ever seen a purple rose?

 

I just spent the whole day . . . well, five hours, anyway . . . in a sea kayak plowing the waters between here and neighboring villages. It was my first time, and I'm now in great pain, (and expecting even more tomorrow), but elated by the experience. Never realized how much the sea changes at that surface level, and we had it all. It was almost lake-like when we started, but by the end of the day, we we fighting a wind from the east and a tide that was against us, and it was a real trip to try to find the right rhythm that would let you make any headway through the choppy waters. But we did, through rocks poking out of the water, past wind and wave-shaped islets, past schools of stand up paddlers. (The SUPs have become the hottest thing on the water this year.) Stupidly, I didn't take a camera, so all the great and unusual views of this area from the sea are all just in my head.

Oh yeah, the purple rose. It's officially a "blue" one, and was developed after many years of difficult research by a subsidiary of the sponsor of the radio show that I do. It was to commemorate the 1000th show--at one a week, that's 20 years--though I've only been doing it for about 8. It was a nice gesture, though I received it at 10:00am and had to carry it around all day before going home. So when I handed it to M, she noticed that it was a little frayed. What can I say? How often do you see a purple rose?

the lumberjacks

 

Last Wednesday, on the front range of Japan's northern Alps, we formed a small posse that was intent on supplying our beachside house with firewood next winter. A 10-minute drive from M's parents' place in Nagano was a mountain that the forestry preservation association was thinning to improve the health of the forest. Up a steep slope just off the road, the forest was full of just toppled trees. M's mom scrambled right up the mountainside and with another friend, was soon flipping the logs down the side of the mountain. (That's her in what I consider to be the classic "beekeeper" mode above.) M's dad and I (that's him in his classic "victory over the Japanese oak" pose above) had the chore of sawing the logs into pieces small enough for me to be able to haul them back to Akiya.

Over the course of a few hours, we had the van filled high enough that it was starting to squat down on its shocks, but I could still see out the rear-view mirror. I wouldn't have minded a larger truck: we ended up leaving quite a bit of sawed logs by the side of the road for a future pick-up.

Thursday morning I drove back to Akiya, a fairly nice drive until I hit an accident jam close to home and spent two hours going 28km. It felt very good to get out of the car and start chopping the logs stove-size. Lots of nara oak and soyogo, Longstalk Holly, both of which are very hard and burn well. As always with M's parents, I ate well and had a great time.

Running on empty

As you can see, one of my two woodsheds is running low; the other is equally bare. Though this last winter was a mild one, my physical condition kind of interfered with my usual gathering of local wood, so I'm going on an overnight run up to Nagano for a refill. I don't feel like making the trip in our tiny 360cc van, so I'm going to trade cars with the contractor who built our house. (He bought my old car and said I can use it anytime. Can you believe how cool these guys are?) I'll be going up to M's parents place.

M's dad said the forest behind them has to be thinned, so I'm taking my chain saw and hoping to get some good wood in time to chop it and dry it for next year. I'm also looking forward to the good company of M's mom and dad, and the good food that is always on the table. It's a weekday: m's in school and M has to stay with her, so they're totally jealous.

Monday

Unemployment kind of hit me hard today.

This was the first Monday that wasn't a holiday, or a day full of things I had to do for others, or rushing to get my taxes paid, or whatever. It was just an ordinary Monday, and I still wake up before 6am, with faint intrepidation at the long train commute before remembering that I DON'T HAVE TO. I know I should be thinking about my next job, and I do a little bit, but I'm not in a rush, considering this fine season for living on the beach. So I fill my days: I ran three laps of the beach (only 3km, but I'm feeling my lungs expand, and it's on sand) and plan to build up the distance, watched the Chicago Bulls take apart the Miami Heat, walked to the next village and the kayak shop, where I picked up a catalog.

Got back to the house and weeded in the garden, and planted some ruccola and halapeno peppers until m got home. Had her practice piano, and then went outside to continue our bicycle riding lessons. She made the big jump today, finally understanding the balancing idea and took off. I'd forgotten how instantaneous that moment is. But I think the photo below has got to be a metaphor (symbol?) of her growing up and . . .

We went back to the garden and made our first harvest for a salad--three kinds of lettuce, basil, Italian parsley, ruccola and some carrot greens.

What am I going to do tomorrow?

where was I?

Oh yeah, now I remember. I was wandering around Jimbocho, looking at woodblock prints. Then a few things happened.
1) They closed my office down and laid off all the staff.
2) Japan's largest earthquake ever struck while all the employees were standing around like zombies.
3) That was followed by the horrific tsunami that took tens of thousands of lives and ruined so much of northern Japan's coastline of towns and villages.
4) And that was followed by a nuclear power fiasco that is still throwing people out of their homes and scaring a number of people into leaving the country.
5) In the midst of all that news of massive pain and anguish, I got the good news that my lungs are clear six months after the cancerous part was removed. I almost felt guilty at the rush I got from that announcement.

But life goes on, even if we've all been shifted to other locations on the surface of the earth. Frankly, I feel fine, but a little unbalanced, which is natural since I'm now living a few centimeters away from where I was previously.