Getting mortared up.

A rough first coat (on the left), and a second smooth one, with bits of the fiberglass netting showing (netting that keeps the mortar from falling down into the road), on the right. The final coating, non-mortar, will look quite different, with a little luck, a bit like “antique brick.”

Artists at work.

And yes, there will be a . . .

. . . a bathtub. For those of you not familiar with the Japanese way of doing things, the low counter is to sit at, on a stool, while you soap up, scrub, and rinse, BEFORE getting in and soaking. Unfortunately, you can’t see how spacious the bathtub itself is. You’ll have to come visit. (Guaranteed free rooms for Hearty Hikers.)

And there’s a view from the bedroom window. (Yes, just one bedroom—but plenty of spaces (the downstairs tatami room, in particular) for guests. No worries.)

And if you sit at the edge of the tatami room, (the floor of which is a foot or so higher than that of the living room), on the nifty piece of antique wood that your builder is trying to talk you in to adding to the plan, and look across the living room, this is the view you’ll have. When things are done, I’ll take the scaffolding down! Probably more on the “antique wood” later.

I’ve been having persimmon dreams for a long time.

This is the first time, though, that I’ve tried singing about them.

But it’s only Take 1. Well, actually, Take 2, in a recording-studio-sort of way.

persimmon dreams

Babies born / People scorn / Emotions worn / Hearts all torn

Something sought / Too much bought / Bad wars fought / Nerves all fraught.

Countless tribes / Racist vibes / Booze imbibed / Alibies 

I feel the love / Coming through the blue / Uh-huh

I feel the warm / Glow of the orange / Uh-huh 

Learn by rote / Sinking boat / Too remote / Scared to vote.

What’s your share? / Is it fair? / Do you care? / Do you dare?

Ideas bake / All at stake / See what’s fake / Catch no break. 

I feel the love / Coming through the blue / Uh-huh.

I feel the warm / Glow of the orange / Uh-huh. 

Hard to steer / Tough veneer / Who’s sincere? / Why this fear?

Hard to hold / What’s been sold? / Who was told? / Awful cold.

 Thoughts in reams /  Busted seams / Vanquished dreams / Unheard screams. 

I feel the love / Coming through the blue / Uh-huh

I feel the warm / Glow of the orange / Uh-huh

I / I … I … I / I’m having persimmon dreams.

I / I … I … I / I’m having persimmon dreams.

I / I … I … I / I’m having persimmon dreams.

When, after the cool and the rain, you take out the warm blanket—only to toss it aside as the clear blue morning begins to sweep over the horizon . . .

. . . and you go out and see the berries doing their best  to delight . . .

. . . and you find that the rice and the sky are complementing and complimenting each other . . .

. . . and you notice the cherry fish swimming up to the surface . . . wait a minute, I was feeling so happy I got a bit delirious for a second there—that’s not a cherry fish swimming up toward the surface—just look at how those long and narrow fins angle back—that’s a cherry fish plunging down into the coral . . .

. . . and you step into the woods, and the sun slants in through the canopy and sets a chestnut aglow (of course, reminding it of how it has evolved from sea urchins) . . . and then when the shine suddenly rips in a little stronger . . .

. . . and the chestnut remembers that long before its ancestors dwelled on an ocean floor, they were exploded from a star—they were stars . . .

. . . and then, when you notice that the sight of all those fields of cut rice have driven the sparrows mad, and they gather, get into formation, and glance off to the east, in an expression of gratitude . . .

. . . you might, too . . . for this is the sort of day that you might discover that your little buddy, Fuji-kun, has gotten out of bed with his little cap on. Of course, it’s a tad bit colder where he sleeps.

Uh-huh.

(Persimmon) Dreams come true. I’d been thinking about staining this ceiling for a looooong time. Since way before there were even any house plans for a cedar ceiling.

Two days ago, though, there was some confusion. The kakishibu (persimmon extract) had come from Kyoto with instructions to cut in half with water. I didn’t know it needed to be cut—and that got me worrying. Once you stain the wood, you can’t really un-stain it.

Yesterday, though, I got started. I cut the extract in half, and began with the hallway. I hadn’t been putting it on for thirty seconds before I remembered how nice it looked.

Managed to get a bit of the living room done, too, before I just couldn’t see well enough to continue. When I looked up at what I’d done, I couldn’t see any difference between it and what I hadn’t gotten to yet. Until I took a picture.

Sometimes when I’m out hiking, I feel like I can get the camera to “exaggerate” a bit—but this time, with this shot, I felt like the camera was actually seeing what I couldn’t. Maybe it does that more than I thought.

Rained that night and the next morning . . .

. . . but regardless, the high part of the ceiling waited. Would the ladder be tall enough?

Well, I managed part of the high part without a ladder.

And the ladder did get me high enough when I needed it to. Just barely.

No, Mom, I didn’t fall. And now I’m down and safe and sound on solid ground.

At the moment, I’m thinking the one coat will do it, but we’ll see how it looks in various light. At the moment, I’m in love with the way it looks.

Looking forward to evenings on the veranda.

A mile out from where I live now. A mile more to go to the new place. That’s Ryuso peeking out from behind that other peak.

Looking out on the garden. Sato-san, please be careful. One, we like you, and two . . .

. . . we may not be able to find anyone else in Shizuoka who can fit grooved ceiling planks in between tapering beams as beautifully as you can.

Actually, I have a day job. During the week, can only go see how things are going in the evening.This from the scaffolding.

From the garden. Now we’re all felted up. Notice the more-or-less matching pillars, one in the living room, one at the edge of the veranda. Basically these are cedar trees, as they are in the round, merely stripped of their bark. Thus, the wood, at the surface, has a bit different texture than cut lumber, a sheen.

Below, the arch. This is either going to be the front entrance, or where they attach the rudder. I’ll check.

When it comes to color . . .

. . . the ginkgo . . .

. . . seems to know . . .

   . . . what is of primary importance.

On behalf of that nameless Shizuoka duo (whose songs we occasionally record), we here at Persimmon Dreams Recording Studios would like to express our gratitude to Honeysuckle Tea Shop, the “Diner’s Club,” and Patty Suzuki for a wonderful evening on September 27th.

The duo enjoyed performing immensely, and although we’ll let the critics discuss how “tight” their sound  was (if there were critics present), there is one thing we’d like to say here.

When the performance was over, one member of the audience said to the ukulele player, “You look so happy. You look so happy you make me feel happy.” We suggest to you that no matter how clunky the playing and off-key the singing may have been, there is great and infinite meaning in this.

The duo played four of their original songs. If you’d like to listen to the first three, just click on the arrows. The links to the first two songs will take you back to the photos and stories to which they were originally linked.

Thank you, Patty!

“All You Mean to Me”      Link

“All That’s Real”      Link

“A Girl in the Neighborhood” (“The Cha-Cha Song”)

“Listen True”

(This is new. No recording yet.)

Aozasayama. An hour and 10 minutes up to the No-Name Pass, another 20 minutes up to the summit. A lot of mist.  Sometimes you just kind of melt into it, emptying your mind, and you keep up a pretty good pace.

But back down along the ridge, then over to the Jizo Pass, and down the mountain the other way, we slowed down considerably.

It always happens. Something grabs your eye. Your eye focuses. Then your eye starts searching out other things to focus on.

There are things to see and do, you realize, and you’ve got no good reason to hurry. You have time.

Time to stop and listen in to what these three guys have gotten together to talk about.

Time to wink at the pretty faces. Time to wait and see if they’ll wink back.

And you have to stop, don’t you, when a tree challenges you to a muscle-flexing contest?

Time to stop and feel the autumn.

Of course, time for a delicious lunch.

And time to chat with Mr. Jizo. Time to thank him for keeping an eye on the mountain—and those that walk it.

Time to watch this fellow, time to wonder who he is.

Time to enjoy the colors.

TIme to wonder what the chestnut’s all aglow about.

Almost back to the parking lot, we came across these curvy bells.

And the monshirocho (Cabbage White) certainly seemed to be taking their time with them. Maybe because they knew they had them all for themselves. The numbers were good.

And the monshirocho were made to get to the bottom of things with ease.

And then we came to the thistles. At first, they just looked like a patch of scraggly weeds.

Up closer, they were a bit more fascinating.

Especially to the bees.

Without the butterly’s nimble proboscis, they had little choice but to dive in. 

Sometimes they had to flex their muscles.

Seemed to be a muscle-flexing sort of day.

I have to admit I prefered the bee’s approach to heaven to the butterfly’s.

And on the way home, I kept thinking what a glorious day it must have been to be a bee.

What a thrill it was when that “Shizuoka Duo” I’m sometimes writing about called me up and asked me if I’d like to wander around with them a bit—and, in their words, “look at some things.”

While we were out and about, what I first noticed about them was that whenever we’d hop off our bicycles to take a look at grains of rice, or flowers, or Ryuso Mountain, or the sky, or whatever, well, that’s when they each seemed most able to tell the other what was on his or her mind.

Here’s the conversation they had—in front of these colorful guys—the one that zapped them into songwriting mode.

“You know, I think I’m always  trying to tell you a lot of stuff you can’t possibly understand.”

“Oh?”

(It was almost as I weren’t even there. Or maybe, as if, I was just a natural part of the setting—as threatening as an ear of rice, one leaning over in a comfortable arc.)

“Yeah, and I appreciate it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever much helped.”

“But you have. You listen. You always listen. You listen so . . . You listen so true.”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

“That’s nice of you to do.”

Then, every time, we stopped and looked at something—usually flowers—they just started singing. I’d never experienced anything like it. I was amazed. I don’t know how they did it. The words just popped out from their mouths—in lines of song. And by the third or fourth clump of flowers, they had a melody. Myself, I’ve got no ear at all, and no understanding of music, but soon they were repeating, “A Gbm A Gbm A Gbm G A” over and over–and strumming their thighs as if they were guitars—and they seemed to hear it just fine.

Some of their song lines only popped out once—at least as far as I remember—but some of them those guys sang over and over and over. I figured that was what would probably end up as the chorus of whatever it was they were creating.

It might have been my imagination, but they seemed especially smitten with the spider lilies—they stopped at every clump we came across—and their singing would become so energetic, I felt that they could hear the spider lilies singing, and were just singing along.

Well, it was an extraordinary day. Thank you, Shizuoka Duo! (That’s not their real name. They have no name, oddly enough. They just sing.)

Here’s the words I heard them sing repeatedly. The last two lines they sang over and over and over and over and over again. (I admit that I too, albeit very quietly, began singing along.)

You’ve got all those feelings / Trapped inside of you

Now they’ve got you reeling / You don’t know what to do

Me, I’m not so clever / I ain’t no magic man

But I will endeavor / To do the best I can.

If you want to be with me—I’ll be there for you.

If you’d like to share with me—I will listen true.