Summer beckons

It has been duly noted by the sharp ears of Miss Ember and Sir S that summer is indeed stirring far too early. Frogs have taken up their bell-ringing, croaking calls beneath our paper-screened windows, cicadas have drummed out their first percussion and even now June insects wing the air. On our recent spring stroll, Sir S and I stumbled upon this froggy fellow. He seemed most unperturbed when Sir S plopped him on the page of the latest Maisie Dobbs' mystery.* He sat most patiently until I finished the last paragraph of the chapter, before hopping away via my purple-striped socks.

The same kind of vibrant green frog has been loitering on the lower stairs so that tenants and visitors to the rooms have to take due care not to splat the blighter. Of late have had fond reminiscences of my time as editorial assistant for Hollandeer & Clyde Publishers, when Miss Rosie and I spend a whole day writing captions for frog photographs ("the diminutive green tree frog likes to shower with a friend") and other inappropriate musings.

I rather like the way the frog wears a petal bonnet. A light breeze blew the blossom in the frog's direction, and once stuck to its head, the frog donned the blossom for a full 35 minutes. Impressive!

*Book and Bellamy-esque shot from the lens of Sir S.

Spring nostalgia

A surprising aspect of spring in Japan is the vast number of spring flowers from my childhood in England that I see everywhere. It is common to espy daffodils, tulips, snowdrops, pansies, bluebell-like flowers and the occasional crocus straggled along the wayside, or in clumps of colour in the wild, rambling patches of people's gardens. The sight of these blooms reminds me of the sadness of snows melted and gone, the hunt for blue and speckled eggs in the hedgerows, Easter and the twitter of newly hatched life.

In fact, most gardens here are not of the traditional Japanese zen-pebbled-arched-bridge-with-a-koi-pond variety. The average garden consists of a delightful cluttered array of potplants on porches or around front doors, or any leftover patch or plot of land (usually very small) being covered willy-nilly in colourful flowers and untended grasses and plants. The gardens often appear unkempt and bestraggled, but are most pleasant to look upon.

Rambling rurally

Near the lodgings of myself and Sir S abounds charming countryside which is most suited for brisk walks or perambulations on a bicycle. One recent sunny spring day, Sir S and I packed our bicycle baskets with bento lunches and sallied forth along winding paths into the nearby hills and farming district. Like ships seeking the steady beam of a lighthouse, we struck out in the direction of the pink wisps of cherry blossom that clung to the hillsides, in search of a prime picnicking spot. After a deviation or three at shrines and rice paddies, we found a pleasant spot under a blossom tree overlooking vegetable fields, where a woman hacked at cabbagepatches with a curious scythe-like instrument and donned a matronly bonnet of white frills and ribbons. Here the cherry tree dolefully cast its final petals over our picnic and the nearby fields, and each one like loose confetti was caught and glowed beautifully in the rays of the afternoon sun.

Flowers Become Screens

Cherry Blossom Viewing

In early April, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom here in Matsue. These snaps were taken in the grounds of Matsue Castle. Here many families, friends and entourages of businesspeople, hot in their black suits, thronged the castle gardens and pitched their blue plastic sheets beneath the fluffy boughs of cherry trees for the yearly festivity of hanami (cherry blossom viewing). Some companies sent junior employees ahead to claim a prized spot and sleep in the sun upon their private little sea of blue tarp. Picnickers brought bento lunchboxes and eskies of chu-hi or beer. My friend bought a can of Lafcadio Hearn beer, whilst I supped decadently on sakura (cherry or cherry tree) chu-hi.*

* A deadly potion of alcoholic pop and seasonal flavours, very cheap at 100 yen - or 1.20 in the old currency.

On the prom

Looking towards the bay and Mt Daisen, Mihonoseki.

Streets by the sea

A few more snaps of Mihonoseki's inviting narrow streets.

By the sea

In our spiffing shiny motor car, the Royals, Sir S and I went on a merry spin to the nearby seaside town of Mihonoseki. Here I contemplated the soothing, salty-aired idyll that is a Japanese fishing village. Wooden houses of two or three levels shambled around the horseshoe bay, their glass sliding doors allowing the curious tourist a peep at tatami-matted rooms, and entry-chambers radiant with blond wood and ikebana flower arrangements on a low table. The bay looked out to a rather mottled Mt Daisen, her meek winter snows already showing patches of black rock and earth. In the bay fishing boats, each strung with a necklace of orbular glass lamps, bobbled on the green-blue water.

To the left of the bay was a path leading to the Miho Shrine, and taking this course we passed several fish shops. On wooden racks in the sun, silver fish were bound to little rungs in severe order, and dried squids swayed, beaks down and tentacles draped, like pegged washing on the breeze.



Miho Shrine is set back from the bay, nestled amongst the trees and thrumming springtime birdsong of thickly wooded hills. Dating from the 8th century, this shrine is home to the god of fishery, the shipping trade and other maritime pursuits. The ema, or prayer tablets, which are traditionally decorated with the Boar of the Chinese signs for this year, are instead etched with sea motifs: a tangle of nets, fisher's boats, a prized fish. These too were hung from small bamboo rods with a long piece of string, so that they appeared like fishing rods, each snagged with a shrinegoer's prayer or wish. A paper mache fish loomed from under the shrine wall and paintings of seafarers were hung behind it.




I could have spent all day wandering the winding alleyways that webbed out from the shrine and curved around to the bay. Fish nets were slung over balcony railings; rusted anchors lay flakey and bronze on the front porches of houses; potted flowers were clustered around doorways, many with a border of fan seashells along the inner edge of the pot (reminding me of certain nursery rhymes).

Strangely, despite being a seaside town, we spotted only one cat.

Peregrinating pallies

The creme royale of nob-ility, His Edenic Maj and Prince Ronaldo, voyaged to the Orient last month in the Regal Golden Dragon Dirigible and, with a wave of His Maj's sceptre, dismissed all calls to visit Emperor Akihito and instead chose Matsue as their first stop. They came down-diddly-down over Shimanean countryside, letting out hot air over Matsue with great gusto during their descent. Indeed, the locals were most appalled by the guff, but there may have been some confusion with the recent Yellow Sand dragon from China.

Over the next three days the royal entourage, Sir S and myself, toured places of cultural interest such as Matsue Castle, Lafcadio Hearn's former residence and Izumo Taisha. We also hired a new-fangled motor and took a jaunt to various seaside towns.

Here are some snaps of the traditional Japanese house once lived in by Mr Hearn, previously a samurai residence (below) as well as pics of Izumo (above).