Rain Ends and Summer Begins

Picking plums & appreciating seasonal flowers

The summer heat is building quickly, and I keep reminding myself that it’s still early July and the hottest months are yet to come. And although the cold days feel so far away, I remember how on bristling winter mornings I would yearn for summer’s warmth. In those chilly moments, when a single ha exhale creates a puff of translucent smoke and the tip of my nose feels cold to the touch, I would think about summer and how it feels to be warm through my whole body.

The faintest winter sunlight on my face would remind me what it’s like to have my body bathed in the light of summer days. I love the feeling of bare feet in sandals or stepping barefoot on the earth, the freedom of moving through the world without layers. Light and light. I love twirling in a flowy dress, the sweet breeze kissing my skin. Summer has always felt like freedom. And yet, when summer finally arrives, I often find myself overwhelmed by its intensity. The days are longer, fuller, and that fullness can sometimes feel like too much. As a sensitive person, the brightness and energy of the season can feel almost overpowering. But I also love summer. So holding the feeling of loving something and yet being overwhelmed by that very same thing makes a heart feel full and heavy.

There’s also a certain weight to summer’s expectations — to be carefree, to have fun, to make the most of it. Yet, those very expectations can have the opposite effect, because in chasing a desired feeling, we lose presence.

Andrew Knapp

’s recent musing of being a human being of contrasts and paradoxes feels incredibly relatable. He shares, “I’m an extrovert with social anxiety”. How lovely it is when words make you feel seen! And maybe everyone who relates to that paradox can also understand what it’s like to love something and still feel overwhelmed by it.

This time of year is supposed to be Japan’s rainy season, known as tsuyu. It typically lasts for about a month, with long stretches of damp and humid days. But this year it ended after just two weeks, when normally we have about a month of mostly rain. Like so many other worrying markers of our changing climate, the abrupt ending to the rainy season raises concerns that there won’t be enough water, even though Japan has always been water-abundant.

Japanese ume plum & green ginko leaves

Two familiar time stamps of the rainy season arrival in Japan are ume (Japanese plums) and ajisai (hydrangeas). Ume are harvested just before the rains begin while they are green, firm, and unripe. Each plum is gently rubbed with salt and pressed under weights of rocks until it begins to release a tangy plum vinegar. They’re set aside to ferment right at the start of tsuyu, napping in jars that are tucked away until the rains come to an end.

Over the years, I’ve learned to make syrup, liqueur, and jam from ume, but my favorite of all is umeboshi. Maybe it’s because my mom loves the umeboshi I make— every year she requests jars and jars. Even though carrying or sending them to Canada always feels like a long journey for something so small, I’m grateful I can offer her something homemade that connects her to Japan. To love umeboshi is to appreciate a taste so strange (tart, salty, and sour all at once) and to be humble in waiting.

And then there are the ajisai, hydrangeas that bloom in every shade of blues, purples, pinks, and white. They are little jewels of colour in an otherwise grey landscape. Their colour changes depending on the soil’s acidity. How lovely that the same plant can express itself differently depending on its environment. They just pop up everywhere — on the sides of roads, dotting mountain landscapes like a cherry or an apple tree in full bloom.

This season reminds me that we are many things at once. We are the intensity of rain, the strong light of summer. We are beauty, abundance, uncertainty, and joy — these can all coexist in a season.

And maybe the most honest way to move through summer is not to chase its lightness, not to weigh it with expectations, but to move with awareness and grace for all the moments that can feel like too much.

Happy July, dear reader!

May you open this month stunningly and softly like the lilies blooming in the corner of my house. May this season meet you where you’re at. I’m here to remind you (and myself) that your heart is expansive and large enough to hold many feelings and thoughts in the same beat.

With love,
Kana