Sakura Season

This past weekend, I had the chance to participate in "O-Hanami." (hana = flower, mi = look. "Flower Viewing." The O often gets added onto certain words as a formality. Even the glorious bentos I keep writing about get the O treatment and become O-bentos, or, Honorable Boxed Lunches.) During a hanami party, people gather together to have picnics underneath sakura trees.

O-Hanami takes place during the time of year when the Sakura are in bloom. Almost everywhere you look in this all-too-short season, you will see at least one bright pink, blossoming tree. In certain areas, entire parks have changed colors, lighting up the landscape and adding new flavor to a previously worn-out view.

On Saturday, the Kikuchi-gun ALTs decided to have a hanami party. Our directions were to go to Kikuchi city at around 7:00 PM and meet at a park that is famous for sakura. It seemed a bit strange going at night to see some flowers, but I was reassured it would be worthwhile.

So, around 7, a carload of us arrived near the Takemitsuko statue. We'd all been by it before, and we always notice the great bronze samurai in mid-gallop on his horse, war fan at the ready. It was always a passing, "Oh, neat... anyway..." This day, as we drove in front of it, I finally noticed it's backdrop; a large hill not too far behind it. Only now, the hill was absolutely covered in Sakura. Swirls of the pink flowers mixed in with the ordinary trees, helping the sakura to stand out even brighter against the darkening sky. In faint zig-zags criss-crossing through the trees, there were specks of what must have been street lights and paper lanterns leading the way. Instantly, this seemed like a fantastic idea.

We grabbed our supplies and began our walk up into the hill. The main entrance was a long walkway lined with sakura. A faint, red glow came from each of the chouchin (lanterns) hanging perfectly spaced down the center. At the end, a large, stone torii (gate) stood against the dark forest huddling around the jinja behind it. We veered right, off the path, and wound our way up the smaller footpaths leading higher up the side of the hill. We would occasionally stop to try and catch a picture, but even after we figured out the best way to take a night photo, we all realized there was no way it could ever do this justice.

The rest of the evening was spent sitting on tarps and roll-up tatami mats while eating underneath the cherry blossoms. Someone made the comment, "It's too bad that it's going to rain tomorrow. All this will be gone." Just like that, as quickly as it starts, the sakura season ends. Very soon, the pink blossoms that we've grown accustomed to will be gone. For me, it's most likely my last time to see them. But I can't ever forget them.

Several teachers are transferring schools this week. As I've mentioned before, March is the end of the school year. Some teachers will change schools within the prefecture, others will stay. Next week, the next school year will start.

It came on so suddenly. In the rush to finish the textbooks before the last class, or to cram that last bit of information for the entrance examinations, the last days of school crept up on me. Not an hour after the closing ceremony, the principal was already calling teachers one-by-one into his office to tell them if they'd stay or go. Some came out trying to remain polite and formal, others came out smiling with sighs of relief, and others came out fighting back tears. The teachers who are staying will have the coming year to celebrate and relax. These few weeks, though, are for the transferring teachers.

In the week to come, some really amazing people are leaving. There's the ichinensei math teacher who was one of the first to try out her English on me at an Enkai when I was randomly assigned to sit next to her, and has since struck up the odd conversation with me in passing. There's the librarian who would always greet me with a "Good morning!" as she'd walk by my desk to get coffee, often times stopping to practice more English, or teach me more Japanese. There's my principal who is blindingly convinced that I will become a famous singer and will then be too famous to talk to him when he visits the USA, even though we've already had many great conversations about everything from Steve McQueen to Jazz.

I've known these people for an all-too-short period of time. And these faces that I've grown accustomed to will soon be gone. This week may well be the last time I see them. But I can't ever forget them.