Okay, I promise, this will be my last post this year about cherry blossoms, largely because they have hit 100%, according to the TV news, and from here on out it is all downhill. Spring has been both cooler and rainier here than usual, and punctuated with winds strong enough to keep the deepest sleeper tossing and turning throughout the night. Somehow, against all odds, these factors seem to have had no deleterious effect on the cherry blossoms, which, for a fleeting moment, are strutting their stuff in backyards, parks, river walks and boulevard islands all over the capital.
One of my favorite places in Tokyo is Koganei Park, a large recreational area in the western suburbs of the city. It is the site of an open air museum, a town reconstructed from Japan’s prewar Golden Years, with buildings ranging from traditional Japanese farmhouses to arts & crafts bungalows; there’s a bit of Bauhaus, a smattering of Victorian, all of which are buildings that had a real working life before being moved from their original sites and painstakingly rebuilt in the architectural enclave of Koganei Park. There is even an exquisitely restored old yellow trolley car on the main street, injecting a bright spot of primary color into the otherwise time-muted palette of beiges, greys and pastels.
But none of this is what brings scores of people to Koganei on a sunny springtime afternoon. Instead, the draw is the goldenrod, the lupins, the daffodils, the tulips, and most of all, the sakura, Japan’s ubiquitous cherry blossoms. It is an absolute inundation of cherry pink; there are tunnels among the trees where the blossoms are all around you, falling like snow into your hair (or in my case, just onto the bare skin on the top of my head) and the folds of your clothes, dropping to the previously grassy ground, where they form a soft pink carpet underfoot.
This may be a factoid that everyone already knows, but the cherry trees that grace Washington, DC were in fact a gift from the mayor of Tokyo, Yukio Ozaki, almost one hundred years ago. Three thousand trees were given to the people of America, who reciprocated three years later with a gift of flowering dogwoods to the people of Japan. It has been an ongoing collaboration: America received another 3800 trees in the Lyndon Johnson years, and donated cuttings from some of the older group to replace ancient cherry trees in Japan which were lost in a massive flood. Most recently, the US has been the recipient of cuttings from Japanese cherry trees that are reputedly over 1500 years old.
There are old people in wheelchairs, kids in strollers, dogs of every variety (every small variety, at least: Welsh Corgis, dachshunds, shih tzus, and terriers), teens cuddling in the grass, and (oddly) a group of South American musicians playing Andean flute music with an electronic rhythm box as backup. There may well be more cameras than attendees, as many folks heft several, and anyone who isn’t armed with a camera per se certainly has a cell phone with built-in camera to take up the slack. But perhaps my favorite thing, aside from the cherry trees of course, was the politeness of the Japanese kids, all of whom dutifully removed their shoes before sitting down on their plastic ground cover (note how the shoes are all lined up in a row, facing out):
Teach your children well; think of it is a favor to the next generation.