(あつい – Translation: Hot. A word that, when combined with the correct descriptors, can begin to capture the blistering heat that is 1,230°c)
Everyone seems to dislike mud on a very personal level. But for me, I don’t see what all the hate is about. Is it dirty? Yes. But so is almost anything else you touch, the only difference is that mud is liquid and can get into more places. Hence why cars get stuck in it. And maybe this is just a “me” thing, but pushing a stuck car out of the mud, in the dark, in the rain, on a mountain, is actually pretty fun once you get into it.
So no, this is not my over-dramatic Anakin Skywalker monologue about how much I hate mud. I actually like it quite a lot – otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten a summer job that involved working in it all the time. But here’s the thing; The Anagama kiln is surrounded by mud. I don’t mean this as hyperbole, I’m completely serious. Save for a few patches of grass, it’s all wet soil up there. And for as much as I appreciate mud, even I have my limits.
It’s not so bad at first, when all you’re handling is fire wood and the occasional lawn chair or bag of snacks. But as the night drags on, the cicadas insist on being as loud as insect-aly possible, and the lack of anything to do truly sets in, that’s when it becomes… a little less pleasant.
Each shift to monitor the kiln last six hours, from 12 to 6, or the other way around. We must keep tabs on it at all times during the firing, lest something go wrong. The kiln is constantly changing, and any deviation in temperature that isn’t within our predicted range can mess up everything in there. During the first few days, it’s slow. Very slow. Almost painfully so. And during the night shifts, it’s even worse. The comfort that company provides is small when you tame into consideration that everyone there is tired, bored, hungry, and staring at the clock willing it to go faster. Siting still the entire time is also not an option if you want to stay healthy, so one has to get up and walk around the area at least a few times to regain proper circulation and keep themself alert and awake.
This is where the mud comes in.
The mountain is dark. the lightbulb and campfire in front of the kiln is the only real source of light around, and since there is no ambient light due to tree cover, it is pitch black.
So slipping in a patch of mud and falling on your behind is bound to happen eventually.
That aside, once mud dries it’s very easy to remove from clothing. You just shake it out and it comes off easy (my boots still need some work, but we’re getting there).
But the best part of working a might shift at the kiln, in the mud, with the bugs and the trees, is seeing the sunrise. The sun rises early here. Very early, but that’s a good thing for us, because then we have something to watch instead of the kiln. And what a sight it is. Rising over the trees, painting the forest in shades of deep blue, then pink, and finally cresting over the horizon and burning away the lingering mist and dew that clings to the fauna around you, bringing with it the promise of another scorcher that afternoon…
There’s nothing quite like it.
(Well, I take that back. The nap you get to take when you finally get home that morning is pretty spectacular).