Canter's death was not quite as sudden as Skye's but certainly unexpected. I'm not yet ready to write about my 8 years with him, so I have decided to post an essay I wrote for a local website soon after Canter's arrival. Reading this old essay makes it seems like it was just yesterday. Canter now rests next to Skye in a quiet section of the garden.

                                                 The Summer Skye Died

It came so unexpectedly. She was getting old and had passed the average lifespan age of a Siberian Husky, but to be fine during her morning walk and then to be dead when I went to take her for a walk in the evening was too much of a shock.  Tears still well up in my eyes when I think about it.

The summer was just beginning and I was anxious to get my heirloom tomato seedlings into the ground before the rainy season arrived. The weather had been almost too good to be true.  So good, that I’d already lost some bees to swarms despite having done what I thought necessary to prevent that from happening.  Skye had sat with me as we watched a large group of bees from one hive take off only to return to its original home after buzzing around in the sky for a while. Skye was a good listener, always willing to put up with my complaining about how the crazy rooster had attacked me again; or how the chickens were so greedy; or how the bees never decided to swarm to a low branch where I could retrieve them easily. I missed her so much, especially those first few days. I couldn’t seem to get the day started without our morning walk. She had been a part of my life for 12 and a half years and I just didn’t know what to do with myself without her. 

After about a week of being miserably lonely, I decided that the only way to move on was to get another dog as soon as possible.  It’s amazing what you can find out on the internet nowadays.  Search upon search of dog breeds, dog shelters, pet stores and the such, convinced me that I really wanted to get another Siberian Husky if at all possible. I ended up driving all the way to Shizuoka prefecture and back --7 hours each way-- to pick up a four-month-old Siberian Husky puppy.  It was a boy with brown and white fur and brown eyes, different enough from Skye in appearance, but still a Husky.

I had forgotten how much work it is to have a puppy in the house. Three feedings a day meant that many more walks, some at the hottest hour of the day. The rainy season never really turned out to be its normal nuisance, which was helpful, but in return, the temperatures at midday were almost unbearable in the direct sun. Thanks to Canter, as the new pup came to be called, we discovered various new routes throughout the neighborhood, many of which wound through the rice paddies surrounding our house.

  

For the first time since I moved here, I was seeing the paddies from a completely different angle. Having the mountains as a backdrop and the moon reflecting on the fireflies weaving in and out of the rice sheaths made the extra late-night walks more of a pleasure than a dreaded chore.  As the rice grew, the lush green color made the paddies look like rolling green pastures.  It was enough to give me some exciting ideas to keep them from turning into weed fields if ever the day came when no one was able to plants rice here anymore.

I still miss Skye dearly, but Canter and I are pleasantly adjusting to life with each other. Along with new discoveries on walks through the paddies, it was a summer filled with other positive developments as well. For the first time, I was successful at making enough compost to not have to buy any commercial fertilizer.  Though I still have a lot to learn when it comes to supporting tomato plants, my heirloom red and yellow tomatoes grew in enough abundance to make me start seriously considering canning next year.  I also had a new woodshed built that is big enough to hold wood for one firing of the pottery kiln. I hope that this means I can gradually put more time into actually making pots rather than having to re-stack the woodpiles every time inclement weather causes them to take a tumble.

All in all, this summer has made me feel that I am finally, after twenty some odd years, approaching the lifestyle that I have always yearned for. I thank Skye for being my companion for these past twelve years, and I hope that Canter will bear with me in the years to come.

Far Away Places

Burma: Rivers of Flavor & Taste of Persia by Naomi Duguid

"Those far away places...I've been reading about in a book that I took from a shelf..."
Sam Cooke sang through my earbuds as I put the chickens in for the night.

My senior year in college I was thinking about joining the Peace Corps, then I met my future husband. His anecdotes about traveling throughout Central and South America, and later South East Asia, had me convinced that sticking with him, I'd have plenty of opportunities to see the world.  Such was not the case,  he had come back to Japan to settle down and make pottery.  After moving to Suzu, it was seven years before I left the country for the first time, and that was to introduce my one year old son to family in the U.S.,  not a visit to those far away places I'd been burning to see. Twenty five years later, I find myself back in "forever Suzu" mode. It's been almost five years since I was last out of the country.  Both my passports have expired and friends' travel photos on social media have been making me particularly envious.

However, a very special encounter earlier this year has given me ample inspiration to let my mind meander in far away places, especially in the kitchen.  I had the honor of showing Naomi Duguid around the Noto Peninsula during her trip to Japan for work on a book about salt.  Our time together was profoundly stimulating and by the end of her visit, it felt as though I had been awakened to the core.  I now have a brilliant new friend and so many new flavors to discover! Thank you Naomi.

I Am a Dog

Canter

There may not be a famous novel in Japanese literature with the title I Am a Dog, but my name was actually derived from The Canterbury Tales, one of the first major works in literature written in English, and one could argue, a lot more famous than I Am a Cat.  But I'm not here to cause a rift between cat people and dog people, we're all one big happy family here.  I thought I should jump in (I'm good at that!) and get things moving again on this blog because that's one New Year's resolution that Caroline hasn't been able to keep. Gypsy got things started with the very first post, so I thought I might take this opportunity to paint a picture of outdoor life at Caroline's Speakeasy.

This photo is actually one from last winter. We haven't had much snow this year. Winter in Futago has its ups and downs. I love the snow but I know it isn't everyone's cup of tea, especially when it snows for days on end.  When that happens, the weather becomes the sole topic of conversation every time you see another human being. Even with all the global warming, getting a few feet of snow is not unusual here in Snow Country. That's the title of a book by Nobel Laureate Kawabata Yasunari, by the way.

While the cats spend their days inside lazing by the fire all winter, my main job is to keep the wild boars at bay.  They have been multiplying at a steady rate since they first appeared in our area about ten years ago and this being the tip of a peninsula, you can imagine how fast their numbers have increased. Local farmers are having a hard time protecting their crops and some have even given up farming because of wild boars. I can usually hear them nosing around in our bamboo grove or the neighbor's field and go after them when I can. I've never actually caught one -- there are traps for that-- my job is to keep them away from the property.  I did catch a palm civet last year, they can also be a nuisance around here. I was told that my predecessor Skye killed a fox once.  I would love to catch the weasel that killed all our chickens a couple of years ago!

Well, I better get back to work.  Here's a photo of the civet I caught in case you were wondering what one looks like:

Vive La France!

La France Pears

Pears in Japan are generally the asian kind, and there are so many varieties that I can't keep track of each one's peculiarities. They start appearing at the markets towards the end of the summer and the different varieties keep on coming until late fall when apples and tangerines take over. I had never had an asian pear before coming to Japan, but I hadn't been that much of a western pear eater either. Before coming to Japan, between the years growing up in Brazil and those spent going back and forth between home in New Jersey and boarding school in Tennessee, I knew what a pear was, but I certainly didn't know that they had names like Bartletts and Boscs.

Japan is famous for its exorbitantly priced fruit. The attention to detail and the coddling each one of these fruits receives is extraordinary and more than explains their high price. Though mediocre to good fruit is available year round at most supermarkets, I generally manage to get through the year with my homegrown berries and figs along with some locally harvested fruits I am given or find at the farmer's market. As you might guess, the chance to eat one of these exceptional fruits is not an everyday occurrence so when it does happen, it leaves a deep impression. One such occasion was the time we received a box of exceptional mangoes from a friend in Okinawa. The details of that mango experience are forever etched in my mind and on my palate. My mouth waters just thinking about it even though it happened over fifteen years ago. Last month, I was once again delighted to receive a gift of magnificent Japanese fruit, a box of La France pears.  The bliss that came from biting into the velvety flesh of one of these perfectly cultivated pears suddenly opened a floodgate of memories taking me back to the first time I tasted a La France pear with close friends in Osaka over twenty years ago. This "Proustian moment" got me thinking about the great power that food, and aromas in general, have on our memories. It made me want to create food experiences that can carry people away to another time and place.

With the holiday season just around the corner, what aromas and flavors will stir up memories of Christmas Past this year?  I'm considering making eggnog for this year's celebrations. It would be the first time using my own chicken's eggs.  A homemade eggnog to warm the soul and evoke memorable Christmas choir parties that took place at the rectory of Grace Church Plainfield.  It might just make me homesick.  It will certainly make me miss gathering around the piano to sing carols.

Haile Selassie's address to the United Nations, 1963

                           

                     

"That until the philosophy which holds one race superior and another inferior is finally and permanently discredited and abandoned: That until there are no longer first-class and second class citizens of any nation; That until the color of a man's skin is of no more significance than the color of his eyes; That until the basic human rights are equally guaranteed to all without regard to race; That until that day, the dream of lasting peace and world citizenship and the rule of international morality will remain but a fleeting illusion, to be pursued but never attained."

           
A while back, I began listening to podcasts on my morning walk with Canter instead of music. There are a few that I listen to regularly and one of my favorites is BBC's Desert Island Discs.  Not only is it fascinating to listen to interviews with people from all walks of life, but I also enjoy listening to some of the music that they like. There's something thrilling about finding out that an acclaimed author or actor likes the same musicians that I do.  On my walk today I was especially delighted with Lauren Laverne's guest Vanley Burke, a photographer who emigrated from Jamaica to England at the age of 14.  One of his choices to take to the desert island was a recording of Haile Selassie's 1963 address to the United Nations.  Since I am a Bob Marley fan,  I was familiar with the excerpt from the address that was played on the podcast.  In light of the situation with the upcoming midterm elections in the United States,  listening to the recording of Selassie's actual speech at the UN was particularly moving.  Once I got home, I did a search to find out more about this Ethiopian emperor and Rastafari  messiah who I knew so little about. His words are a great source of inspiration and particularly meaningful as I anticipate the results of tomorrow's elections.

Vanley Burke, as well as describing the racial tensions he and his family experienced over the years in England and his career as a photographer, went on to choose two pieces of music which I adore. I highly recommend listening to this episode of BBC's Desert Island Discs, though I must warn you, after you've listened to it, you may just find yourself sipping a rum & coconut water listening to Miles Davis' Blue in Green.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m00010pq

https://www.azquotes.com/author/13294-Haile_Selassie

Squatters

I've come across some pretty beautiful creatures while going about my business on the property.  Most of the time, I'm not in a position to go and get the camera to photograph them. Sometimes, by the time I do get the camera, the creature is nowhere to be found. Those usually have wings. This time I was in luck. This little green guy with the golden stripes had no wings and was obviously not much of a sprinter. He caught my attention sitting on the rim of my potted lemon tree. I was entranced by his intense gaze until I decided to look up to my little tree with its three beautiful lemons growing nicely on it. I soon found out that this quirky fellow had a whole family with him and that they had unabashedly made my lemon tree their home. Something needed to be done about this. I didn't know how fussy this family was about its lodgings, but I wasn't about to let my lemon tree be subjected to rash renovations by a family of squatters. There were a million other plants on the property that they could renovate as far as I was concerned. I took the liberty of using a twig to start the moving process, and began with this fellow who seemed to be the father figure, or mother figure, for that matter. He indignantly stuck his tongue out at me!

I stuck to my guns and one by one moved them over to a tree stump that was close enough to various forms of wild vegetation which they could freely choose from for their new abode.
The situation made me think of a podcast I listened to recently in which the question of whether vegans realize that an immense number of critters are killed in the vegetable growing process. I try my best to not judge people on the choices they make about what to eat or what not to eat, but I must say that this was an angle on the topic I hadn't thought of before. Food for thought.

The rest of the family:

Bunraku

"Bunraku"

"What kind of music do you like?"
-"Good music!"

It's a big part of my life, music is. Memorable concerts have been held here at The Speakeasy,
rhythm and blues, soul, and gypsy jazz are the genres that generally get top billing.  Today I'd like to shine the light on one of the few other memorable guests I've had visit over the years.  I've had the pleasure of enjoying some amazing music in what you would call an intimate setting. Years ago, when Hugh was still in elementary school and living at home, we were honored to have Tsuyoshi Onaga, an award winning opera singer from Okinawa, visit and sing an aria in the living room.  I remember it as though it was yesterday.

The most recent visit by a surprise musical guest was this past summer. Pictured above is Julia playing her cello. Julia was spending the summer in and around Kanazawa studying Japanese and playing the cello before heading back to Oberlin for the fall semester.  I had the pleasure of her company on a rainy weekend at the end of June.  Three of us made up her audience, and we were captivated by her selection,  "Bunraku".  Pizzicato had a major role in representing what one would normally associate with shamisen music at a traditional Bunraku puppet theatre, but the bow was no less dramatic in its portrayal of the puppet theatre world.  Thank you Julia for the opportunity to travel back in time to the day I spent at the National Bunraku Theatre so many years ago.
Best wishes at Oberlin and beyond!