![]() ![]() You could say that in 1994 I learned a valuable life lesson: be careful of what you wish for. Now, it wouldn’t have been half as bad if the drought hadn’t occurred at the height of the year’s other “unpleasant season” when you have to change your skivvies and undershirt two or three times a day because they’re sopping wet and musty with sweat. I also came to understand the irrefutable Japanese verity of mujo (無常), that nothing lasts forever. In those demoralizing days, I worked from early morning until late in the evening, meaning I had only an hour or two of water every weekday to shower, wash clothes, cook, do the dishes and fill the tub with water. In Fukuoka City, the water supply was cut from 10 p.m. Rainfall was 60% lower than average in my area, and drastic water-saving measures had to be taken, such as dansui (断水, cutting off the water supply). ![]() While there was a bumper crop in rice that year, up to twenty percent or so from the previous year, we would experience a fusoku of another kind that was even more trying: mizubusoku (水不足, water shortage). Now, you might think that a shorter, drier rainy season would be just the ticket, but that is exactly what we had the following summer. Granted, it was nearly impossible to make onigiri with it. Personally speaking, I love the so-called taimai (タイ米) or fragrant jasmine rice, so I couldn’t understand what all the sawagi (騒ぎ, fuss)-another new word for me-was about. The rainy season of ’93 ended up being so long and wet and gray and cool ( reika ) that Japan’s rice harvest fell by about a quarter ( komebusoku ) and pasapasa rice had to be imported from Thailand. That year, I acquired a lot of new Japanese vocab that I could have done without-words like: But no rainy season was more patience-trying than 1993’s, the end of which only blew in with the typhoons of late summer. That was true in 1953, when tsuyu began on May 13 and ended on Aug. Now, you might think that what begins early ends early but an early start to the rainy season usually means a longer, wetter rainy season if the past is anything to go by. When fall rolls around, I will once again take in the beauty of the autumnal colors, forget all about the blast-furnace heat and stifling humidity. And sometimes it comes earlier than usual. But you know it won’t last because the rainy season-cloudy skies, torrential rainfall and unflagging humidity-is lurking just around the corner like the class bully waiting to pounce. The days so sunny and warm, you can forget that only a few months ago, your teeth were chattering as you sat in your home or office, unable to think about anything but the persistent cold that had seeped into your bones.Īh, if only it were like this all year long, you sigh. When April or May come around, a parade of different flowers blooms each week: sakura, azalea, wisteria and iris. It’s during the “pleasant season” that all is forgiven. I think there are only two seasons: u npleasant and pleasant.” Or, as a friend once commented accurately: livable and utterly unlivable. ![]() These subseasons include m ugi no toki itaru (麦秋至), or “the time for wheat has come,” which lasts from May 31 to June 5, and k amakiri shozu (“the mantis is born”) from June 6 to June 10. The 24 sekki can be further divided into three for a total of 72 shijijūni ko (七十二侯) that last for about five days each. “a little full” as in growing, waxing) in late May and boshu (芒種, lit. There are 24 sekki, including rikka (立夏, the first day of summer) in early May, shoman (小満, lit. Sekki is the traditional way of expressing seasons in Japan. You know it won’t last because the rainy season-cloudy skies, torrential rainfall and unflagging humidity-is lurking just around the corner. “Well, then how about all the sekki (節気), or the 24 terms in the traditional lunisolar calendar?” “Okay, smart aleck, there are five seasons then.” “Summer, huh? You know, I find tsuyu to be so uniquely different that it deserves to be called a season all by itself.” “What about tsuyu (梅雨), the rainy season,” I ask. Every time I bring it up, the conversation goes like this: ![]()
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