Flower Viewing: The Ancient Wisdom of Pre-Celebration

I had been quietly dreaming of this moment for a long time. This year, that wish gently became a reality.

A quiet beginning, just before the bloom—late April in Kent, Connecticut.

Last year, we planted two Yoshino cherry trees at our country house in Kent, Connecticut. Each tree stands about ten feet tall, and I have been eagerly waiting for the day they would finally bloom. As a symbol of Japan, cherry blossoms have always held a special place in my heart. Hosting my own ohanami “お花見”—cherry blossom viewing—in my garden was a quiet dream of mine.

Rooted in place, waiting for its moment—still slender, quietly reaching toward the sky.

I once thought that ohanami began among the nobility during the Heian period “平安時代”, some 1,200 years ago. However, I have since learned that its roots reach much further back to an ancient agricultural custom called yoshuku “予祝”—the practice of celebrating in advance.

Since ancient times, the blooming of cherry blossoms has been seen as the 'rice field god descending from the mountains.' People likened the blossoms in full bloom to the ripening rice ears of autumn, celebrating the harvest in advance while viewing the flowers. Through this practice of yoshuku, they believed they could gently invite that reality into being. Ohanami was thus a vital event—part of an annual cycle that aligned human life with the sacred rhythm of nature.

With these thoughts in mind, each time I visited Kent, I found myself quietly watching the buds grow, little by little. I had been looking forward to this moment for so long.

A fleeting moment, fully in bloom—on a cold spring afternoon.

And yet, just as the blossoms reached their peak, I caught a cold and ended up staying in bed for a week. Spring weather is never quite stable. Just when it begins to feel like summer, the chill returns. The blossoms, too, came and went so quickly.

Their fleeting nature reminds me that everything is impermanent. Perhaps the act of fully savoring the present moment is at the very heart of Japan’s deep appreciation for the seasons.

This was a quiet reminder that Japanese customs and culture are rooted in the ever-changing rhythms of nature.

And then, it gently fades—carried away by the quiet shift of the season.

It seems this cherry blossom season slipped away before I even realized it. Well, I suppose things like that happen.

A friend of mine kindly shared some salted cherry leaves with me, and I had hoped to make sakura mochi, but as April comes to an end, that moment may not come this year.

Next year, I hope to invite a few neighbors and friends to enjoy a small ohanami and celebrate something in advance together.

I will carry that feeling forward and look toward the blossoms again next spring.

How was your spring?