Male kiji (Japan's national pheasant, formally designated 国鳥 in 1947) begin their loud, harsh mating call now, well ahead of most other birds' spring courtship — a call meant to travel across open grassland and farmland, the open terrain kiji favor. 雊 (kō), the character used only in this kō's title, means specifically a pheasant's cry and appears almost nowhere else in the language; the calendar apparently needed the word once, in its entire history, and this is where it went.
Male kiji have a well-earned reputation for physical bravery, standing their ground against predators far larger than themselves rather than fleeing — which is very likely why, alongside the national-bird designation, kiji became one of Momotarō's three animal retainers in the folk tale, chosen specifically for courage the way the dog was chosen for loyalty and the monkey for cleverness.
Past its sharpest peak but still good through the rest of winter.
In excellent season, its milt (白子, shirako) a genuine winter treat.
In good season now, eaten whole, skin and all — its sweetness sits mostly in the peel rather than the tart flesh.
Deep in season, versatile from oden to a simple grated garnish.
Still sweet and abundant, central to nabe cooking through the rest of winter.
Both continue from the previous kō, still nearly alone in a landscape otherwise waiting on spring — small, deliberate proof that nothing in a Japanese winter garden is ever entirely finished blooming.
Centered on January 15th, back when the old lunar calendar counted months from full moon to full moon rather than new moon to new moon — making the 15th, not the 1st, the day closest to what New Year's actually once meant. Where 大正月 (ōshōgatsu), January 1st, centers on welcoming the toshigami with formal ritual, koshōgatsu is quieter and more domestic: azuki bean porridge for health, mochibana (small mochi shaped like blossoms, hung from branches to imitate spring) for a good harvest, and — most visibly — 左義長 (sagichō), better known as どんど焼き (dondo-yaki), the bonfire burning of the year's New Year decorations and old shrine charms, tracing back to a Heian court ritual of burning ceremonial gicchō sticks.
"Even a pheasant wouldn't get shot if it didn't call" — A proverb warning that speaking up can expose you to exactly the danger silence would have avoided — drawn directly from the real hunting hazard a calling male kiji creates for itself, its mating call giving away the same position its instincts are also compelling it to broadcast.
雊 appears in classical Japanese almost exclusively in this one kō's title — a character whose entire remaining function in the language is naming a pheasant's cry, nowhere else. It's paired here with 始 (hajimete, "for the first time"), marking not just the sound but its onset specifically, the moment a whole season's worth of calling begins.
One common explanation for kiji, saru (monkey), and inu (dog) as Momotarō's (桃太郎) three retainers ties them to onmyōdō direction theory: the demons' unlucky gate (鬼門) sits northeast, so the tale recruits its heroes moving clockwise from the opposite direction, through the zodiac animals occupying southwest, west, and northwest — saru, tori (bird, standing in for kiji), inu.
Shrines and neighborhood associations widely hold these burnings specifically for kadomatsu, shimenawa, and old omamori — a proper, intended way to retire them rather than simply discarding them.
The call is loud, harsh, and unmistakable once you've heard it once — a startling sound to hear for the first time without knowing what it is.
"A pheasant foraging in the spring field, calling for his mate — and giving his own position away to any hunter listening."
Once burned, kadomatsu and shimenawa can't very well be reused next year anyway — practical timing lines up neatly with the ritual one here.
Koshōgatsu's own simple dish, red azuki beans simmered into a plain rice porridge, believed since antiquity to ward off illness for the coming year.
Yakamochi's pheasant isn't careless — the same call that risks his life is the only way he has of finding what he's actually looking for. There's no safer version of that call available to him; caution and its cost are the same act. What have you gone quiet about specifically to stay safe, that you might actually need to risk calling out for, the way this bird has no choice but to?