Monthly Archives: February 2019

Two Seasons

by in Photography, Snow, Tahoe, The Road | 13 Comments

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There are only three ways in to or out from this small mountain town, all via narrow, winding, two-lane roads.  So transportation concerns much with regard to living here.  An unsurprising joke for long time residents is thus that there are really only two seasons: road-construction, and snow-removal.  It’s presently the season of snow removal…

In this region, winter tends to come in bursts, usually when the Jet-Stream reaches far enough south to bring in a storm track (or “polar vortex” and “atmospheric river” for those who prefer trendy Newspeak terminology).  Consequently, we tend to get dumpers, with an entire year’s precipitation usually falling over no more than a few weeks worth of actual days.

Snow in the Sierras also tends to be notoriously wet.  This was really apparent in my drive to the nearby college yesterday.  The day’s storm actually started with a heavy rain, enough that some of the local roads were badly flooded near snow-covered storm drains.  The biggest traffic issue was getting past a local rotary taking advantage of a chance to widen the town’s main intersection.

Later in the day, however, the air cooled and the snow-level dropped from around 8,000-feet (≈2,500m) down to the valley floors at 4,500-feet (≈1,400m), and the storm turned into an all-out blizzard.   By the time it let up in the late afternoon, the town was covered in about two to three feet of new snow.  In retrospect, I should have taken a shot of my truck as I found it in the college parking lot, almost entirely buried in several feet of snow… why it’s common practice to keep an “avalanche shovel” in one’s vehicle.  After a 15-minute dig-out, it was a full-on 4-wheel drive wallow through unplowed snow to get back onto the road.

As of this morning, yesterday’s rain had all turned to ice, leaving plowed roads both a blessing and a curse.  Unless a vehicle is equipped with metal “studded” tires (mine is), or tire-chains (an inconvenient option), bouncing and wallowing through sanded snow might be preferable to sliding on the exposed ice.  But it’s something that most people who choose to live here year-round understand.   Tomorrow, however, will be the start of a tourist weekend… a good reason to avoid the local roads altogether.

Regardless, I prefer the season of snow-removal to that of road-construction.  All it takes is a little being prepared and a willingness to slow down, and it can actually be quite enjoyable.  And compared to that time of year when the roads are blocked by construction equipment and warm-weather crowds, there are moments when I suddenly realize that I have the whole thing pretty much to myself.

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Is This Thing On?

by in Culture, Hmmm..., Japan, Mom, The Road | 8 Comments

The ringing in my ears remains
Until there’s something to be said
The voice going stops
Not through words

Pardon? Can you say that again?
Pretend not to hear you
Once again – listening repeatedly
Pretending wonder – before the eyes

This way of
Shaking off
That clear expression

Boris – “Pardon” (lyrics – from Japanese)

 

It had been about six weeks since traveling back to Japan with my sister, most of that time spent exploring some parts of the mountains south of Nara. A bit of the wind gone from my sails, it was good to have a little time away from the same old news and the usual mundane worries that circumscribe day-to-day life. And it was a little surprising to see what emerged from the quiet… the chance to think, and the divergence of voices I encountered along the way.

The only customer in a little Japanese mountain town cafe, the owner sat with me over lunch. As a generalization, the Japanese aren’t usually particularly philosophical. But responding to a few of my questions about the area, my host started to realize that the odd accent he was hearing wasn’t from Osaka.

“Amerika-jin desu,” I finally confessed. And then I explained that I had recently traveled to Japan to take care of some things for my mom.

A moment’s silence conveyed that he understood. Then my host left the table briefly, returning with a cup of warm “dashi” broth before sitting down across from me. “Where have you traveled?” he asked. It was a kind gesture.

There’s a deep Japanese cultural tradition of subtlety in expressions that sometimes leads people to believe that the Japanese are devoid of feelings. Two-thousand years of history refined from life on a rugged, overpopulated, disaster-prone island has resulted in placing a premium on the external aesthetic of calm pragmatism and resilience. But the Japanese still experience all the same feelings as everyone else, whether or not they show them.

One of the reasons I like Osaka is that it tends to be a little more culturally accepting of American-style expressiveness, though it probably doesn’t hurt any that an American accent can also sound just a bit Osakan. In a sort of regional stereotype, Osakans are known for being more overtly outgoing and friendly, for their sense-of-humor… and for being somewhat uncomfortably direct, or perhaps even crude. Still, you won’t often hear anyone Japanese expressing grief or complaining about their condition, even in Osaka.

I’ve never heard this aversion to negative expression discussed directly among Japanese, but it’s well understood. Even the word for “no,” pronounced, “iie,” tends to be avoided through various contortions of conversation. Such direct negation has a feeling of uncomfortably stark finality to it, disrupting the easy flow of a conversation with the sudden, jolting, unilateral declaration of an ending.

Back in the US, where overly-expressive negations have become something of a meme, it often seems like there isn’t much use in talking anymore. At some point, there’s simply no more information to be added through the emotional intensity of a voice.  At least, “Kangaete okimasu” (“I will think it over”), or, “Maemuki-ni kento sasete itadakimasu” (I will look at it in an appreciative way), close the door gently. Most native Japanese will register their understanding with a quiet bow.

“Odayaka” (穏やか) is the word for this kind of quiet or calmness, as in, “Ito odayaka-nari.” (いと穏やかなり。) , “It is very calm.” But the expression also implies that much can be noticed, the small things easily drown out by the din of day-to-day living… like the deeper emotions expressed in the subtle inflection of a voice.  Foreigners who stay in Japan long enough begin to understand.

Sitting across from my host in an otherwise empty cafe, it was nice to know that someone else understood.

These little mountain towns are dying out in Japan, their youth disappearing into the lights and the anonymity of city lives.  And not even the rail lines that cross the country’s central mountains reach this far south.  The silence, my host cautioned, can become deafening.  I departed with directions to a traditional furniture-maker in another small town farther to the south, and the route to a little known shrine hidden in the mountains along the way.

Returning to the US is always difficult. It’s the direction of jet-lag… back in time. And from the moment I step off the plane, it feels that way. Walking into the airport terminal, the comforting smells of foods that welcomed me to Japan are drown out by the loud, artificial perfume of fabric softener. That I even notice tells me that it’s been awhile.

A jump over the mountains and a ride up the hill, and I’m… “home”. The house is cold. And despite my husband having apparently done some laundry while he was here, it even smells a little like the inside of a refrigerator. But instead of turning up the heat, I put on a jacket and lay on the sofa where I can see out to the winter forest.

Everything is silent.

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Snow

by in Altitude, Environment, Snow, Tahoe | 8 Comments

Winter can make it a little difficult to get out and about.  My usual running path through town accumulates icy spots and patches of frozen snow.  And while it was at one time possible to ski much of the town, the population and its attendant road-traffic has increased enough over the years to make it a pretty risky proposition anymore.  Regardless, snowy mornings will usually find a bunch of us loading the skis and boards for a trip up to the hills to somewhere in the back-country.

Aside from the waxed boards, however, one mandatory piece of equipment for local BC travelers is an avalanche beacon.  And in the hopes that it never needs to be used, it’s standard practice to check in with the Sierra Avalanche Center report before heading out.  Unfortunately, this morning’s report, posted after a night of pretty sloppy snow, read as follows (“Very Dangerous” avalanche conditions at all elevations and at every aspect):

So the skiing wasn’t a good proposition for today…  No problem.  Expecting a delivery of electronics parts, it would give me a chance to finish something I’ve been working on.  After setting out the tools for the project, I went outside and shoveled out the hot tub.  Avalanche blasts rumbled down from the mountains as it occurred to me that the snowplow guy had usually cleared my driveway by now.  Come to think of it, I hadn’t even noticed the road getting plowed yet.

I finished digging through the slop and cleared off the tub cover, and then decided to go check on some elderly neighbors.  Sure enough, heading down the street revealed that the local road hadn’t yet been cleared.  Moreover, the sounds of chainsaws was evidence that at least a few of the local trees hadn’t survived the previous night’s load of wet snow.

Returning home, I sat down to a book and some hot cocoa… when my phone started buzzing.  It was an Emergency Alert — “Sierra Travel Not Advised.”  And that was followed by a list of road closures:

“Motorists are advised to use an alternate route.”   What alternate route?
Not surprisingly, the next notification was…

So much for the parts.  Oh well… Since the local driveway guy never made it, at least I managed to get a little exercise.

Post Script: February 5

Post Post Script: February 7