November 7 marks the solar term of ‘Rittou’ (the beginning of winter) in the 24 solar terms of the traditional calendar. From this day, winter begins according to the calendar. Coincidentally, on this day, Mt. Fuji experienced its first snowcap, and the first “Kogarashi” (winter wind) blew in both Osaka and Tokyo. It was a rare day, as it brought together Rittou, the first snowcap on Mt. Fuji, and Kogarashi No. 1. Although Mt. Fuji’s first snow cover was observed from the Shizuoka side yesterday, the Kofu Meteorological Observatory is responsible for officially observing and announcing the first snowcap on Mt. Fuji. Even if snow is seen on Mt. Fuji’s slopes or from the Shizuoka side, the first snowcap is not announced unless the crown of snow is visible from the Kofu Meteorological Observatory in Kofu City, Yamanashi Prefecture. This is a curious example of Japan’s distinction between ‘hon-ne’ (true intentions) and ‘tatemae’ (public stance). In any case, this first snowcap on November 7 was observed 36 days later than average and 33 days later than last year. The previous latest recorded first snowcap on Mt. Fuji was on October 26, 2016, and this year’s observation set a new record. In Tokyo, Kogarashi No. 1 blew 6 days earlier than last year, while in Osaka, it was 4 days earlier. It’s rare for Kogarashi No. 1 to blow in both Tokyo and Osaka on the same day, and even more remarkable that Mt. Fuji’s first snowcap also occurred on this day, reportedly for the first time in recorded observation history.
I received a letter from a friend who lives near Mount Daisen in Tottori Prefecture. Recently, the climate has completely changed, and I heard that the autumn foliage in various areas is still not fully in color. So, I was a bit surprised by the unchanged beauty of the autumn leaves on Mount Daisen. I used to climb Mount Daisen often, in spring, summer, autumn, and winter. In autumn, I always took advantage of Culture Day on November 3rd to make the climb. The view of the mountain foothills, covered in a colorful tapestry of autumn leaves, is truly nature’s own carpet. Sometimes, there were even snow flurries. Descending from the summit, there is Jorenin Temple by the trail, and I am reminded of the time I stayed in a room with a round window, where Naoya Shiga reportedly worked on his novel An’ya Kōro (A Dark Night’s Passing). If I had the time, I would extend my journey to Hiruzen, on the backside of Mount Daisen, passing through Masumizu Plateau. The autumn colors along the way are breathtaking, and Hiruzen’s autumn foliage is equally magnificent. The memories are endless. Come to think of it, even the ginkgo trees near my house are laden with nuts, and people gather to pick up the fallen ginkgo nuts. It’s truly autumn, isn’t it?
The summer heat continues as usual. Though autumn festivals across the regions have ended and I would normally want to recite something like ‘autumn deepens,’ the heat and summer-like scenes still frequently catch my eye. Nearby, the fallow fields are full of blooming sunflowers, and visiting families are dressed in summer attire, enjoying shaved ice as if it were the height of summer. Yet, around the sunflower fields, some late-blooming cluster amaryllis are blossoming. However, as you go a little further into the hills, the scenery turns fully into autumn. Golden rice fields stretch out as far as the eye can see, with some already harvested. The persimmons are ripening nicely, and red dragonflies flutter through the air. And yet, in the distance, the sound of cicadas still echoes. My head is in a state of chaos. Is it summer or is it autumn? When I look at the calendar, I realize it’s already well past the middle of October.
Sitting on the beach, listening only to the sound of the waves crashing, I find myself drifting into a light slumber. Then, I hear the faint sound of a boat engine in the distance. Though hazy, the sunlight shines brightly, illuminating the far-off sea. A small fishing boat bobs on the waves as if a spotlight were shining directly upon it. It’s hard to believe that the days were so hot just a short while ago. I can feel the coolness of autumn in the occasional sea breeze. At the same time, an inexplicable loneliness wells up inside me. What is this loneliness? Is it because this landscape, carved by the passage of time, reminds me of the fleeting nature of life, born and disappearing into this scene? Ah, a crab just scuttled by at my feet, waving its claws at me as it passed.
The red spider lilies in the garden, which had been buds until yesterday, finally bloomed beautifully this morning. It’s already October. Of course, this is the first time we’ve had such a late blooming. While the mornings and evenings have become somewhat cooler, the daytime temperatures still exceed 30°C, feeling like midsummer. This is the same across the country. According to the app ‘Weather News,’ a survey conducted among users revealed that one week ago, in 25 prefectures, more than 30% of respondents reported that the flowers were ‘blooming.’ However, in this week’s survey, that number rose to 43 prefectures. Over the past week, it seems that the red spider lilies have finally started blooming widely from western Japan to the Tohoku region. Looking at the percentages by prefecture, Kagoshima leads with 86%, followed by Miyazaki with 83%, and Kochi with 82%. While the Kyushu and Shikoku regions show high blooming rates, in the Kanto region, Chiba is at 43%, Saitama at 51%, and even Tokyo is only at 39%, indicating a rather delayed blooming. On TV news, shaved ice is still a big hit at various tourist spots that are crowded with many foreign visitors. One wonders when the real arrival of autumn will come.
According to the weather news on TV, while there are still places experiencing scorching days with temperatures over 35 degrees Celsius, I’ve received a letter that the October cherry blossoms have started blooming. Including the October cherry blossoms, all cherry blossoms that bloom in autumn to winter are collectively called winter cherry blossoms. The Taiwan cherry is one of them, with its blooming period from January to February. By January, the early-blooming Kawazu cherry blossoms will start to bloom, marking the beginning of next year’s cherry blossom season. The day after tomorrow is the middle of the equinoctial week, so I expected news about red spider lilies, but instead, I received news of winter cherry blossoms, which is quite surprising. As for the red spider lilies, not only are there no flowers, but even the buds cannot be seen anywhere in the country this year, and it’s predicted that blooming will be much later. This is an unprecedented anomaly that defies common sense. The phrase ‘heat and cold last until the equinox’ has long been said, but now it seems that this saying has become obsolete due to the abnormality of the seasons. Even now, the news is filled with reports, such as the Noto region, which was struck by a major earthquake at the beginning of the year, now facing torrential rains that occur once every few decades, causing rivers to overflow and massive floods. Despite only 30% of the earthquake recovery being completed, a ‘special heavy rain warning’ has been issued, leaving me at a loss for words of sympathy. This abnormality in seasonal cycles and extreme weather is not limited to Japan. It is happening across the world, including in the United States and Europe. The entire planet is in a state of emergency. Now is not the time to be repeating wars and conflicts. Humanity must realize quickly that if we don’t act soon, it will be too late.
Today is the ‘Chūshū no Meigetsu’ (Mid-Autumn Full Moon). It is a traditional Japanese event that has continued since the Heian period. ‘Chūshū no Meigetsu’ refers to the custom of moon-viewing on the night of the 15th day of the 8th month in the lunar calendar. In the lunar calendar, autumn is from July to September, and the 15th day of the 8th month, which falls in the middle, was called ‘Chūshū’ (Mid-Autumn). The moon that rises on the night of the 15th day of Chūshū is called the ‘Chūshū no Tsuki’ (Mid-Autumn Moon), and because the moon appears particularly beautiful around this time, it became known as the ‘Chūshū no Meigetsu’ (Mid-Autumn Full Moon). In the modern solar calendar, there is about a one-month discrepancy, so this year (2023), the day of ‘Chūshū no Meigetsu’ falls on September 29. Since ‘Chūshū no Meigetsu’ is based on the solar calendar, the date changes every year. For example, in 2022, it was on September 10, in 2023 on September 29, in 2025 on October 6, and in 2026 on September 25, showing that the date can differ by nearly a month depending on the year. When it comes to offerings for moon-viewing, ‘Tsukimi Dango’ (moon-viewing rice dumplings) and pampas grass are traditionally used. A table is set up in a place where the moon is easily visible, and 15 dumplings, representing the 15th night, are piled high on a large plate, with pampas grass arranged beside them as a stand-in for rice ears. The pampas grass in the photograph was coincidentally taken today, and its formal name is ‘Shiroganeyoshi’ (silver grass). In English, it is called ‘Pampas Grass,’ and it originates from the grasslands (pampas) of South America, including Brazil, Argentina, and Chile. Pampas grass was introduced to Japan during the Meiji era, and it is now commonly seen in parks and wetlands across the country.
The mornings and evenings have become slightly cooler, but during the day, the temperature still feels like it’s in the height of summer. The once-bustling beach is now deserted, and you can faintly hear the sound of fishing boats far off in the distance. Occasionally, a red dragonfly flies by, subtly reminding you that autumn is approaching. It’s a strange seasonal feeling—too early to call it late summer, but not quite early autumn either. In haiku, it’s customary to include seasonal words to signify the season, but even the seasonal almanacs are of little help. For instance, “late summer” is a seasonal term that, according to the almanac, refers to the period from Shōsho (around July 7) to Risshū (around August 7), but this time frame is still the peak of summer, making it an awkward term to begin with. Especially with this year’s weather, it leaves one wondering, “When exactly is late summer?” Next week, on the 19th, marks the start of the autumn equinox period. Ideally, we’d call it early autumn, but that too feels off given the current weather. Recently, the climate has shifted dramatically. I’m concerned about the environmental changes brought about by these climate fluctuations.
The term “Nihyakutōka” (the 210th day) was commonly heard in the past, but it’s rarely mentioned these days. “Nihyakutōka” is one of the traditional seasonal divisions and refers to the 210th day from the start of spring (around February 4th), which falls around September 1st each year. Around this day, various rituals such as Kazamatsuri (Wind Festivals) and Fūchinsai (Wind Calming Festivals) have been held at shrines across Japan to pray for protection from wind damage. Additionally, on September 1, 1923 (Taisho 12), the Great Kanto Earthquake occurred, and in 1960 (Showa 35), this date was designated as “Disaster Prevention Day.” Wind festivals meant to protect crops and calm the winds still remain in various parts of the country. Particularly famous is the wind festival held in Yatsuo Town, Toyama City, the “Owara Kaze no Bon” of Etchu Yatsuo. “Owara Kaze no Bon” is one of the most representative events of Toyama Prefecture, held annually from September 1st to 3rd in the Yatsuo district of Toyama City. In this festival, silent dancers wearing straw hats perform sophisticated dances along the streets of the hilly town, accompanied by the mournful melody of the Etchu Owara Bushi. The festival features graceful female dancers, vigorous male dancers, and the poignant music of the kokyū (a traditional Japanese string instrument), captivating visitors. During the three days of the Owara Kaze no Bon, from September 1st to 3rd, approximately 250,000 spectators visit Yatsuo.
It’s been so hot that it’s more appropriate to send a midsummer greeting card than a late summer one. I keep getting ‘Heatstroke Alert’ notifications from the Yahoo Disaster Alert app on my smartphone. For us elderly folks, staying indoors is the best option. This summer, I’ve been watching Japanese festivals and Bon dances extensively on YouTube. I never knew there were so many diverse festivals and Bon dances across Japan. At the same time, I was reminded of how much the times have changed, making it possible to see such things only through a medium like YouTube. Among all this, what intrigued me the most was a Bon dance called ‘Nanyadoyara,’ passed down in the northern Tohoku region of North Okushu. It’s a Bon dance handed down in the area from southern Aomori Prefecture to northern Iwate Prefecture, as well as in the former Nambu domain area of the Oga region in Akita Prefecture. It is named ‘Nanyadoyara’ after the lyrics of the accompanying song. It is said to be the root of Japanese Bon dances and the oldest Bon dance in Japan. Although the content of the song varies by region, it generally goes like this: ‘Nanyado Nasarete Nanyadoyara Nanyadore Nasarede Noo Nanyadore Nanyadoyarayo Nanya Nasarete Saae Nanyado Yarayo Nanya Nasarete Nanyadoyara Nanyado.’ The lyrics are completely incomprehensible, like some kind of incantation. Due to the enigmatic nature of these lyrics, various researchers throughout history have shown interest, proposing theories such as the ‘Sanskrit theory,’ ‘Dowa theory,’ or even ‘love song theory.’ Folklorist Kunio Yanagita suggested that the lyrics, which he learned from a village girl, mean ‘whatever you do, do as you like,’ and he interpreted it as a love song directed at men on special festival days. However, this explanation has not been entirely convincing, and the mysterious lyrics remain unexplained. However, in the Taisho era, a theologian from Ichinohe Town in Iwate Prefecture, Eiji Kawamorita, took up this Aomori folk song in his book ‘Jews in Japan’ and made a big splash by asserting that if the pronunciation of ‘Nanyadoyara’ is read as ‘Nagyadoyara’ in Hebrew, it suddenly turns into a song with meaningful words. Kawamorita explained how a Hebrew-rooted poem transformed and took root as a Japanese folk song, presenting several examples of Japanese folk song lyrics and accompanying words that can be read in Hebrew. To this day, there’s a village in Aomori Prefecture called Herai, which some believe might be a Hebrew village, meaning an ancient Israelite settlement. In the dialect of Herai Village, fathers are sometimes called ‘Ada’ and mothers ‘Aba,’ which some suggest could be transformations of ‘Adam’ and ‘Eve.’ There are numerous similarities between Japanese and Hebrew, such as ‘Akinafu’ (to buy), ‘Ari-Gad’ (lucky for me), ‘Essa’ (I’ll lift it up), ‘Kaku’ (to write), ‘Komaru’ (to be troubled), and ‘Nikumu’ (to avenge), and some words are almost identical. Today, the theory that the Japanese and Jews share a common ancestry often comes up in discussions about history, and through Bon dances, I’ve gained new insights, deepening my interest in Japan’s ancient history.