In the winter the year I lived in Japan, people talked about plum blossoms. I was confused because I had heard that Japan was all about the sakura, cherry blossoms. But I remember walking to school in the cold, going to class in the cold, coming home in the cold and trying to stay warm through the night. One day on my way to school an old gnarly tree began to sprout buds, and the next day the flowers had spilled across the branches.
The fragrance was heavenly and I nearly cried, because it was a sign that the cold winter was surely coming to an end and spring was coming. This made me finally understand why the Japanese people love the plum blossoms. They normally bloom in February, the coldest month in Japan. You often see images of plum blossoms in the snow. They are usually the first flowers to appear and symbolize perseverance in face of harsh conditions. And the promise of spring — the end of winter and better days to come.
There are many, many references to ume or plum in the Japanese literature. One of my favorites:
梅一輪 一輪ほどの暖かさ
Ume ichirin, ichirin hodo no atatakasa
A single plum blossom, warmth as warm as a single ume flower
~Hattori Ransetsu
Along with the ume, one of the first heralds of spring is the uguisu, Japanese bush warbler. Often you will find images and poems of ume ni uguisu, plum and bush warblers together. I love this story about the ume tree and uguisu:
In the Heian period, a plum tree in the palace died. The emperor ordered to find a plum tree as beautiful as the died one, and people found the most suitable one at Kino Tsurayuki‘s (紀貫之, a poet of the Heian period) residence to transfer to the palace. However, the emperor found a piece of Tanzaku (短冊, rectangle paper) attached to the tree, on which a sad tanka (短歌, Japanese poem) written on it.
It was Kino Tsurayuki‘s daughter who wrote the sad poem which expresses how much she loved the tree and how sad she was to say good bye to the tree. The Tanka‘s overall translation is: I cannot refuse to offer this tree because it is the emperor’s order. However, how can I reply to the Uguisu (鶯, nightingale) bird in the tree when it comes back and asks me where her tree is. Reading the Tanka, the emperor realized his own selfishness and returned the tree to Kino Tsurayuki.
I have never actually seen the uguisu, but I have heard their sweet song. After I moved back to Portland, my husband and I were out walking in the suburban wilderness, and I was sure that I heard an uguisu. It turned out that what I heard was a Western Meadowlark, the state bird of Oregon.
In the tea room, we have the dairo, the large winter hearth with the large mouth kettle to add warmth to the room. It comes with a price as the dairo is gyakugatte or from the opposite hand. Guests are on the left rather than on the right. Your footwork is opposite as you enter on the left, and exit with the right.
Not every move is the complete opposite so the temae can be confusing as to which hand puts things in what place. It is a temae that cannot be done on autopilot and even my body gets confused. It makes me feel like a beginner again and I have to pay attention to what I am doing without overthinking it.
In February we also have the tsutsu (cylinder) winter chawan. Those taller narrower bowls that hold the heat in when you serve your guests a bowl of tea. It is wonderful to linger a little drinking your tea to savor the warmth, especially in a cold room. One of my earliest memories of tea is sitting in the Portland Japanese Garden tea house, and it was snowing. It was just the host and me, and he had opened all the windows and doors so we had a panoramic view of the tea garden. We sat in the shelter of the tea room cold enough to see our breath, but holding on to hot tea in the shelter of the tea house and watched the garden filling with big fluffy flakes of snow.
Winter time is one of the BEST times for tea.