A Rambling Diary on the First Day of Spring | Shoichi Maeda, Dean of the Major in Public Health, Sport and Health Sciences, Graduate School of Health Management
2022.02.08
The Dean's Diary! I've never written anything like a diary in my life, and now I'm at a loss as to what to write, my pen refusing to move. When it comes to manuscripts in my field of expertise, I somehow manage to finish them by the deadline (?), albeit reluctantly... So, what should I do about this diary?
At a complete loss, I looked at the calendar and saw that today is *Risshun*, the first day of spring. But spring is here in name only; the cold is harsh, and this morning I found frost columns at home. For me, who grew up in the countryside, it was a very nostalgic sight. During my childhood at this time of year, the entire area would be white with frost almost every day, and long rows of frost columns lined both sides of the rice paddy paths on my way to school. I remembered how I used to walk to school, continuously stomping on the frost columns, unconcerned about my cold toes, enjoying the unique sound they made as they crumbled. Today, having encountered the frost columns, I took a little time before work to observe the plants I've been growing, which I hadn't been able to tend to lately and had been on my mind. The rapeseed plants had buds, and the tiny water droplets on them sparkled in the sunlight. The tulips next to them were sprouting from the soil. I found the beginning of spring even amidst the cold.
Actually, I've loved gardening and flower arranging since I was a child, and I also love to cook. When it comes to cooking, I can bake cakes and even fillet a fish into three pieces! Until I was in college, I half-seriously thought about running a coffee shop with a fireplace and an attached flower shop when I grew up.
By the way, in my childhood, I was a mischievous boy who spent most of his time playing outdoors, inviting neighborhood friends to run around in the fields and mountains every day. In the mountains, we would make cedar ball guns and play war, and in the fields, we would make bamboo helicopters and compete to see whose could fly the farthest. (Speaking of bamboo helicopters, nowadays they are sold in kits with finished wings and shafts, but I realized as a child that making them yourself requires trial and error. I discovered that the flight distance varies depending on the length, width, and thickness of the wings, the length and thickness of the shaft, and the combination of these factors. Later, I even began to wonder if the degree of dryness of the bamboo material also affected the flight distance. I would make and fly various combinations of bamboo helicopters, marking where they landed by sticking the shaft into the ground to compare the distances. Looking back, I often created what you might call an "experiment notebook" on the ground.)
While I was active outdoors, I also constantly enjoyed growing flowers and plants at home. I even had my father build me a greenhouse. Looking back, I neglected my supposed main duty of studying; I have no memory of studying diligently at a desk until I became a university student.
So, if I may say so myself, I know a little more about flowers and plants than the average amateur. It might be criticized as environmentally destructive now, but as a student, I took on quite a few challenges, like keeping the air conditioning on in my single-person apartment to grow rare-colored and shaped violas and pansies from seed starting in the summer. (Incidentally, my research areas are medical law, bioethics, research ethics, and risk management, not biology or agriculture.) Anyway, last year, I saved the ears of rice from the New Year's decorations at my home in Tokyo and sowed about 200 grains of unhulled rice around May when it got warmer. Three grains sprouted (I speculate that the low germination rate was either because they were harvested before full maturity or because some time had passed since the harvest), and by autumn, I had more than ten ears of rice. I haven't counted, but it's probably close to 1,000 grains of unhulled rice.
Soon, the undergraduate students will graduate, and the graduate students will complete their programs. This is also the time when tulips sprout and begin to bloom. During the winter, tulip bulbs do not sprout, but they extend their roots deep into the cold soil and form flower buds. These flower buds cannot form without exposure to the cold. Every year, I see the students I send off as being like tulips, one of my favorite flowers of this season. I look forward to the future of these students who have put down their roots.
And this year, I also draw a parallel with the three grains of rice that produced 1,000 grains. I hope that our graduates will give rise to many people who will connect to the next generation.
I finished the thesis examinations at the beginning of this week, and yesterday I nearly completed all the related paperwork. This is a very happy time for me as an educator. I hope that the students will become front-runners and opinion leaders in their respective fields.
As a rambling diary at the beginning of spring
*SFC Vanguards (Archive): https://www.sfc.keio.ac.jp/vanguard/002959.html