Golden Week

Everything has been a mad whirlwind of activity since school started back up. It turns out that junior high school is intense. And then there is still elementary school matters and kindergarten matters and work matters and studying for the big Japanese test matters and scheming to move matters. I get dizzy just thinking about my to-do lists.

So it was a great relief to have a proper sunny Golden Week last week, a bank holiday of three days wedged up against the weekend to make five solid days of no work or school. We didn't travel off the island (Sebastian has kendo club everyday which makes it hard to go anywhere) but managed to enjoy ourselves all the same.

Golden Week from Tiffany Key on Vimeo.

xo

At the seashore

I need the sea because it teaches me.
I don’t know if I learn music or awareness,
if it’s a single wave or its vast existence,
or only its harsh voice or its shining one,
a suggestion of fishes and ships
The fact is that until I fall asleep,
in some magnetic way I move in
the university of the waves.

-Pablo Neruda-

This I can say, we do need the sea.




As our fate unravels only to get tangled into tiresome knots, as all the petty facts of life clamber and claw over us, we need the sea to remind us of the truth. The waves do not knock down our fears or draw away our problems with the tide. We gain something greater, the reminder that we are but tiny phytoplankton with the life expectancy of just a few days.
That truth is incredibly liberating. With our perspective straightened, we are free to work on those knots and stand up under the weight of our nagging concerns.

Observing the start

The sun does not rise in these parts of the planet until 6:30. Since I am used to the summer sun streaming through my window at 4:30, I am usually up to meet the day. I have taken it upon myself to catalog the other life that rises to the occasion. Thus my new ritual of morning observations.









There is a lot of inventory for me to chronicle. This task, I am happy to say, is of no short duration.

Nature Girl

There goes the little nature obsessed Colette, stick in one hand, pebbles in the other. Our speed as pedestrians is hampered by her desire to stuff her pockets full of rocks found on the side of the street. Every evening, I empty her pockets of the day's treasures, knowing I will have to repeat the procedure again on the morrow.

Before when she was restricted to the stroller (for convenience's sake) she would pluck every leaf or flower that came within her reach. Like a true naturalist, she would then dissect (read: shred) the procured specimen and examine it with all of her senses. Now that we have released her from the bonds of the stroller (to prepare her for walking slowly at my side when Luca is strapped to me) she is free to collect as many samples as she could ever want. It is amazing how even in this concrete-coated landscape, she manages to find such a wealth of blossoms, stones, and insects.

As the temperature continues to rise, I can begin to imagine our summers with three budding naturalists eager every morning to get outside into the lush, buzzing day to hunt for beetles and preying mantises, cicadas and geckos, and perhaps just a few more rocks to add to an already abundant collection.

Dreaming in green

So now that we get to stay, we have to fulfill all those promises we made, the little IOUs to the Universe in exchange for the three-year visa that lines Colette's passport.

One of the main promises I kept making was to be more awake and aware. Obviously our life here is very fragile so I need to pay constant attention. I really, truly love Japan. I love the quiet, the attention to detail, the weeds left to grow everywhere, the glass bells and cicadas in the summertime. Even the soft and sour parts of Japan can fit into my heart. Yet, paying attention includes paying attention to my own needs, as well as appreciating my environment.

And one thing that I have been craving is wildness. Japan is a very wild country, though most might not consider it to be so. Step outside of the city limits and you will probably be in the mountains or standing in a rice field. For my nature loving family, living in the concretescape that is Nagoya can be a little soul-numbing. Don't get me wrong, Nagoya is a comfortable city, and less urban than Tokyo, Osaka, and even Fukuoka. But it is a city nonetheless. Living here can make you a little dazed, it can make trekking outside of the city limits seem troublesome. For us, a lot of the problem is based around scheduling. It is rare that all of us are free for explorations on the same day. So on Monday after our triumph at immigration, realizing my luck in having all three kids at the same time, we headed out of Nagoya a bit to see what a forest park looked like.

Upon arriving, we were reminded how everything is closed on Mondays in Japan, including forest parks.

So we ended up taking a lovely, albeit windswept, stroll around a small lake. Though no hike, it was such a good, sunshiny walk. We saw our first tanbo (dragonfly) of the season, along with skinks, ladybugs, water striders, and even a muskrat. Being outdoors with the kids (coupled with the release from the heaviness of worry I had been toting around for a few weeks) made it really a perfect afternoon. So perfect in fact, that I have decided to spend every chance we can going outside of the limits, into the unknown. Though Sebastian does request that we bring the nets next time, for as he said, "If I had known there were going to be insects, I would have been better prepared".

By any other name

There seem to be roses blooming everywhere around Nagoya right now. I have never been very fond of the rose, inheriting my grandmother's prejudice against their full sweet blossoms. She referred to them as funeral flowers, a description that repelled me for many years. This year though I have been charmed by them.

The dawn of mushi season

It's still a little early but the nets have made their way into our daily walks again, both boys ready for whatever will fly or jump their way. Or out of their way.



Right now, butterflies are the main thrill. Sebastian has learned how to catch them in his bare hands and in doing so has come to realize just how delicate they are, how easily their short lives can be ruined. He has returned to the net, preferring now to watch them briefly in the plastic mushi case before releasing them back to their clover and dandelions. It is in turn amazing for me to watch my son's innate respect for life blossom and grow.



Soon, we'll have mushi cases housing preying mantis and beetles, cicadas and grasshoppers stacked on shelves and cabinet tops. Everything will buzz and hum, tuning in harmony with summer. Dripping with sweat and determination, the kids will check every bush and tree trunk for more six legged creatures to invite home. The nets will seem like extensions of their bodies.



I would hardly recognize the season otherwise.