permission of the author.

20. 蚯蚓出: The Earthworms Emerge"

(BGM: "This Corner Of The Earth" by Jamiroquai)

  
Shichijuni-kou (72 Seasons) Calendar Listing
 初夏 Shoka: "Early Summer"
Season No. 7: 立夏, Rikka: 
"The Start Of Summer" 

A field of azalea hugs a steep mountainside at Chigo Park (Kure, Hiroshima).

Climate No. 20. 蚯蚓出
Mimizu Deru:
"The Earthworms Emerge"
(May 10 -May 14)

It seems as if the world is on fire. Thousands of acres in the US, Canada and Russia are going up in flames as I write, including my old stomping grounds in Alaska. Unusually warm May temperatures have caused flooding in much of Europe and drought conditions in India. My heart heaves a sigh of great worry.

Yet down here in south central Japan, the skies are blue, calm and forgiving. Any rain that has fallen has been brief and timely. And just as the old Shichijuni-kou calendar predicted, earthworms have chosen this week to crawl out of their earthy beds and risk drying to a crisp in the stinging noon sun.

A lack-lustre pic of an earthworm. Sometimes, the mundane is good for the soul. (Mihara, Hiroshima)

"The early bird gets the worm," or so goes the old saying. Perhaps the early birds already got their worms for the year! Either that or there hasn't been enough rain to make them come out en masse and give me a more impressive photo. So again, this blog post is "for the birds." (Sorry. I can't help it. ;-) But the "week of the earthworm" has been an undeniable season of tested patience for me.

By observing the mood of my blogs, one would incorrectly assume that all is fuzzy bunnies and rainbows in my happy little universe. Not so. Sometimes, Mother Nature is a biotch out to get me, and that was the case this past week. With poisonous snakes attacking my ankles, giant centipedes practically falling into my lap and lethal wasps staring me down on remote mountaintops, I was NOT the happiest camper out there. It's a dog-eat-dog world, with mass death and consumption everywhere. And sometimes, Nature is just downright rude!

Bird Of The Season: ホトトギス, Hototogisu, Lesser Cuckoo

When I first moved to the Chugoku region of Japan, I was delighted to have a break away from the ear-piercing screech of Brown-eared Bulbuls -cute but annoying birds that like to crank up the mic as early as 4:30am, when nobody in their right mind would want to get up.

But Mother Nature wouldn't let me off the hook so easily. One late spring night in Hiroshima at 11:00pm, just as I was about to drift off into Dreamland, I heard this repetitive, irritating high-pitched laughter that sounded like giggling, undulating from the forest two streets behind me. I felt the blood boil in my veins as I contemplated which unlucky neighbor child would be blowing his last funny whistle of the night. But when I learned that it was a birdcall and not a prank, my ruffled feathers smoothed down, annoyance melting swiftly into appreciation. The sound was coming from a Lesser Cuckoo (Cuculus poliocephalus)! Somehow, the idea of being kept awake by a playful cuckoo seemed much better than the early morning torture I'd always suffer at the throat of the thoughtless bulbul, who would strategically choose the laundry pole just outside my bedroom window to perch on and annoy me. (Shooing it away never phased it. It would be back the next morning -pooping on my lawn chair just to spite me).

Anyways (ahem), the Lesser Cuckoo has a long claim to fame in Japan, having been deemed the favorite bird of legendary writer Sei Shonagon and more recently, mentioned in the works of my favorite poet to walk the earth:

"Spring rock azaleas
   Colored by his tears
    Lesser cuckoo."      -Matsuo Basho

A friendly birder from Nagoya spotting cuckoos in Shiga Prefecture.

Far from the threat of extinction, the range of the Lesser Cuckoo spans most of the Eastern Hemisphere, including much of Russia and parts of Africa. Japan is home to several species of cuckoo, including the "classic" Cuckoo (Cuculus canorus, with its iconic, comedic call used for both insults and sound effects), and the Oriental Cuckoo (Cuculus saturatus).

The picturesque home of a lucky Oriental Cuckoo (Ohmi Takayama, Shiga)

Cuckoos tend to be highly territorial, perching lone in the same trees year after year. I was fortunate to watch an Oriental Cuckoo circling its territory through the pricey telescopic lens of a birder's professional-grade camera. (Of course, I could only take the photo with my out-dated iPhone).

An Oriental Cuckoo next to a late-blooming plum (Ohmi Takayama, Shiga)

Thinking about bulbuls, hornets and centipedes, I realize that I don't have to like everything out there in the universe. According to science, I even have encoded in my DNA natural aversions to certain tastes, smells and sights! Perhaps the sound of the poor, innocent bulbul is one of them, and that's okay. I don't really judge it as "evil." It's just another creature trying to survive in a harsh world, and in that respect we're two of a kind.

But if there's anything I've come to understand, it's this: the more you learn about something, the quicker the road to acceptance unscrolls before you. Had I not followed up that night-time birdcall with an Internet search, I never would've discovered the delight of hearing my first cuckoo. Without learning about Huntsman Spiders, I never would've found the brevity to use that bathroom last week with one stuck to the wall right behind me. It all makes for cool stories on social media sites, anyways. And one can never have too many of those.

It really does pay to be patient.

Flower Of The Season: つつじ, Tsutsuji, Azalea (Rhododendron)

Vibrant azeleas with blossoms over 3 inches wide (Kure, Hiroshima).

Speaking of deadly, scary things, the lush, exotic and highly toxic azalea (genus Rhododendron) is one of Japan's most prominent cultivated hedge plants, decorating yards and sidewalks of businesses, banks and government buildings in nearly every city. On one of my mountain hikes in Kawajiri, Kure (the place where that snake tried to nip me), my husband and I were stunned speechless at the sight of this dazzling array of lovingly-pruned azaleas spreading out towards the Seto Inland Sea. The colors were so intense in the sunlight that we could see them from several islands away.

Black bumble bees immune to the azelea's highly toxic nectar (Kure, Hiroshima).

Though many decorative trees and shrubs (like hydrangeas and iris) are poisonous, this lovely femme fatale of the flower kingdom is particularly worthy of respect. Only 3 ml of the nectar is enough to cause extreme toxic shock or death. Even honey made from the plant can cause paralysis and convulsions in humans. (I don't think I'll be adding azalea leaves or blossoms to my salad anytime soon).

But they sure are a feast for the eyes! The azaleas are at their best for several weeks starting in mid-May and rapidly begin to drop to the ground by early June. The farther north you go in Japan, the longer your opportunity to see these gorgeous flowers.

Just be careful out there. The world is a pretty wild place! ;-) 

Copyright 2014 Genkilee, Gen. All rights reserved. No part of this blog (written or photo content) may be reproduced or reprinted without the expressed permission of the author.

19. 蛙始鳴: "Frogs Begin To Sing"

(BGM: "Hanasaku Tabiji" by Yuko Hara)

Shichijuni-kou (72 Seasons) Calendar Listing
 初夏 Shoka: "Early Summer"
Season No. 7: 立夏, Rikka: 
"The Start Of Summer" 

The daytime air is warm continuously, now. Heaters and fuzzy blankets are stowed away, no longer needed. But the rainy season is still a week off and the lack of moisture makes early summer life dry and comfortable. By the sea, a cool morning fog hangs over the waters, fading for awhile in the heat of day, only to reappear like a ghost in the evening. In mountain country, the night air is sweet with the intoxicating mix of cedar, pine and cypress, sharp and cooling in the nose like a whiff of mint ice cream. And everywhere in Japan, the evening air is filled with song.

Climate No.19. 蛙始鳴
Kaeru Hajimete Naku:
"Frogs Begin To Sing"
(May 5 -May 9)

A friendly face (Nagahama, Shiga).

I had my first encounter with the amagaeru (雨蛙, Japanese tree frog, Hyla japonica) when I lived in southern Ibaraki. My apartment was a mere forty steps away from a series of rice paddies. One night, while walking home from work, I was alarmed by the deafening chirp emanating from these flat fields of muddy water. Stopping at a brightly-lit vending machine for a bottle of unsweetened green tea, I saw three tiny, exquisite green frogs clinging to the glowing clear plastic like rubber figurines. I caught one in my hand and as it desperately prodded my fingers with its nose for an opening through which to escape, I fell instantly in love with the little creature. Cupping my hands, I carefully carried him home, let him hop into a clean tupperware container, and returned to the paddy to collect more, easily scooping them off the muddy paddy ledge in the glowing moonlight.

"Cling" (Tone, Ibaraki)

My heart pounding from the thrill of possibly being caught and branded a "strange foreigner," I scurried home with my box of frogs, set it on my kitchen table and turned off the apartment lights. Sure enough, within five minutes of silent darkness, they began to sing that same ear-piercing yet endearing melody. Satisfied with my discovery, yet concerned the noise might upset my neighbors (as Japanese apartment walls are uninsulated and rather thin), I snuck back out to the paddy and quickly released the frogs where I found them, wondering what they were going to say to their other froggy friends.

A very patient amagaeru (Japanese tree frog) hanging out with my pet turtle Shippo-chan.

Throughout the year, I would catch the occasional amagaeru and let him enjoy the insects and plants around my apartment for an hour or two, before releasing them back into the paddy. They swiftly became my favorite animal.

The Experiment: Raising Tree Frogs From Tadpole To Adult

A juvenile amagaeru I raised from a tadpole in my living room. :-) (June 2005, Tone, Ibaraki)

A flowershop owner friend of mine knew I loved tree frogs and presented me with a paper cup containing 6 tadpoles! What on earth was I to do with them? She told me to just put them in a bowl of clean tapwater with a few floating plants (which she kindly provided for free). For food, I was to feed them live mosquitos. But that idea didn't sound appealing to me at all.

Fortunately, a co-worker told me that her kids successfully raise tadpoles on a no-frills diet of boiled, mashed spinach. All I had to do was drop a few pinches of spinach pulp into the water whenever the critters looked hungry. Only after a few weeks of feeding them, their legs had sprouted and they started crawling on their own out of the water and onto the sides of the bowl. At this point, I supplied them with any winged thing that entered my apartment. As soon as their tails shrank up and disappeared, I set them free, placing them on a paddy ledge and grinning from ear to ear. I couldn't have been a prouder surrogate froggy mom!

Frog Heaven! Ancient stone-edged, terraced ricefields in Takashima, Shiga.

 In Japan's rice country, the dry, earthy landscape transforms virtually overnight into a world of watery mirrors as the paddies are systematically flooded and planted. The frogs are a welcome, integral link in the paddies' ecosystem, keeping the mud supple and fertilized. Their tadpoles eat algae that would otherwise rob the young seedlings of precious nutrients and growing space, while the adults feast on harmful winged insects. The nightly chorus of a rice paddy exploding in song is a prayer for a good year's crop.

It's always a boon whenever I spot these precious water babies. To me, they're the perfect example of flexibility and resilience as they move effortlessly between the worlds of land and water. May I be just as fluid in my own life.

"An old pond; 
  The frog jumps in.
       'Plop!'"         -Matsuo Basho

Taste of the Season: サザエ, Sazae, Horned Turban (Turbo Snail)

A delectable Turbo cornutus (horned turban) grilled to perfection at Namiki Cafe (Kure, Hiroshima).

All along the beaches of the Seto Inland Sea, elderly men with long metal picks and net sacks can be seen surveying stinky, slippery tidepools and rocky outcrops at low tide. Their prize: the tasty sazae (horned turban), large sea snails with elegant spiral shells that measure over 3 inches wide. Scooting slowly on their "stomach feet," the snails scrape off and eat algae and seaweed clinging to rocks along the intertidal zone.  

Hunting sea snails on the beach (Akitsu, Higashi Hiroshima).

Sazae taste like the sensuous lovechild of a clam and an oyster, but with a pleasing springy texture reminiscent of boiled octopus. A common gastropod found all over Japan, their cone-shaped, gnarly shells dot the light orange beaches, some hollowed out from a hungry heron or octopus. In Japan, sazae are most commonly enjoyed by humans raw and sliced as sashimi, or cooked in their shells (tsuboyaki).

Two wrasses swim in a tank full of ill-fated sazae (turbo snails).

Since they're a plentiful, inexpensive delicacy where we live, the Hubby and I treated ourselves to one sazae each, served tsuboyaki-style. The chef at the Namiki Cafe yanked a helpless snail out of the aquarium beside our table, poured o-sake (Japanese rice wine) inside the shell, and replaced the operculum (the snail's natural shield cover) over the hole. He then set it on a sizzling BBQ and within a few minutes, served it to us juicy and bubbling!

When he finished serving us our sazae, the chef jumped off the patio onto the sandy beach and began retrieving a few snails that escaped the tank the night before.  "I have to do this every day. They're smart," he said. "They know the sea is nearby."

It made us think twice about our meal, but only for a moment. With a bamboo skewer, we dislodged the operculum and pulled out the curled, twisted balloon of cooked flesh. The chef said we could eat the whole thing, intestines and all. It was only a biteful, but a pleasant experience soon to be repeated.

Ah, summer! 

Copyright 2014 Genkilee, Gen. All rights reserved. No part of this blog (written or photo content) may be reproduced or reprinted without the expressed permission of the author.

For the Love of Mom (Kosanji Temple, Setoda, Hiroshima)

広島県尾道市瀬戸田町：耕三寺、未来心の丘
Kosanji Temple & Miraishin no Oka, Setoda Town, Onomichi City, Hiroshima Prefecture

(BGM: "Amma Endru" by K. J. Yesudas)

Mother's Day is approaching! :-)
Usually I'd be depressed about it. The best I seem to do for my Mom every year is a free internet chat session. She deserves WAY more. Like, WAY!

But this year, I'm a daughter with a mission! 

Ever since she told me she's thinking about visiting me out here again, I've been on the lookout for extraordinary, unusual places to show her. You know, the kind of sights that would make a woman go "WOW!" Hubby hinted that he'd show me something completely new this Golden Week, and I was stoked at the prospect of a rip-roaring feature for her itinerary!

"So, where are we going today?" I asked the Hubby. Perhaps day camping at our local park? Or a picnic on the beach? Hiking in the mountains just down the road? We had many free options to choose from.

"Setoda," he said flatly.

Setoda?  My heart skipped a beat. The last time we traveled to Setoda, we didn't do more than beach comb and eat a package of convenience store soba noodles. There were some famous places I asked him to take us, but he showed zero interest in them. So I was surprised when Hubby said we'd be going there again for our Golden Week day trip.

A sweet motherly pilgrim jizo softens the hellish entrance to the "Cave of 1,000 Buddhas"

He told me he wanted to take me where I originally wanted to go! Hooray! I couldn't have been happier. After our first trip there, a co-worker had told me about Setoda's "path to Hell," lined with demons and "countless Buddhas." A fan of the macabre, the old goth in me was curious, but I didn't think my man would go for that kind of thing. Luckily, Setoda was also known for a temple so beautiful that it rivaled Nikko's Toshogu Shrine in Tochigi Prefecture. We both had seen the real Toshogu while we lived in Kanto, so we were ready to be wowed, though slightly skeptical.

While waiting in our car at Sunami Port to board the blaring pink ferry to Setoda, we talked with a retired pensioner couple crossing the country in their makeshift minivan camper. Arms folded, the driver with a dapper comb-over beamed with pride as we complimented him on his craftsmanship. His ruddy-cheeked wife shared with us stories of how they'd traveled everywhere from Hokkaido to Kyushu in comfort, utilizing hot springs and coin laundries for their basic washing needs. I noticed my husband's eyes glittering like they do when he's hungry. Were we looking at our future? We were used to close quarters, so the idea wasn't that far-fetched.

Hmm. We could do that! :-)

When the ferryman signaled the "okay" to have us board, we wished the friendly couple good luck and drove up the ramp onto the flaming pink boat bound for Ikuchi Island (生口島). 

The Yassa Mossa ferry from Sunami, Mihara to Setoda Port.

The boat carried us easily over the peaceful, crystal blue Seto Inland Sea towards our destination. The water was calm and waveless as usual. Ferries and small fishing boats of different colors bound for other nearby islands sped past us, leaving us in their mild wake. A few elementary school boys waved at me from the green ferry on their way to Omishima Island.

Mother and child enjoying their cruise to Ikuchi Island.

After a quick 25 minutes of savoring the cool ocean breeze, it was time to squeeze back into our tightly-parked car as the ferry made its landfall. Only the first two seconds of Setoda looked industrial. We drove by a small shipyard and a tidy, well-pruned subdivision to find ourselves already on the main strip of the town. The mood around the temple was relaxed and casual. You could tell that this island ran on its own time. The parking lots directly beside the temple were already full, but a friendly parking assistant directed us towards a free open space beside an abandoned dilapidated hotel, only a 3-minute walk from the gaudy front gates of Kosanji Temple.

耕三寺 Kosanji Temple

The crazy-colorful gates to Kosanji Temple.

Upon first glance, we were blown away. The paint looked too vibrant and fresh for such a heralded temple that housed 15 nationally registered cultural properties! The detail surrounding us was so intense we had no way of focusing on a single point! Where the heck were we? Did we accidentally take the boat to China? No way did this look like a standard Japanese Pure Land Sect temple!

A strikingly elaborate Avalokitesvara (bodhisattva of compassion).

The buildings, though drop-dead gorgeous, lacked the telltale musty reek of oily, earthy antiquity that usually graced the crumbling clay walls of ancient places of worship. This whole complex screamed of modernity and kitsch, yet in my mind, that's what made it fun. We recognized elements all too similar to places we'd seen throughout our travels, but the colors and patterns were much more splendid here at Kosanji.

Wait a minute! The Phoenix Hall of Byodo-In is in Uji, Kyoto, not some remote island in Hiroshima!

Once through the main gate, Hubby and I each went in different directions to cover both sides of the complex. Over the past thirteen years, I've seen more shrines, temples and mausoleums than I could possibly count. Wandering aimlessly, eyes stunned in perpetual wonder, a deluge of memories of my favorite trips flooded back to me in a rush as I kept seeing familiar shapes and lines. It was overwhelming to say the least. But I enjoyed every second of it. I couldn't help but imagine all the effort, manpower and creative energy it took to bring these works of art from conception to reality!

Nikko's Yomeimon Gate? Nope! Kosanji Temple in Setoda!

I relished every waft of fragrant sandalwood incense, every deep, penetrating sustain of the temple gong as I plodded reverently down the smooth tiled path. Swallows dipped and dove overhead as my gaze got lost in the sea of colors and designs surrounding me. Every inch of space was covered in painstaking detail: a writhing, twirling dragon here, a triumphant phoenix there, and countless renditions of angels, saints and bodhisattvas on every pillar and wall. A closer look revealed that they were all replicas! The paint was fairly recent but had been scratched on purpose for an aging effect. Not historically significant by any means, but awe-inspiring, nonetheless. But exactly what kind of Buddhist priest would spend so much money making replicas? This was no ordinary priest from the Pure Land Sect!

Ceiling dragon reminiscent of Kyoto's Kennin-ji.

A quick glance at the Kosanji website gave me all the answers I so desperately craved. Kosanji Temple was built by Osaka steel tycoon-turned monk Kanemoto Kozo. After the passing of his dear mother, he traded his business suit for a monk's robes, purchased a temple from Kyoto's Nishi Honganji and spent his fortunes building in her honor this dazzling collection of remarkably accurate replicas of Japan's most famous holy landmarks and artifacts, sometimes adding his own personal "improvements" and embellishments to the design. (The temple complex was built up around her summer residence known as Choseikaku). He started construction in 1935 and it took three decades to complete. His mother was laid to rest in the 5-story pagoda that towers over the temple.

Nara? Tokyo? Nope! Still Hiroshima!

Dumbfounded by this otherworldly display of love for a mother, I found myself thinking about how much my own Mom would love to see this, and how I wished I could create for her something just as magnificent.

We arrived on the island just before 2pm and only had a few more hours before the grounds closed, so sadly, we had to cut a few buildings from the day's itinerary. Reuniting in front of the pagoda, Hubby and I collected our thoughts with a drink in the wisteria courtyard and set out again following the signs up the hill to the legendary Miraishin no Oka (Hill of Hope), a fantasy land of shimmering white marble.

Wisteria adds a needed splash of living, natural color to a building near the Phoenix Hall.

 The trail wound up and around a jizo-studded hill to end abruptly at an uninspired gray concrete building housing an elevator and a flight of stairs. We opted for the elevator that opened up into...ITALY?!!

未来心の丘 Miraishin no Oka, Hill of Hope

Kosanji, the only Japanese temple with its own Italian restaurant. It even serves wine, a Buddhist no-no! (Gasp!)

Fragrant jasmine perfumes the base of the Hill of Hope.

Could this place get any more random? I found it utterly futile trying to analyze it all. Instead, I opted for the Buddhist technique of simply observing without judgment and found it much easier to enjoy the alien surroundings that way.

The front view of Cafe Cuore, serving pizza and other fine Italian fare.

Monolithic sculptures in solid marble by artist Kuetani Kazuto atop Miraishin no Oka.

Just as I'd hoped, Hubby's eyes sparkled with artistic inspiration, once again. His face broke into a wide, relaxed smile as he sank down into one of the many gently rounded marble chairs and took in the view, savoring his canned coffee with perfect contentment. The stone was soft to the touch, almost velvety. I felt instantly at home, as if I were back skiing on the pristine white snowfields of Fairbanks, Alaska. Fashionable tourists posed like models on a catwalk, taking pictures of each other among the glittering stone slabs. We enjoyed taking a few snapshots for and with them. The magic of the place had changed us all into children, again.

View of the Seto Inland Sea from the Tower of Light.

Miraishin no Oka, completed in 2000, is the masterpiece of world-famous Hiroshima sculptor Kuetani Kazuo, whose work graces the Vatican in Italy where he now resides. It took over 5,000 square meters of marble, cut and shipped from Carrara, Italy to cover this entire hill. Though non-religious in nature, this sculpture garden with its marble pizzaria can only be accessed by paying the 1200-yen entry fee at the temple gate. (Is the food sanctified? Sorry. Just had to ask).

Friends taking in the view together under the famous "Tower of Light."

The ambiance was plenty relaxing, but no matter how much I tried to shut out the questions, I couldn't for the life of me stop wondering what would drive a famous artist to cover an entire temple mountaintop in pure marble, with almost no greenery save for the few olive trees and jasmine shrubs at the base. Though the website states that Kuetani took into consideration the lay of the land and sea, attempting to "balance" his art with the surrounding environment, the overall effect is anything but! (It looks more like Superman's Fortress of Solitude if you ask moi).  Most of the sculptures are vertical and, dare I say, a wee bit phallic. Did Kuetani feel the need to contrast all that feminine energy down below with masculine power from up above? Did he feel moved by the story of Kanemoto Kozo's mother and try to harness the power of the sun to help direct her departed soul to Paradise? Or did he think that Setoda lacked enough decent tourist attractions?

Resigned to the fact that I may never know the answers to such questions, I followed Hubby back down towards the temple before the sun reflecting off of all that marble had a chance to burn my unprotected skin. As I started making my way towards the main gate, Hubby noticed a small pagoda to his left.

"It says there's a sort of hell valley over there." He'd found it! It was here all along!

"Are you interested?" I asked him.

"Nope," he answered curtly.

"Well, I am," I said. "I'll be right back. Meet me at the wisteria."

I knew he'd feel strange if he passed up this opportunity for weirdness, and grinned as he positioned himself ahead of me like the great Protector he is, leading me into the cave.

千仏洞地獄峡, Senbutsudou, Cave of a Thousand Buddhas/Hell Valley

Completed in 1969 and taking nine whole years to construct, this artificial ferroconcrete cave plunges 15 meters down and stretches out 350 meters underneath the upper Kosanji temple complex. The rough, porous stone lining the walls and ceiling of the cave is actual igneous rock brought in from Mt. Fuji and recently active Mt. Asama volcanoes. Right away there's a feeling of mystery as the temperature suddenly drops and the sound of running water echoes throughout the descending tunnel.

Flung by a demon into a lake of fire; not quite the way I'd wanna go...

I expected life-size statues of horrible creatures doing horrible things to poor helpless people. But I was relieved to find the displays of "hell" a digestible collection of some twenty-odd brightly painted reliefs that dotted only the first fifty paces of the walls. The farther down into the tunnel we walked, the less gruesome the images became, some looking about as scary as African safari feeding scenes (not that shocking by today's standards).

 A few more corner turns and the tunnel opened up into a series of stone lanterns and stairs. The sound of running water grew undeniably louder as we approached the first of three tiny concrete bridges. Following the waterfall up with our eyes, lo and behold, hundreds of bodhisattvas sat tucked into each available crevice of the cave, spiraling all the way up to the ceiling. The effect was dizzying!

 The cave spiraled up and down again, opening to two more grottoes of stone, water and light, each more splendid than the last. It was here at the final grotto where I lost my footing and clutched a chunk of lava rock, scraping up my ring finger into a bloody pulp. Hell had given me a warning to take with me back to the land of the living. (The obvious message: imported lava rock is quite jagged, so try not to touch it!) Unfortunately, no merciful bodhisattva appeared to magically heal my bleeding finger. I guess they don't work that way.

The walls bite, so be careful! 

The cave opened up into a room with a roundabout display of folded painted screens depicting the saving power of Buddha. And with a final ascent up station-like concrete stairs, we were out again into the world of warm spring air, green trees, fragrant temple incense- and a towering statue of Kannon, the androgynous bodhisattva of mercy. (It's funny, but I was more startled at the sight of this statue than by any of the demonic visions inside the cave. Oops!)

Just in case you forgot, here's a really huge statue to remind you.

Weary of the conflicting but somehow globally consistent mix of worldly extravagance and religious symbolism, we knew it was time to get the hell out of this rich man's vision of paradise. The desperation in the design made us long for the aging, natural woods and quietness of classic Zen Buddhist temples like Buttsuji in Mihara. Hubby and I both smiled at the irony: nature had spoiled us by her simplicity, not the materialistic trappings of man.

Taking one last look around this incredible collection of replicas, I couldn't help but wonder if the founder of Kosanji was a happy man. All this lavishness and expense; were all his efforts a labor of love, sorrow or guilt? Too bad his mother never got the chance to see this astounding memorial built in her honor while she was alive. But what a treasure for posterity! My own mother taught me that money can't buy love and she's absolutely right.

But it can certainly buy a good day trip! I think we found a winner!

(Happy Mother's Day, Mom!) :-) 


Kosanji Temple Information: 

Open Hours: 9:00am to 4:30pm.
Holidays: (Open 365 days a year).
Transportation Access:
(By Car): From Sunami Port in Mihara City, you can drive your car onto the ferry bound for Setoda Port, a 25-minute trip down the Seto Inland Sea. (Automobile and passenger fees apply). Otherwise you can access Setoda Town by the Shimanami Kaido from either Onomichi City in Hiroshima (via Innoshima Island) or Imabari in Shikoku (toll road fees may apply). 
(On Foot): It's a 15-minute walk from Setoda Ferry Terminal to Kosanji Temple.
Parking: Free parking available in designated spots around the temple complex. 
Address: 553-2 Setoda, Setoda-cho, Onomichi-shi, Hiroshima Ken, 722-2411
Admission Fee: 1,200 yen for adults: includes access to Miraishin no Oka, Senbutsudo Cave, Choseikaku (Kanemoto's mother's summer home not featured in this blog), the Kosanji Museum (across the highway from the temple) and all buildings and structures within the Kosanji complex unless otherwise indicated.
Available Facilities: Public restrooms, drink machines, Italian cafe, temple museum, art gallery, Buddhist paraphernalia available for giving alms.
Insider's Tip: Don't touch the cave walls. Seriously.

Copyright 2014 Genkilee, Gen. All rights reserved. No part of this blog (written or photo content) may be reproduced or reprinted without the expressed permission of the author.