The piercing clarity of cold, wet, quietude in winter
Now back in Japan’s “yuki guni” (snow country) and bereft of the customary central heating of most buildings in North America, I am getting back into the routine of wearing lots of layers and turning on room heaters for spaces that are occupied. Thank goodness for plug-in toilet seats, too. That is a step up from my first year on the islands about 30 years ago. But this morning as the night lifted and the snow squalls began slowly at first, I went for a walk and watched the street sprinklers melt away the snowfall on road surfaces. I felt the chill on my face and in the occasional deep breath through my cold nose. Each time I rummaged in my coat’s warm breast pocket for my phone’s camera with gloves off, I would later feel the tingling sensation of blood returning some warmth to my chilled fingers. What makes the winter so much more palpable here, I wondered.
Then it occurred to me that the raw power of the season and unaccustomed cold are kept from those of us who pass the cold months in warm settings, thanks to cheap fossil fuels the past few centuries. But now back on this side of the Pacific, when each room or sitting space must be heated ad hoc, there is more effort and possibly thinking involved in the matter of keeping warm. As a result there are more occasions during day and night without heat, or at least without fully shirt-sleeve temperatures created. One accepts or at least is seldom disturbed by discomforts, at least while active, well fed with warm food and drink, and blessed with good health and normal metabolism.
Things like the refreshing feel of the winter air in one’s nose, or the gratitude when warmed by the kotatsu (under-table heating while sitting tucked under the attached skirting around a table), or the luxury of coming from a hot soaking bath (ofuro) into newly laid out bedding on the floor (futon) and sort of melting into one’s dreams; all these things come with living face to face in the cold, not insulated from it, but rubbing right up against it for a few months. Now then, where did I put my hot cup of tea?
