Fuden-an: Leaves from a Tea-journal

　　In Japan at least, this year's summer has been one most unusually hot.

In Tokyo the air-temperature has remained at almost forty degrees, while the heat radiated by the asphalt of the roads has reached a temperature even higher, and a great number of cases of heat-fever have been reported. During July and August my duties have, as a matter of fact, taken me to such areas as Nagoya, Kyoto, Nara, Osaka, and Fukuoka all of these in Japan famous for the extreme heat of their summers and yet, this year, in comparison with Tokyo, in each of these one felt almost no discomfort.

　　Again, this torridity has also brought with it natural disasters. In Niigata and Fukui Prefectures torrential rains have caused numerous serious floods, and I understand that the number of those that have consequently become unable to use their houses is dismayingly high. I should like to be allowed to use this space in which to express my own sympathy and grave concern, and my earnest prayer that their daily lives will, and just as soon as is possible, be restored to what they were before these calamities afflicted them.

　　And now to another matter. This year, a certain magazine publisher's requested that I should arrange morning glory for a photo-shoot. Every year I make it my　practice to visit the Morning Glory Market held annually at Kishibojin in Tokyo's Iriya quarter, on the sixth, seventh and eighth of July. There I purchase two or three potfuls, so as at home to have the matutinal pleasure of gazing upon the varied hues of each morning's new flowers. Be that as it may, when it comes to photographing an arranged morning glory, things are not so delightfully simple. This is because while, when enjoying these flowers as growing in their pots, one takes in the whole ensemble, rather than any particular bloom, when it comes to creating an arrangement for the alcove of a Tea reception room, one can really use only a single flower. And the flesh of the petals of a morning glory is extremely thin, and is consequently extraordinarily easily damaged even by wind, or accidental contact with another flower, or a leaf. Again, even the buds suffer from this same fragility, and a damaged bud will often produce a bloom with petals already split or torn. With both the above photo-shoot and the physical delicacy of these flowers in mind, this year I had intended to obtain a much larger number of potfuls than I usually buy. On top of this, towards the end of June my father had suddenly announced that he wanted to hold a series of morning Tea-occasions. Well, in the case of such an occasion , one's first choice as to the flowers to offer as regale is of course morning glory, so I now needed to buy a yet larger number of potfuls. And in fact purchased eight.

　　As the day appointed for the first of these morning Tea-occasions approached, I became increasingly anxious as to how these plants were doing: the growth of their tendrils, the number of their leaves, and of course the quality of the flowers they were producing. Naturally, I wanted my father to be able to offer his guests the most exquisite flower possible an anxious desire that increased with the passing days.

Just a few days before the first of these occasions was to take place, I was awoken while it was still dark by the sound of the warning signal from our residence's burglar-alarm. Upon rising to inspect the premises, even my sleep-bleared eyes could detect that an intrusion had indeed been registered. Of course I then checked every important room. Having done that, I ran out to our Tea-hut, only to notice that lights were burning within; not only that, the rain-shutters had been stowed away. Everything else was in pitch darkness. And then I realized that there was someone in the hut. Panicked, I shouted something like, What in blazes do you think you are doing in there? A cry that drew the person to reveal himself. It was my own father. With all the cool calm in the world he remarked, 'At this hour it's still dark, you know. So today's morning glories won't yet have opened.' Indeed, my watch then showed me that it was still but exactly four o'clock.

　　Perhaps as in response to my father's wakeful concern for them, on each of the mornings during which my father regaled a group of guests, these plants did indeed provide a most splendid bloom for the alcove. Finally, the series ended; and then came the photo-shoot, which in turn was somehow completed without hitch. But then, on the very following morning, something most extraordinarily happened: every single plant stopped producing buds, and not one flower has subsequently appeared. This caused me to reflect on the slightly awesome force of a Tea-person's obsessions… ..

Post scriptum
　　Tsukada Sôsei, of our Tokyo Branch, has alas passed away. Despite a long battle with illness, this most distinguished teacher never lost her positive attitude to living. I should like to express my deep gratitude to her, for both her long career of guidance offered to all that came into contact with her, and her great contribution to the further development of the School. I pray that she will find happiness in the next world. Gassho.