A bright autumn moon…
in the shadow of
each grass
An insect chirping
Issa
Between last week and this, we have finally entered Pasadena’s fall equinox, decidedly later than the actual date of September 22nd. The welcome dip in temperature by more than 30 degrees, the dampness turning to drizzle and then to rain, the change in light from blinding to oblique, all of which culminates in Halloween.
Halloween, the morning after at the Callow's. Photo by Sally Kreuger-Wyman.
I contend that October 31st should be our new equinox—a later date with a nod to our new normal. Hotter, longer summers and a feeling of hosanna when the air turns dewy.
We have been fooled before, a cool day here and there, only to be disappointed by another week of heat-stroke inducing temperatures. But now we are in it for the long haul and my favorite time of year, fall.
Photos of Storrier Stearns Japanese Garden in Pasadena by Sally Kreuger-Wyman.
In Japan, a country known for a depth of observation and celebration of the physical world, there are 72 micro-seasons -- Shichijuni-kou 七十二候 -- aligned to earlier customs and patterns that fit neatly into 24 sub-sections. These 72 are so much more fulsome than our miserly four seasons, dependent more upon haiku-like observations of phenomena than an inflexible calendar date.
Azola Plant at the Storrier Stearns Japanese Garden in Pasadena. Photo by Sally Kreuger-Wyman.
And there is a slower, almost imperceptible slide into each next stage.These delineations inaugurating the Fall equinox and ending with the beginning of Winter are felt as well as visualized:
Thunder ceases
Insects hole up underground
Wild geese return
Crickets chirp around the door
Light rains sometimes fall
Maple leaves and ivy turn yellow
I searched and found my mother’s worn and well used book of Japanese Haiku, containing poems that track in four short lines of verse and metered syllables the same subtle journey of the year’s unfolding.
Bold brash Autumn blast
blundered into
the bamboos…
Then the grove fell still
Basho
November sunrise…
Uncertain the storks
still stand…
Bare sticks in water
Kakei
Inspired by this poetic sense filled calendar, I have created my own micro-seasons for summer’s last gasp and the relief of fall. Food, as usual, takes a central role.
The Urban Forager’s Suggested Micro-Seasons, with apologies to the elegance of the Haiku form.
Berry fruit jam
A distant memory…
Marmalade returns!
Photos of jams by Ann Cutting. Jamtone ©2017, All rights reserved.
Quick breads of overripe fruit
Persimmons become pulp
as we forget again…
Photo by Ann Cutting.
Caramel, caramel, caramel
and that apple
stickiness lingers…
Grandchild Alex at preschool about to try his first caramel apple.
Night darkens early…
Walk quickly home
Skulls are everywhere
Annual skull cake baking, a Halloween tradition, with grandson Anthony.
Too many pomegranates!
harden in a bowl…
Strange tools sometimes
Table set for Halloween dinner.
And
Long walking, slow cooking
Cold days…
Warming bowls in hand
Vegetable stock on its way. Photo by Sally Kreuger-Wyman.
The Tea House at the Storrier Stearns Japanese Garden. Photo by Sally Kreuger-Wyman.
Another delight in dividing our year into 72 micro seasons is the explicit reminder to stop and notice as a form of open-ended codifying of experience. If there are 72 moments to collectively remark upon, my guess is that some of them are quite intimate in scope.
A case in point was a recent walk post-Halloween to record my neighborhood’s response to this celebration of night, identity change and wholesale gorging. Instead of documenting squashed pumpkins and faux grave yards, I participated in a completely satisfying micro-drama unfolding as three neighbors and I helped reunite Molly, the dog, with her owner. One woman held the goofball on a leash; the other posted a notice on our neighborhood blog and called animal control. I intercepted a worried looking woman walk/running down the street by yelling out, “Is that your dog?” just as animal control arrived.
And so, I end with one last micro-season notation that has resonance for the entire year without the brevity of the Haiku form.
“Lowly, unpurposeful and random as they appear, sidewalk contacts are the small change from which a city’s wealth of public life must grow.”
Jane Jacobs, Tireless activist and advocate for the value of urban life.
And the recipes this week? Warming, seasonal delights:
Christiana's Chocolate Beet Cake
And many, many uses of pomegranate besides covering yourself in a plastic table cloth and eating the seeds.
And one last image...echoes of Edgar Allan Poe. Photo by Sally Kreuger-Wyman.