by Henry Mittwer
Summer is best in the evening
on a moonlit night ...
Even if it is dark without moon, it is lovely
when the fireflies dart all over,
or even one or two fly by here and there
with cool lights.
It is also wonderful when it rains.
This is one of my favorite stanzas from the famous Makura no Soshi, "Pillow Book", written by Sei Shonagon, a court lady who was active in the capital city, Kyoto, during the elegant Heian period (794 -1192).
Anyone who has visited Kyoto in the summer knows how hot and humid this time of year is here. Many a night, it seems unbearable to sleep without air-conditioning the room. But for one who, like Shakespeare suggests, "finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything," finds that the wind and rain and thunder, the flowers and the forest, the singing birds and even the stinging insects comfort the fragile heart and save the soul from adversities.
I have on my bookshelf another musty old book which may not be too useful in this science-oriented day. Called Tsurezuregusa, translated into English as "Harvest of Leisure", it is by Yoshida Kenko (1282-1350), who writes that "a house should be built to be comfortable in summer." What he means is that it is not so difficult to cope with the cold of winter; one can put on extra clothing. But when one builds a house, one should consider the direction in which the breeze tends to blow in the summer, and design the rooms so that the breeze can flow through them.
Here is a haiku poem by Matsuo Basho (1644-94):
Mountain and garden -
they move and enter
the summer room
Though perhaps prosaic, it shows that the traditional Japanese house is made to open up to the outside world in the summer; there is no barrier - not even insect screens or glass panes.
Just like we change our clothing to suit the weather, so the Japanese house changes from a winter outfit to cooler summer wear. At the beginning of summer, sparsely woven, thin bamboo shades are hung under the overhanging southern eaves, to soften the glaring summer sun. The sliding panels of thick, double-layered paper that divide the rooms are exchanged with loosely fitted reed panels which let the air flow freely through the rooms, and a fine rattan carpet is spread over the thick tatami floor matts, to insulate the heat that tends to get trapped in the tatami.
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