Before we left Tokyo seven months ago, I had a concern about the seasons, of all things. After almost 18 years in the city, I was tuned to the nature there and the procession of plants and weather created a visceral annual timeline for me. If I moved somewhere else, I’d lose my sense of time and it would take years to get it back and, and, and…panic.
And yes, it is true. I have no clue yet about whether I can plan for sunny days this month or what weather is heralded by iris or whether the plums bloomed at the normal time or not. The general brush of the seasons is different here. We’re only a couple hours away from Tokyo, but the southern Chiba mountains are a different ecosystem entirely.
I love it. I swear that every day I go out walking, I notice a flower suddenly in bloom everywhere, a caterpillar cruising along, grasses rising up from the verges. There is myriad detail in this parade of nature – so much richer than the city where everything was planted on purpose. Here, layered over what Nature does on her own is what man does with Nature – preparing, planting, maintaining.
So in this first year of living in the country, I am observing and recording without understanding or anticipating. Someday, years from now, I’ll get it all put together into an internal calendar again. Until then, taking it one day at a time is not as disorienting as I thought it might be.
