Ascending singletrack on my mountain bike, the surroundings had all the typical trappings of summer – bright sunshine, loose dirt, just the right amount of afternoon, high-altitude heat. Reveling in the warm vibes, letting the lively scenes of the past few months roll through my mind, I was immediately disabused of the notion of endless summer by the chilly breeze that blew down from the peaks into my face as a vicious headwind, a reminder of this transitional time and a portent of the autumn ahead. The equinox is still several weeks hence, but true summer is behind us – we are living in but one of the beautiful microseasons that typifies life in the high country.
The Japanese, ever attentive and thorough, have long recognized that four is an insufficient number of seasons to describe the wide variety of circumstances that transpire each year and year after year. Instead, adapting a practice from the Chinese, they split the solar year into 24 Nijushi-sekki, with each approximately 15-day period having specific import and nomenclature. These microseasons may indicate the ideal time to plant rice, the moment when a specific flower blooms, when the big snowfall or monsoons hit, the arrival of a particular species of bird, the ideal period to pick fruit for maximum ripeness, and other indicia important to rural life over the past millennia.
Because perfection is predicated on precision, the Japanese do not stop at sekki, but further subdivide each such period into three kō, making for a total of 72 nanoseasons, each lasting a mere five days. Gleaned from thousands of years of observation, the dedication to understanding the subtle shifts that have a larger collective import is simply astounding. To have a taxonomy on which one can rely to prepare for and appreciate the fleeting nature of time is a resource beyond compare – at once a link to history and a glimpse into the future, while also being hyper attuned to the present.
These post-Labor Day, pre-leaf changing days are a perfect example of a specific period with typical manifestations around which to plan local life. The weather is typically mild, but the slight morning chill has us reaching not for the heavier hoodie, but that lightweight one that functions perfectly for the first hours of the day and then is easily stashed when the temperature climbs, only to be brought out again on the way to dinner. There are fewer tourists about and people are back from their various vacations, making it an ideal time to catch up with friends that you might have missed during the summer. If your kids are back in school, this is also the time to rededicate yourself to the numbingly predictive, but also organizationally useful routine.
Since we usually get at least some precipitation during this microseason, the trails are replenished, making biking in particular some of the best of the year – tacky dirt, ideal temperature, less crowds. And there is a specific, less obvious beauty about the light in this period, especially with the refreshing rains bolstering the lushness of our environs. We have not yet hit the stunning golden aura, but there is tremendous joy in recognizing restrained splendor.
Because time feels like it is constantly disappearing, like the months pass as minutes, it is easy to become swept up in the vortex of forward temporal progress, a disconcerting feeling akin to being on a carousel that will not stop spinning. In the modern world, where few are engaged in agriculture, the utility of microseasons may be less practical and more figurative. To await the coming of falling leaves or gigantic gourds or symbolic pines or to hunker down for that one January week when frostbite is a real possibility, we can attempt to temper the anxiety that comes from blinking and realizing that it is summer again.