趣があるね〜 My last winter in Sakata, Japan

In Japan, the four seasons mean a lot. There are festivals, foods and customs meant to accentuate their best aspects. Setting a blue tarp down under a cherry blossom tree and throwing back some Asahi Super Dry and sweet sticky rice cakes celebrates the new growth and warmth brought on by spring. In the summer, drums sound, fireworks explode, okonomiyaki and yakisoba fry, and girls dressed in “Yukata” appear in the many festivals across the country. Hot bowls of newly harvested rice or taro potato stew are eaten after a day of viewing the leaves’ striking colors in the fresh crisp air of fall. But in winter, with more darkness, more coldness, and more trouble because of the snow appreciating this season takes a bit more effort. And therefore, we must indulge in the good things and cherish the comfort we find in them. Which is the real beauty of winter in Japan. Like a warm mug of hot cocoa after playing in the snow, soaking in a hot spring while looking out at frozen mountain scenery or putting on a kimono and visiting an ancient temple decorated by the clean white snow gives us a warm appreciative feeling that can’t be experienced any other time of the year. It’s empowering and revitalizing to recognize our capability to not only survive the winter, but flourish and create even though all living things around us seem to die away.

Being in my second year in Japan and being prepared for the feelings of loneliness the winter intensifies, I was able to step out of my hiding place of an apartment a bit more this year and experience more of Japan’s winter customs. Also, my eyes and heart have become more adjusted to Japanese senses and I think I can appreciate being taken to a Buddhist ceremony, drinking local sake or being served tempura fried “milky” cod testicles more than I would have a year ago. I hope I can better recognize the “omomuki,” or the elegance, the simplicity, the grace of maybe what a foreigner could call the inherit “Japanese ness” of something. The frozen stillness of winter illuminates this feature more than any other season.

The kimonos were laid out on table. Maki’s mom and her aunt were ready to wrap me up in layers and layers of fabric that would ultimately give the illusion that my body was a flat straight board with not a single indication of fertility or curves. I chose a rose colored one with long thin butter colored flowers wisping across the material. My obi was a complete contrast with a blue and purple homespun feel. I took a deep breath, knowing that for the next couple hours it was going to be a bit difficult to breath. Today we would visit Zenpoji temple, attend a ceremony and ask God not to saddle us with too much trouble in the next year.
In the exposed temple it was so cold, but my feet were warm on the heated rug. Perfect. Being completely warm would have felt too artificial, but having cold felt would have felt unbearable. Thirteen Osho san (priests) take their places in front of the alter. All but two sit under their own small short table behind three high piles of books. Another sits in the middle and another off to the side with a drum. The drum pronounces itself; a single strike vibrated the intricate golden vines that wove themselves together around the central shrine. It filled the large open cold sanctuary and wound up the osho san so that slowly, the man in the center began to chant, steadily, in a monotone and sacredly. Soon, the rest joined him. This continues until the drum starts beating a bit faster, the chanting increases in intensity and speed and then… Hup! In unison, amongst the sea of chanting and drumming, each osho san grabs a pile of books, takes each one and opens it with strength to have it unfold like an accordion. Quick! Open and close, grab it, open and close. The pages flap and snap back into place. Hup! The drum slows down again.

The chanting slows down again.

They’ve just brought to life all the knowledge, thinking and words in those books, not by reading them, but by forcibly clapping it out into the space. Now, the main Osho san can begin to read the prayers of the people present today. Aaaassoooo maaaakiii, (name) hiiiiggaashi chooo (address), I can barely make out a word, but I am swept up in the magic. I don’t feel the coldness or the tight kimono anymore, (but perhaps they are also partly responsible for bringing me to my state of rapture) and feel very privileged to have been given the opportunity to experience this tradition that is hidden from everyday life in Japan. It’s different than ubiquitous conveyor belt sushi, excessive illumination, and manga characters that the foreigner might usually associate with Japan. “Hatsumoude” or visiting the shrine at the beginning of the year is a custom almost all Japanese families make sure to do. This ceremony slightly opens a window into seeing what is carried in the deep inside the hearts and minds of Japanese people.

Another way into the hearts of Japanese people is food. Much more than in America, Japanese people seem to recognize the relationships between food and seasons. From a practical standpoint, they more exclusively eat the produce that’s in season, but also from a symbolic standpoint, certain foods are eaten to help one feel the essence of the particular season. There is no better love story than that of a boiling clay pot of nabe and cold beer. Your feet and legs are warm under the kotatsu and the hot soup and alcohol take care of the rest. Winter’s seasonal vegetable, “hakusai” (a kind of chinese cabbage) is cooked in broth with onions, piles of japanese mushrooms, tofu, pork and any other desired ingredients. Anything goes as each region has a nabe specialty. In cold Hokkaido they fire up salmon, miso, potatoes, onions, daikon, tofu and butter. Sukiyaki is very thin slices of beef, just barely cooked in a soy flavored broth and then dipped in egg before massing your mouth with flavor. In Sakata, we specialize in cod cuisine. In cod nabe, big white soft chunks of cod meat fight for space with organs, hakusai, mushrooms and tofu. There is even a weekend long festival in snowy February to celebrate this fish and it’s meat, soup, and testicles. Fresh “shirako” tempura and it warm milky surprise that pops out when you bit down is one of those foods that walks on the fine line between unique deliciousness and inedibility, a delicacy.

It’s March now. The snow is melting, the sun shines a little bit brighter and there is light at the end of the tunnel. Once again, it looked like I’ve survived winter. In fact knowing that my time in Sakata is limited and trying to appreciate it as much as I can, I’ve made the best of winter and I’m ready for the next phase of year and of my life.