One night while anchored in the Narrows of Baie Finn a waxing gibbous moon displayed itself above a line of silhouetted conifers. The Sinus Iridium in the upper left corner of the Mare Imbrium cracked with detail in Canada’s clean stable air. Montes Jura, the mountain range that defines the sinus, is tall—some 12,000 feet. To see just what I am writing about go to: http://the-moon.wikispaces.com/Sinus+Iridum.
It is remarkable that we have been to the moon. I recall watching the first steps on the moon on my Aunt Sarah’s tiny black and white TV. The square screen bulged out of the large ornate wooden cabinet it occupied. It was 1969 and since then I have never tired of observing the moon, especially the harvest moon
Months get confused when we talk about the harvest moon (tsuki). It is defined as the closest full moon to the autumnal equinox. In the Gregorian calendar it can be in September or October, but in the lunar calendar it occurs on the fifteen day of the eight-month, August the month of leaves. Japan keeps the construct of the lunar year alive.
Chanoyu, the tea ceremony, has a long history of marking the harvest moon with a tsuki no cha, a harvest moon tea. I have been blessed to attend several of these. One in an ornate apartment looking out over Lincoln Park and the lake: another in a miniature Japanese garden recreated in a bungalow’s backyard not 100 feet from the North Branch of the Chicago River. Tsuki no cha is difficult to coordinate. In Chicago doing the tea ceremony outside is always fraught with peril as is trying to synchronize the serving of tea with moonrise.
This year’s tea was impromptu. My wife Charlotte and I were invited to partake the night before. The world famous Magic Hedge at Montrose Harbor was to be the venue. My contribution was to discern the time the moon would rise out of Lake Michigan. I found the answer on the U.S. Naval Observatory’s website: 6:07 PM.
It was decided to meet at the lakefront at 5:30 and we were not alone. Many folks preceded us. They carried satchels containing everything from wine to babies. But I am sure we were the only ones carrying matcha (powered green tea), chawan (tea bowls), chashaku (tea scoop), all in a venerated old wooden chabako (box) that belonged to my second sensei, Minnie Kubose.
The temperature fell as we settled onto the newly constructed terrace next to the lake. There is a splendid view of the central city when looking south. Navy Pier’s Ferris wheel and the Hancock Building define it. The thin haze on the horizon changed from off-white, to grey, to purple with a touch of green as the sun set in the west. 6:07 came and went but the moon failed to appear. Though its presence eluded us we started. Omogashi (tea sweets) was served, and then as one bowl of tea and then another was drunk the moon appeared a hands breath above and to the south of the Wilson Avenue crib. Shrouded behind a thin silk curtain it seemed to hover.
A few sailboats putt-putted by as the wind died with the coming of twilight. Downtown twinkle like so many stars and the now quiet seagulls were reduced to silhouettes. We gazed at the orbs transformation from silky white to silver. Some of us saw the man-in-the-moon and others a hare pounding mochi. What did it matter.
Chado—The Way of Tea by Sasaki Sanmi suggest this poem for the scroll to hang in the chashitsu (tea room) for a moon viewing tea:
Tsuki mizu ni inshi Mizu tsuki o insu/The moon is reflected in the water and the water reflects the moon.
I could not agree more . . .
October 2012
