花見 – Hanami at Home

Dearest Rachel –

Maybe I never noticed it because it was right there in front of us the whole time (and we had to deal with the blossoms once they fell and stuck to our respective cars, which is something of a nuisance); maybe it’s just that more obvious to me after two straight years in which I’ve spent the large part of the spring season out of the country – and in Japan, no less, where this is important in a way that it really isn’t here in the States, or anywhere else, for that matter. But after those couple of years, where the cherry blossoms keep getting pointed out to me by one tour guide or another…

…it’s wild to realize that we’re every bit as blessed with blossoming trees as the folks in Japan are, right in our front yard:

It never occurred to me until now that we have a fair share of such beautiful trees. Again, it’s probably because we just don’t make a big deal of the season like the Japanese do. We certainly don’t plant whole orchards of such trees along the roads and in public spaces, so as to make them some form of trademark flora for our state or nation (granted, given the varied biomes that make up our vast country, the latter would be well-nigh impossible to begin with). And because of that (among other reasons), we don’t as a society organize parties to watch as the blossoms fall to the ground, as a reminder of the transient nature of spring, and life itself.

But here, we most definitely could. I could spread out a blanket on that little half-moon circle of grass between our turnaround driveway and the sidewalk, lie down on it, and stare up at the blossoms as they sway in the wind. Granted, they aren’t nearly as fragile as the sakura blossoms – even a fairly strong shower on Easter Sunday couldn’t dislodge many of them from the trees they still obstinately cling to – nor are they as small and delicate, with each petal the size of a human finger (or several, in the case of the nearby magnolia tree). But does that distract from their beauty?

It’s possible that it does, to a certain extent. Like I said, the hanami (flower viewing) parties are supposedly meant to celebrate the ephemeral nature of… well, nature, as well as life itself. Sakura blossoms don’t last all that long – only about two weeks, on any given tree – and while the season lasts for a month or so throughout the country, that’s due to the blooming starting in the south and working its way up north over time. I’m told it’s got a whole weather forecasting thing dedicated to the season, guessing when the trees will burst into flower in a given locality every year; and in fairness, it’s more of a challenge than determining what the groundhog will say in Punxsutawney or when the swallows appear in San Juan Capistrano.

These blossoms that I’m looking at here at home seem to have been in flower since the beginning of April, suggesting that they’re hardier than the sakuras. Which is probably fitting; we Americans tend not to want to contemplate the frailty of life. We see ourselves as being basically immortal, pretty much – until the moment when we clearly aren’t. Granted, talking with you like this is a constant reminder of that fact, so… maybe that’s another reason why the whole hanami thing catches my eye in a way that it never did before, back when you were still here. Back then, we too thought we had it made; the lockdowns aside (and even those weren’t so objectionable, as we could be with each other on a 24/7 basis – what’s not to like about that?), we thought that, once we rode them out, we would have so many of the best years of our lives ahead of us. We had gotten through enough hardships over the past few years, and now were in a position to “take [our] ease,” to “eat, drink and be merry,” as the rich fool put it.

I try not to bring that parable to mind too often, as it leads me to wonder if that attitude led to the accident somehow – although if it was meant as punishment for such an attitude, shouldn’t it have been meted out on me, rather than you? It’s not always wise to ask the ‘why’s – that way lies madness.

Sometimes, it’s best just to stop, take a breath, look around, and take in what surrounds you. It’s beautiful – and it isn’t going to last, so absorb it while you can. The trouble is, most of us don’t learn this until such time as it disappears, and it’s no longer there to observe. Some of us learn subsequently to take in things more carefully, but the loss that triggered us to do so usually can’t be undone; that, I think, is where I am at the moment.

Or maybe not; who knows? In another couple of days or weeks, these petals will have fallen, and I might merely be grumbling as they stick to mine or Daniel’s car and leave an outline of residue when they’re forcibly removed. Do the Japanese take issue with this and the sakura petals, I wonder? Or do they not mind having to sweep them up as the season draws to a close?

Then again, it may be that I won’t give them a second though, as the cleanup process might just end up being a peripheral part of our lawn service. One day, every last petal will just be gone, and I’ll either wonder what happened to it all, or – more likely – I won’t give it a second thought. It will just be summer, with its attendant foliage, just in years and seasons before; everything just happens like it always has and always will… and I’ll have actually learned nothing from what I’m telling you about right now.

To stave that off, honey, I’d appreciate it if you would continue to keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I think I’m still going to need it.