Observing microseasons
I like the Japanese idea of dividing the year into small parts, microseasons. You can find the poetic names for the 72 ancient Japanese microseasons online. Why did they settle on these names? Were there regional variations? Lots of questions. But let’s bring it into the present time and place. I’ve been thinking about finding my own names for microseasons around here.
The current microseason name would have to refer to the beautiful shadings of color developing in some leaves. For proper detail in the name, I’d probably have to specify about the type of plant. That could become difficult.
This hydrangea was inherited from the previous owners – it’s not something I would plant. It’s in a difficult spot next to the driveway. One year a blue ball of flowers developed and peeked out of the general weediness – a surprise! I’m not fond of the blue balls, but I absolutely love the shadings of color in these leaves come fall. Next door is a stand of sunchokes (Jerusalem artichokes, Helianthus tuberosus) contributing a complementary yellow-green.
Or the season name could come from this favorite maple on one of my walking routes. It is a transcendent experience walking under this tree into a world of orange-red light. This particular maple is very consistent in its coloration. I think that’s why I love it. I wonder what variety it is. Probably not a great candidate for my microseason name because there’s only one that looks like this.
Maybe the name should come from a plant close to home and more native, the hazelnut. Its leaves turn a beautiful shading of orangey red and yellow green. And they have a brown outline, which adds to their beauty. I love looking through their transparency to the light, even into a rainy landscape. I could print with these on paper or fabric, except I’ve learned that my prints don’t compare to the colors I see in nature.
I think this caterpillar would definitely have to be in the microseason name list. Maybe it would be the name of the season that’s just over, as I see less of them than I did. Woolly bears are crossing the road. I really don’t know why they are crossing the road, but there are (were) large numbers of them, some unfortunately squashed. I looked up the moth to come: Isabella tiger moth. They are supposed to predict the severity of the winter by the size of the brown and black bands. One of my friends says they are predicting a mild winter. Another one says she’s seen all different lengths of bands, so no prediction can be made. I don’t care so much about the prediction, but I really want to know why they feel the need to cross the road.
Glorious colors! I like the idea of the microseasons though the traditional four pass so quickly it makes my head spin.
I’d like to see if trying to notice/name small portions might make them seem to slow down?? Maybe.
I found myself wondering if the microseasons in Japan have become unmoored in the wake of global climate change (aka weather weirding) … how interesting it would be to know if the time of “woolly caterpillar season” changes from one year to the next … and now I want to know more about the 72 microseasons … so thank you for firing my curiosity and for including such beautiful fall colors in your musings
I have been thinking about the impact of climate change on the microseasons. It might need to be a yearly practice, this naming. The sun, moon, planets, and stars would be steadfast though. A related term I learned when I moved to Maine is “phenology.”
Such beautiful colors in your photos. With sudden clear blue skies and sun here, it is much the same. I walk around in awe and have taken dozens of photos. I maybe could call these days stained-glass leaf days. I’m not sure I could pick just one tree or plant.
I think “stained glass” when I see the sun shining through the hazelnut leaves at the corner of the kitchen window. So beautiful.