5.4.22
Last week, I was surprised with an open first period, leaving me at a loss of what to do. I had already prepped for the week and since I was at the school, there was no personal work I could complete. But! With perfect timing, my answer came in high-octave, scattered voices from outside: my first graders :,) Without hesitation, I exchanged uwabaki (indoor shoes) for my sneakers to join in on the fun.
Turns out they were tasked as “spring explorers,” which meant finding a piece of spring from the garden to show their class. Discoveries ranged from clover flowers to sequoia seed capsules…and by the end of the period, kids were making jewelry, crowns, bouquets and wreaths out of anything growing.
Filled with new wonders, the period was full of “sensei, sensei, mi-te!” (teacher, look!) and “sensei, sensei…neh sensei, nani kore?” (teacher, heyyy teacher, what’s this?) and “sensei, kore eigo de nani?” (teacher, what’s this in English?) Essentially, I was an audience to a chorus of fresh excitement around the nature we often miss as busy adults. And this reminded me of how we can learn from kids to truly see–not just scan, but really notice–the world in which we find ourselves.
The following Sunday afternoon called for an exploration of my own backyard to help me enact the kids’ teachings into action. And the greatest thing about Yakage–my backyard is literally a valley of gentle, looming mountains. A random bike ride will inevitably lead me to a trailhead where, in a matter of minutes, I’m given a view worthy of Northface website shots.
So when I found a super neat trail that led me to not only the aforementioned promised view, but also a finely aged shinto shrine cocooned in deep green, three questions were waiting to be answered:
1. What am I missing from the environment around me?
2. What will speak if I close my eyes and leave myself to listen?
3. What will appear if I stand still and ask time to stop?
Answers washed over in the space’s symphony. Only with patient waiting was I allowed for the forest to stir and open itself to me:
The cluster of pines begin with high-pitched creaks following the wind nudging their tall heads.
Then a solo…a lone call of an unknown bird, whistling in longingly but pridefully, expecting a response to fly through the branches.
He is persistent until he decrescendos, ready to give up when…
alas! A new call!
But one with long and hesitant croons, almost timid as the notes melt into the leaves.
The paired solo is then joined by the sashaying and clicking of the bamboo batch, adding percussion to accelerate the forest’s song…
and acoustic layers continue to unfold, like a
chrysanthemum made of music
–until I jolt awake. It's a hurried crow’s sudden cymbal thrashing through the cedars.
May is the quarter mark of my year here, so I’ve found myself wondering how to ensure I leave and look back at Yakage without regret. And I think one answer is to seek these moments that only ask for our attentiveness and appreciation to my backyard’s overflowing riches–riches that seem like hidden gems, but are actually sitting right in plain sight.
I didn't record my mountain music moment, but this piece of peace was on my way home. More visuals to come~
