Falling leaves have occupied me lately. Staring off into the distance at trees ablaze in crimson and amber, I'm in awe at the beauty that death brings.
On the bricks or table of my patio or tracked inside the house, those fallen leaves annoy me. They've become something to sweep and gather and hoist into our large recycle bin.
As I swept leaves today I remembered the words of a thirty-ish Japanese woman I met fifteen years ago. It was only for only a ten minutes, a first and last encounter. We were looking a place to live in Tokyo guided by an agent. We checked out a rental which had an inside courtyard. It was only six by six feet, but held a tree.
The occupant, whose words I still remember, scowled as she showed us the inner courtyard with it's one small tree with yellow leaves. "I sweep up the leaves, but then again the next day there are more." The relentlessness of the task disgusted her. It went against her insistence on perfect order. She could tidy, but it was so soon undone. Nature went against her will, upset her dominion.
The amount of fall clean up work that American suburbanites do or pay someone else to do would astonish, or horrify her. I've heard an American say that Japanese people have a great appreciation for nature. I haven't seen evidence for that. Nature's intrusion definitely annoyed her rather than pleasing her.
Another evidence of the ambivalent attitude towards nature I saw in Japanese friends: a university English teacher sadly told me that on the coming Saturday the neighborhood association mandated that on the coming Saturday they all had to fall clean up in the morning.
Although I too don't like being told what to do and when to do it, it did appeal to me that these Japanese neighbors would all do their clean up at the same time. Not only are chores much more fun when done alongside others, but more effective. That way, after I clean the leaves from my yard, the neighbor's untidied waste doesn't not blow into my newly cleaned place.
So I haven't seen a pervasive and consistent love of nature among Japanese people - in fact I, rather than my Japanese friends, was the one to bring up wanting to go see the autumn leaves, the cherry blossoms or the fields of extravagant, royal irises.
Some would argue otherwise from the the linguistic facts: the Japanese language has two single word for two seasonal events. Fall color is called "kohyoh" and cherry or plum blossom viewing is called "hanabi." English has to use multiple words to describe these events.
Granted, but hanabi and kohyoh have had a greater significance for Japanese people in the past than now. They too are caught up in the run, run of the modern world of industrialization and commercialization. Even my Japanese pastor told me he couldn't find time to go view the blooming azaleas as he used to love doing in the past.
So we Americans and Japanese are having more in common sadly in our suppressing our God-given human instinct to honor and appreciate the beauty of nature.
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