1.
Imagine a world where the seasons bring times when one thing magically transforms into another. Like fish in the sea turning into swallows or rainbows becoming dragons. One of the reasons I love Liza Dalby’s book East Wind Melts the Ice so much is that she intentionally chooses to focus on the ancient Chinese version of the 72 micro-seasons, instead of the localized Edo-period Japanese version.
While the terms do not fit the reality of what is happening in the world around us, the ancient Chinese version really lights a fire in my imagination!
For example, right now we are in such a time, when “moles turn into quail.”
2.
Seimei 清明 (the current solar term) is a beautiful time of year in Japan and in California. The season is divided into three micro-seasons: first comes the return of the swallows 玄鳥至 from climes far to the south. This is followed by the departure of geese 鴻雁北, which leave Honshu and fly north for summer. And finally is the time when people see rainbows 虹始見.
We are now in the micro-season of “geese flying north.” But this was not original to the ancient Chinese calendar and only came about as a micro-season term late in the game as the Japanese localized some of the 72 micro-seasons during the Edo period. For most of Japanese history, the calendar was used in the form imported from China—and originally this time was known 田鼠化為鴽.
In Japanese this is written like this: 田鼠化して鶉となる When Moles Turn into Quail.
Liza Dalby says:
I confess I have no idea why moles turn into quails. This one is a mystery. Each season contains a similar odd transmutation. Earlier in the spring, doves transformed into hawks. In the summer, decaying vegetation morphs into fireflies. In the fall, sparrows dive into the seas, transforming themselves into clams; and in winter, the pheasants enter in the water to become sea monsters. And all these other cases, one can concoct an explanation if not a scientific reason for the transmutation. But not this one. I have delved into arcane sources and thought long and hard about possible connections but apart from the observation that both moles and quails have stubby tails, I have not been able to come up with an account of why the former should turn into the latter.
I cannot explain it either. When I was younger, I much preferred the terms that expressed what was going on in the world around me. I liked to be reminded of when to look for glistening dewdrops in the grass or to remember to notice the geese flying north again in spring. But now? Well, I really love the fanciful explanations. In this case, when moles turn into quail.
田鼠 denso is another word for mogura, a mole. (Rice paddy mice?)
飛鶉鼠のむかし忘るゝな
tobi uzura nezumi no mukashi wasururu na
Flying quails -
don't forget you were
moles before this—Issa
Sadly, I only became a birder after leaving Japan. The California state bird is a California quail… below two beloved quails (francolins are not really quails but related to Old World quail—they sound funny).
This is opportune! I literally just received my copy of Liza Dalby's LITTLE SONGS OF THE GEISHA: Traditional Japanese Ko-Uta. I have a long explanation for why I was hunting it down but I won't get into that here; just that I also really think she did (does?) interesting work. I have her THE TALE OF MURASAKI and her GEISHA book, too.
I have a thought about the moles turning into quail. Does the "turning into" ("naru") have to be a literal metamorphosis? Because here on our farm, I feel the "turning into" in terms of something like, one moment we hear peepers (last week) and the next moment there are daffodils (yesterday). As in, phases that seem to suddenly pop up? I wonder if one might see the molehills during one particular week and then there are quail fluttering in the brush the next week. If so, that actually feels right to me!
Those look like Californian quails. They belong to the Odontophoridae, a totally different family from the true quails (Phasianidae) or button quails (Turnicidae).