❃❂❀❄Yoroshiku Kisetsu❄❀❂❃~日本の留学: Crazy weather

March 10, 2010

Today I woke up and, as I attempted to turn a stiffened door knob, I initially feared that I had been trapped in a trailer of ice. After a few hard jerks I was freed from my chamber, and embraced by cedar trees coated with snow; each day I am treated to new and mystifying, but rich scenery.

After failing to find eggs to make French toast (today is actually the last formal day our French friend could spend with us, so I wanted to make something appropriate ☺) I spent the morning in the shop, “Apple Mint,” trying to motivate my fingers and body to endure the cold and arrange flowers for the upcoming slew of graduation, school entrance and retirement celebrations. Even though I always have something wonderful, such as scenery or an amazing meal to look forward to each day, I am so weak against the cold that it is pathetic. Even when during lunch break, simply watching the intense flakes swirl around the restaurant made me feel like I was in a snow globe, and the warmth of the stove could not alleviate my dread of returning to the outdoors.

Luckily, I didn’t have to. The scarcity of customers due to the inclement weather gave me free range of the kitchen, so I could prepare cookies for tea time. Meanwhile. Umeki-san and the French WWOOFer resumed bottling amazake. (Note: Amazake differs from regular sake in that only one form of bacteria is added, which digests the sugars and creates a natural sweetness that is also spicy and altogether off the wall. I couldn’t quite grasp the entire explanation, because I think that regular sake requires two kinds of bacteria, and amazake already contains a bacteria which is then eaten by the added bacteria. I do know that the sake must be kept free of outside bacteria during the fermentation process, or else it becomes sour. I think this goes for amazake, so this process is relatively short; less than a week before it is bottled. Sorry if my explanation is insufficient.)

The American way is not very convenient when trying to conform to world standards; namely with measurements. Yet somehow I managed to produce snickerdoodle cookies. In spite of scouring grocery stores for cream of tartar (we figured that “shusekiei” apparently exists somewhere in Japan if it is given a Japanese name), I gave up the effort and settled on sour cream. I also had to keep adding flour to abate the stickiness (or “nebari” which is a cool sounding word) so the flavor came out less strong in my opinion. The texture was light and fluffy, not chewy like normal snickerdoodles. Then again, I had to hurry up and serve them so they didn’t really sit and toughen out; as a result I think they are more “saku saku” today.
Somehow the concept of failure doesn’t really sink into my brain. I am accident prone, I have the tendency to make the same mistakes over again, and yet “failure is the mother of success”so I keep coming back for more.
So it happened; in my dish-washing frenzy I knocked one of the restaurant’s bowls that was sitting on the drying rack. And it fell and shattered. And I quietly picked up the broken pieces, trying to displace the pot (and maybe also steamer) that I scorched from my mind. But I knew it would come back to me. Throughout the course of the evening it manifested on my conscious. It accumulated on my mind like the snow as I sat in the outdoor onsen. I had not said anything at first, because I knew automatically that if I offered my remorse and asked to pay for it Kyoko-san would shake it off like it is no big deal. Instead, I inquired as to where she purchased the resturant’s wares, only to face the discouraging reply that they had been made, special ordered, by a friend. She then explained that they had been dyed naturally with local plants to give them earthy browns and pinks. Surely a work of art. I counted the bowls and noticed that there were only nine. Surely a beloved member of a 10-bowl family.
Surely by returning to Japan, I intended to give more back to the Japanese than they gave me when I first came here. Yet all I have managed to do is make trouble while they continue to generously sacrifice their time and money and energy for me.
Sasuga--the Japanese.

I considered leaving early again, but I don’t particularly want to run away.
I considered my chances of stumbling across the same pottery if I ventured into town on my day off. Probably slim.
I considered being upfront and saying that I broke the bowl, but I don’t want my earlier reaction to the explanation of the tremendous process of making the pottery to appear superficial.
どうしよう〜！
I definitely want to take responsibility. What would Abby do? Is Abby even still alive?

Speaking of sagacious elders, I recent stumbled upon a book about an American homemaker, Tasha Tudor that is very popular in Japan. She is a very driven woman, who, throughout her life strove to perfect her garden and homelife and leads this idealistic life that many Japanese homemakers pine for. Apparently she started something of a gardening revolution in Japan. It makes me think I’m in a modern renaissance of splendid gardening and cooking and nature and scenery and crafts. Ahh, if I wasn’t so clumsy I might actually feel like I belong and enjoy this experience more.
C’est la vie.
March 11, 2010
Happy Birthday Lauren! In you are reading and I don’t get around to facebook today. Shout out to Mitch as well, although I definitely know you aren’t reading.

Today I woke up at 6 to accompany Umeki-san to an elderly home, where we would join some other volunteers in maintaining the garden. The drive through the mountains was somewhat treacherous after yesterday’s snowfall, and Umeki san crept along each curve slowly. We passed a few other cautious vehicles mimicking this crawl. But the scenery was gorgeous—and I was the morning sunrise cascading over some of Umeki-san’s favorite valleys. I hardly feel like I’m in Japan or on Earth for that matter. Aso Mountain is apparently second to Fuji in the ranking of Japanese mountains.

After arriving safely to our destination after about an hour and a half, the weather had cleared up entirely and it was warm and spring-like. A very welcome change from the past week of bitter cold and snow. You can’t take warmth for granted.
Today I weeded and chatted with a 70-year old Japanese women who has spent the past 10 years learning English so she could help her American neighbor adjust to life in Japan. I also spoke with a house wife who quit her hospital job working to rehabilitate patients after she got married. This trend is so common in Japan.
I also planted lavendar and rosemary, played rock paper scissors with some elders, won a bamboo shoot somehow, and received bag upon bag of Japanese mikan, along with candy, crackers and a hand-knit tiger. Afterwards Umeki-san took me out to a sumptuous lunch of chanpon. Meet my new favorite food. Chanpon is a dish similar to ramen, native to Nagasaki where it arrived from China. It features a soup base and thick ramen noodles, plus heaps of vegetables (why I like it). After that plus gyoza and sweet tofu with biwa for dessert, there was no way I could eat dinner. I am definitely making up for a semester of meager meals of rice and canned fish, and I feel like I’m about to hibernate just in time for spring.
To work off some of the calories, I ran a wheelbarrow up and down a hill several times to apply to mulch to the budding blueberry bushes. It was a glorious day.