Japan's 72 Microseasons - #33
Japan's 72 Microseasons - #33
"Hawks Learn How To Fly"
July 18 - 22
鷹乃学習
たか すなわち わざを なす
Taka sunawachi waza wo nasu
”Hawks learn how to fly”
No one is born knowing how to fly—you have to learn.
Hawks spend around half the year raising their families—an uncommonly long time among birds—and the last month of that is teaching their children all the things they need to know to quite literally leave the nest. Kō 33 aligns with the start of the fledgling bird of preys’ studies (the second part of the kō’s name, 学習/gakushū, literally means "academic studies”), which includes not only flight but also diving, hunting, hovering—a wide variety of aerobatic maneuvers nearly unparalleled in the avian world.
The Japanese reading for the kō’s name here includes the word waza (技), which is not “flight” as I and others have translated it, but a broader meaning of “skills” or “techniques,” such as you might have for a cool video game character.1 And the inclusion of the conjunctive adverb sunawachi (乃, “the thing itself”) implies that these things they are learning are what make them a hawk and not some other, lesser bird. These high-level techniques, these supermoves—such as diving at speeds of up to 80 km/h from thousands of meters aboveground to nab a small target—are what define them. What makes a hawk a hawk is what it can do, what it knows, what it’s learned.
That could be why hawks appear in several Japanese aphorisms related to ability and talent. One such is Nō aru taka wa tsume wo kakusu (能ある鷹は爪を隠す), “a clever hawk hides its talons,” which means the most skilled among us never show their full hand and don’t boast about their abilities.
Another is Tonbi ga taka wo umu (鳶が鷹を生む), “a kite can give birth to a hawk,” meaning that great talent can come from humble beginnings2. And while I don’t think the saying is biologically accurate—kites and hawks look similar but are very different genera of bird—the intended meaning gets across: hawks have something special to them, and that something special is earned.
Perhaps the reason that the majestic hawk features in this kō at this point in the almanac’s calendar, and why the highlight is on the young learners rather than the mature adults, is that there’s something inspiring in the sight of a parent and child soaring together across summer’s open blue skies. Hawks—being fiercely territorial—are rarely spotted in pairs aside from courtship and child-rearing, and maybe seeing vulnerability and kindness in something usually so far away and untouchable, so perfectly suited for what it does, gives us a moment where the sky is a little closer. Where we can look up and cheer on something to reach its full potential with a little hard work.
Aside from observing them in the wild, Japan also has a long history of raising hawks and falcons for hunting and sport, primarily among the noble samurai class where they served as a status symbol of the elite warriors. Their feathers were used for fletching arrows, and served as a design motif for family crests and armor. Their natural speed and skill was seen as something to strive for and emulate. Or at least something you wanted to project.
One old tradition around hawks still persists today, and it’s a bit of an odd one. Japan places some cultural importance on the first dream of the New Year, which is called hatsu-yume (初夢, “the first dream”). It is said that whatever you dream of sets the tenor and fortune for the year to come, and yet the luckiest thing you can dream of is an unexpected combination: 1) Mount Fuji, 2) a hawk, and 3) an eggplant (一富士、二鷹、三茄子, ichi-fuji, ni-taka, san-nasubi). There are various theories as to how it came to be the popular choice for an auspicious unconscious vision, although it’s worth noting that the word for eggplant (nasu, 茄子), is a homophone to the nasu in the name of this kō (成す), which means “to achieve” or “to reach your potential.”
So if you want to kick 2024 off right, you can start image training now for your first slumber on January 1st.
Until then, live in the moment with Kō 33’s seasonal items:
● Seasonal vegetable
moroheiya, モロヘイヤ, jute mallow● Seasonal seafood
unagi, 鰻, eel3● Seasonal bird
hachikuma, ハチクマ, crested honey buzzard4
Learning to fly requires a lot of things: time, patience, a leap of faith. But one of the most important parts is someone willing to teach you how to do it. Everyone at one point felt like a little tufty thing awkwardly tripping over their own legs, but I think we all have the potential to soar given a little bit of help.
See you next kō~
[Images & info by kurashikata.com, kurashi-no-hotorisya.jp, 543life.com, and Wikipedia except where otherwise noted]
I found this very cool site while researching this that compiles hissatsu-waza (必殺技), “special moves” or “finishers,” found across anime, games, and manga (such as for all the Final Fantasy games)
There’s also its pessimistic opposite: Tonbi no ko wa taka ni narazu (鳶の子は鷹にならず), “the children of kites can’t become hawks”
Eel is traditionally eaten in summer, in particular on the annual height of summer day called Doyō no Hi, 土用の日—the long freshwater fish is said to grant stamina
I must recommend, however, that if you are going to eat unagi, see if you can’t verify whether it’s sustainably fished or not—due to habitat loss and overfishing their numbers are in severe decline
This is also not a hawk, but maybe its children could become one