This kō appears to repeat food already covered back in #13 and #16, but it's actually watching an entirely different plant. The tender, mild bamboo shoots eaten in early spring come from 孟宗竹 (mōsōchiku), a species introduced from China only in the 17th–18th century and harvested March through April. What sprouts now, in mid-to-late May, is 真竹 (madake) — Japan's own native bamboo, harvested a full month later, with a more assertive, slightly bitter flavor that needs longer cooking to tame.
筍, the character for bamboo shoot, is built from 竹 (bamboo) over 旬 — a word for a ten-day span. The shoot grows fast enough to become recognizable bamboo within roughly that window, and the character was chosen to record the speed rather than the plant itself.
Slightly larger now than the 稚鮎 (young ayu) of a few weeks earlier, moving toward the size more commonly grilled whole over charcoal.
Starting to ripen now, with a short season that rarely lasts past early June — soft, faintly floral, and rarely found outside Japan and a few neighboring regions.
More bitter and fibrous than the spring mōsōchiku shoots, needing a longer simmer — typically sliced rather than served whole, and often used in miso soup or simmered dishes rather than eaten as the centerpiece.
Harvested earlier and more tender than the more familiar myoga flower buds sold later in summer, with a milder version of the same sharp aromatic bite.
White clover's name records how it first arrived in Japan: as 詰め物 (tsumemono), the packing material used to cushion imported Dutch glassware during the Edo period, and only later recognized and grown as a plant in its own right — an accidental introduction that spread far beyond wherever the original glass shipments were unpacked.
Held on the third weekend of May at Asakusa Shrine in Tokyo, this is one of the city's largest and loudest festivals — nearly a hundred mikoshi (portable shrines) carried through the streets by teams of bearers over three days, drawing well over a million visitors most years. It honors the shrine's three founding figures rather than any seasonal theme directly, but its date lands squarely inside this kō's own window most years.
真竹 (madake) uses 真, "true" or "genuine" — a naming choice made after 孟宗竹 (mōsōchiku) had already been imported and widely planted, asserting which bamboo actually belonged to Japan first. It's an unusual kind of botanical territorial claim, embedded permanently in the name of the older resident rather than the more recent, more commonly eaten arrival.
While madake is what's sprouting nationwide in this exact window, Kyoto's Nishikyō and Muko areas remain the country's most prized source for the earlier mōsōchiku shoots of #13 and #16 — grown under mounded soil specifically to keep them pale and tender before they ever reach daylight.
Side by side, the difference in bitterness and texture makes the distinction this kō is built around far more obvious than it is from description alone.
Millions attend over the festival's three days — worth checking the exact dates if visiting the area for any other reason during this window.
Its stronger bitterness needs a proper rice-bran or chili parboil and a longer simmer afterward — treating it like the milder spring shoot will leave it tasting harsher than intended.
Their soft skin marks at the slightest pressure, so they're best bought close to when they'll actually be eaten rather than stored for later in the week.
The same two characters, 竹 and 笋, describe a plant that will become something completely different from what it is right now — in roughly the ten days its own name refers to, a shoot becomes indistinguishable from the mature bamboo around it. There's no ambiguous in-between stage to catch it in; it moves fast enough that most people never actually watch the transformation happen, only its start and its result. What in your own life is changing at a pace too fast to actually witness, where you'll likely only ever see the before and the after?