Japan's 72 Microseasons - #71
"River Ice Thickens" and the final sekki Daikan
January 25 - 29
水沢腹堅
さわみずこおりつめる
Sawamizu kōri tsumeru
”River ice thickens”
As the final microseasons of the Koyomi’s year pass by, the temperatures drop as far as they can go. The sekki called Daikan (大寒), means “the greatest cold,” and this kō demonstrates the effects of that cold as running rivers stand in place, becoming temporarily frozen in time.
Yet, on the other side of Daikan and these final two kō are the edges of spring. It may not feel like it for those huddled under blankets in non-insulated apartments, but this is winter’s final assault.
Though technically a Pacific island, Japan can still get pretty darn cold. The country’s lowest recorded temperature was in 1902 in the city of Asahikawa, which reached a bone-chilling -41° C1. With forecasts full of low temperatures for the foreseeable future, those in Japan can expect to be greeted each morning with foggy breath and conversations opening with samui desu ne (寒いですね)2.
The brisk winter winds bring plenty of snow and ice, which is certainly appreciated by skiers and snowboarders, but perhaps less expectedly by miso makers and saké brewers. It’s long been said that water from the coldest days is the purest, and in crafts that trace back their roots centuries prior, wisdom passed down is still kept in mind3. Rivers and lakes may be frozen over, but underground wells draw perfectly clear water.
It’s not just the water that’s nice and pure, these same dry, cold winds that freeze the surface of the water and soil are also great for naturally freeze-drying foods. One of these being kanten (寒天4), or agar agar, a natural gelatin used in traditional sweets.
Said to have been discovered by an innkeeper in Kyōto who discarded some leftover tokoroten (jelly noodles made by boiling seaweed and letting the broth solidify) that then freeze-dried overnight, kanten has been a key ingredient in Japanese desserts since the 17th century. One of the most famous dishes it features in is anmitsu, which is made of kanten jelly cubes, fruit, and anko (sweetened adzuki beans) all covered in syrup. Regardless of how true the story of its discovery is, it is fact that the cold, dry winds of this season was what allowed it to be made, with mountainous regions becoming the key areas for making it.
Anmitsu, as a dessert, is most often eaten in summer as a refreshing treat. It’s interesting how something made in the freezing, bitter cold could, in half a year’s time, bring a bit of much-needed coolness to a hot day. Almost like a preserved bit of winter itself.
Even if you’re not into winter sports or producing gelatin, there can be much to appreciate during the height of winter. The flash freezes that still the surfaces of rivers can also create beautiful works of natural art. We are always surrounded by water in nature: in the air, in the ground, in all the green, living environment around us. But it’s only when frozen that we can see its complicated, delicate structures.
This is especially true of the plant known as shimobashira (霜柱), a relative of mint and sage found in Japan. Relatively unassuming when it flowers during the fall, it’s the below freezing temperatures of this season that show off its peculiar magic.
When winter comes, long after the flowers have fallen off, the stalks wither and die. Relatively sturdy, they remain standing, and their tube-like structure opens a channel between the ground and the open air. As moisture begins to return to the soil, the roots of the plant draw it in, and when that water turns to ice it expands and unfurls from the cracks in the dried stalks, creating a phenomenon known as shimohana (霜華), or “frost blossoms.”5
It’s for this reason that another name for the shimbashira plant is yuki-yose-sō (雪寄草), the “winter-gathering plant.”
There are plants outside of Japan (such as the aptly named “frostweed”) that similarly produce frost blossoms, but what they all have in common is that their flowers are usually short-lived. If you’d like to catch a glimpse of these ethereal blooms, it’s best to wake up early and walk out into the dawn.
Once you’re back, you’ll have worked up an appetite I’m sure. Here’s a few things that are perfectly in season during this kō:
● Seasonal seafood
wakasagi, ワカサギ, pond smelt● Seasonal fruit
mikan, みかん, mandarin orange6● Seasonal vegetable
mizuna, 水菜, potherb mustard7
You know how spring seems to approach in fits and starts? It’s a famously capricious season, and there’s plenty of conversations around March that go something like “seems like we’re finally getting some spring weather!” only to have the following day be bitterly cold once more.
The Japanese term for this tantalizing weather pattern is san-kan shi-on (三寒四温), or “three cold, four warm.” So if you’re feeling like the weather is frozen in place, it’s only a matter of time. The rivers will run again.
See you next kō~
[Images & info courtesy of kurashikata.com, kurashi-no-hotorisya.jp, 543life.com, and Wikipedia except where otherwise noted]
On the other end of the scale: Japan’s highest recorded temperature was a blistering 41° C in 2013 in the city of Shimanto on the country’s island of Shikoku
Just as polite conversation in English-speaking countries is full of weather-related small talk, so too does Japan’s winters and summers bring a handful of weeks annually where it feels almost required to say hot cold or hot it is
There does seem to be a fair bit of science to back this up, as well: the particularly dry conditions combined with low temperatures makes a much less inviting home for the types of unwanted microorganisms that could spoil saké, miso, and soy sauce (there’s a fine line between “nicely fermented” and “rotten”)
The two kanji characters here are “winter” and “sky” but its name is actually a shortening of kanzarashi tokoroten (寒曬心太), meaning “jelly strips aired out in winter”
There’s a great article here about its history and how it’s made
This same word can also apply to the flower-like patterns that appear on windows and windshields during the winter
When we talk about “mikan,” both inside and outside of Japan, what’s usually meant is the unshū mikan (Citrus unshiu), which is often called the Satsuma mandarin due to Western traders in the 19th century getting it from the Satsuma domain (modern-day Kyūshū Prefecture)
For a long time in Japan, though, it was the kishu mikan (sometimes called a “baby mandarin” or known by the brand name “Cherry Orange”) that was more popular due to a superstition about the unshū’s lack of seeds risking infertility for those ate it
Would it shock you to learn that this, too, is a type of Brassica? Specifically Brassica rapa var. nipposinica
Komatsuna, from the previous kō, is Brassica rapa var. perviridis (big difference)