Taxi-ride Musings and Kaki Connoisseur-ship

This morning in my taxi ride to Nanyo middle school, I was struck with a sudden burst of overdone ephemeralist prose and jotted this in a notebook:

"10-7-08 ~7:10 AM Somewhere between Hitakatsu and Nanyo, Route 39.

I wanted to weep today at the mist dancing over the still water in a bay, hovering like a phantom with no reflection.

The sun shines through the mountains' mist like a hazy memory made clear only after the island wipes sleep from its eyes. The fisherman rise last, having spent the darkest hours of the night attracting squid to their boats with bright lights. Gathered in force, at night the sea is awash with their boats, mini-suns too bright to look directly at. A nautical solar system."

In my defence of the above, which vaguely reminds me of many disgustingly inadequate translations of pre-modern Japanese poetry and prose... there is something incredibly moving about the brief flashes of ocean and mountains I get to see in the taxi rides to my schools. Since the roads are mostly narrow strips of asphalt winding around mountains and through tunnels, more than half of the trip allows only the sight of mountain-sides coated in concrete (to prevent landslides) or a solid wall of trees rising upwards. The few seconds in which the mountain ridge barricade briefly opens up to allow a view of the ocean or the other mountains beyond is therefore quite precious.

... or maybe I'm just getting as soft as the kaki (persimmons) that I so love. Yes, thank all the kami-samas, kaki have finally made it to Tsushima. The hard-type ones arrived last week, but tonight I made a special trip to the supermarket on a rumor that the soft-type ones had arrived as well. And, indeed, they had, and I wanted to cry again at how juicy and flavorful they were. (I may have eaten 3 with an otherwise subdued dinner tonight. That's not a confirmation, it's just a possibility.) "Natsukashi," which is generally translated as "nostalgic," although that's a seldom-used word in English that doesn't do much to capture the true feeling... well, natsukashi.

When I'm truly honest with myself, the opportunity to be exposed to real Japanese food played a big part in deciding to come back, and kaki is my favorite fruit. It's also only available during autumn; with winter comes its season's end and no more kaki until next autumn. I can't even begin to describe kaki's taste; you have to come here and try one. The trees are beautiful, with the orange-red tomato-shaped fruit clinging to the branches long after the leaves fall. It's not unheard of to see snow gracing abandoned trees, the orange fruit gleaming underneath. (Although, frankly, if I ever see this in the future, I am going to stop whatever I'm doing and becoming a kaki dorobo--robber-- on the spot. Delicious kaki should not be left to malinger in the snow. Let me know if you want to join me in kaki thievery and we can form a loose organization of fruit yakuza).

Today on my way back from a all-island middle-school relay race, I chatted with another teacher about kaki. We discussed hard vs. soft varieties, light and solid vs. dark and stripy flesh interiors, and Fukuoka vs. Wakayama kaki (two locations from which Tsushima kaki shipments are delivered)... and then it struck me that I've become a kaki connoisseur. For the record, my favorite is a soft Wakayama kaki with a light and solid orangy flesh interior. I can't wait until some of the kaki in Tsushima become ripe and available (... or until some of my neighbors or co-workers decide to make my day and give me a sample from their trees. I've already had one offer!)

To survive whatever kaki deprivation may befall me after the conclusion of autumn, I've decided to consume as many as is reasonable while the season and my appetite for them lasts. And, for the amusements of myself and others, why not keep count? Since my discovery of the opening of kaki season at the su-pah last weekend, I've had 3 hard and 3 soft kaki. The number currently squirreled away in my fridge will remain secret but will become apparent while the number of eaten kaki rises :)