I have always made a point to catch a glimpse of these giant trees while driving northbound on the highway. These line of perhaps a hundred evergreen formed an elegant natural fence, towering above us motorists as we speed through that stretch of Highway 101 somewhere between Los Angeles and San Francisco. Who planted those pines? Was it the developer who built those upscale homes, as a good will gesture? Or was it the city's attempt to beautify the landscape? In any case, it was a good thing for the landscape, a nice touch to counter urban blight. Together those trees have grown for over a decade, stretching for perhaps half a mile on the slopes along the freeway. Now their existence is rudely disrupted, and someone will have the unenviable task of removing the fallen giants from a steep incline.
Who is to blame when nature takes such a wonton turn? Something like that, on a smaller scale, happened to me. Five years ago, I planted a row of xylosma by a low fence in my front yard. It didn't take long for the 5-gallon starters to shoot up a neat row of graceful branches and luscious leaves to form a 10-foot fence that nicely provided a screen between me and my next-door neighbors.
The longer one lives, the more one becomes aware of just how tenuous things are in this world. That most of us in this country live in relative harmony is a luxury that I did not have the maturity to appreciate. Until my recent retirement, life had been a blur of activities for survival, obligations and ambitions. In my earlier days, the demise of a tree would hardly bat an eyelid. Looking back at the sixty-five years that I have been on earth, I realize just what a wonder it is that I have managed to last that long. I have been lucky. Doubly so because I am blessed with, for now at least, relatively good health that allows me to enjoy in leisure what life has to offer. My life is modest and uncomplicated. I have minimized my obligations. I have a son who stays in touch. I travel. I have a passion in a young pianist who keeps me engaged in classical music and piano playing. I can't complain.
Life is good. But nothing lasts forever. The best laid plan is no match for Mother Nature and Fate. A perfect row of trees, carefully planted, can whither under the attacks of microscopic insects or underground fungus.
Shikata ga Nai, the title of this blog, is a Japanese term: 仕方が無い, meaning "somethings just cannot be helped." I think the U.S. expression "That's the way the cookie crumbles" carries a similar connotation. A crude but effective expression is "S... happens." I like the melodic sound of the Japanese phrase, and I like that it is inscrutable to most people.
I am not Japanese, and I suspect that this is one of those sayings where something is lost in translation. But the expression is generally taken to mean that there are adverse situations where nothing can be done, and must be accepted and endured. The phrase is not always viewed positively. As described in Japan Times article The Curse of Shigata ga nai, the expression fosters defeatism, and can be abused as a cop-out for inaction, an excuse for passivity. I use the phrase in a more philosophical and personal light: there are times when I must accept a disagreeable situation, an unhappy happenstance that turns out not as I prefer.
People become curmudgeons as they age. I am no exception, although I believe I am less ornery than most. You live, you learn to cope. I am not one given to rage, and at my age, few things really matter. But there are still things in life that troubles the mind, as they seem so absurd and even obscene. At times like that, I would utter to myself Shikata ga Nai, as I do these days whenever I drive past that long stand of wilting pines.
I started this blog, on this day, as a vehicle to document my musings on such things, and others that come with age. Shikata ga Nai.
image via Internet link
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