Why You Can't Eat Japan's Autumn Seven: The Classic Mnemonic Song

Every January, households across Japan simmer seven wild green shoots into a warm bowl of rice porridge called nanakusa-gayu. The meal rests overloaded stomachs and invites good fortune for the new year. When autumn arrives, calendars and tea ceremony scrolls herald another group known as Aki no Nanakusa, the Seven Flowers of Autumn. Many travelers and language learners assume these autumn greens belong in a soup pot, too. Tossing them into a stockpot, however, yields a mouth full of fibrous wood, intensely bitter saponins, or mild stomach distress.

The Seven Flowers of Autumn exist solely to be seen, contemplated, and recited. While their root extracts and dried stems hold recognized therapeutic properties within classical pharmacology, documented across early clinical texts detailed in this Wikipedia (en) Report, the plants themselves are fundamentally ornamental and philosophical. Memorizing all seven has challenged students, gardeners, and tea practitioners for centuries. Fortunately, an eighth-century court poet and a clever seven-syllable wardrobe pun make remembering the entire list effortless.

📌 Key Takeaways:

• Culinary Reality: Unlike the edible Spring Seven (*Haru no Nanakusa*), the Autumn Seven (*Aki no Nanakusa*) are enjoyed visually and poeticially; their tough, tannin-heavy stalks make them unsuitable as leafy vegetables.
• Classical Origin: The canon dates to two poems written in the 700s AD by Yamanoue no Okura in the imperial anthology Man'yoshu.
• The Memory Secret: The Japanese phrase "O-su-ki-na-fu-ku-ha?" ("Which clothes do you like?") provides an instant, foolproof mnemonic for all seven blooms.

Spring Porridge Versus Autumn Poetry

The confusion between Japan's spring and autumn botanical sets stems from a shared linguistic label: nanakusa translates literally to "seven herbs" or "seven grasses." That is where the similarity ends.

The Spring Seven (Seri, Nazuna, Gogyo, Hakobera, Hotokenoza, Suzuna, Suzushiro) represent tender seasonal greens harvested to survive winter vitamin deficiencies. In contrast, Aki no Nanakusa are wild field blooms that mature between August and October. They herald the arrival of cool winds, migratory crickets, and the harvest moon (Tsukimi). Traditional altars for the autumn moon display stalks of wild pampas grass alongside rice dumplings and seasonal taro, setting a visual scene rather than serving a course for dinner.

While early Japanese gatherers pulled edible roots like kudzu for survival starch, Okura's list aimed at the eyes and the spirit. The autumn flora captures the aesthetic philosophy of mono no aware, an acute, bittersweet awareness of impermanence. Delicate wild pinks wither on the riverbank while pampas plumes scatter seeds against gray October skies. You do not digest these plants. You watch them fade.

Yamanoue no Okura and the Man'yoshu Verse

The canon began with an aristocrat counting on his fingers. Yamanoue no Okura (c. 660, 733 AD), an imperial emissary and governor who contributed heavily to the Man'yoshu (Japan's oldest poetry anthology), penned two sequential verses cataloging the plants of the Nara fields.

In Book 8, poem 1537, Okura introduces his mental exercise:

Aki no no ni / sakitaru hana o / yubi orite / kakikazoureba / nanakusa no hana

(When I count on my fingers the flowers blooming in the autumn field, there are seven flowers.)

Immediately following in poem 1538, he establishes the canonical roster within the 5-7-7-5-7-7 syllable structure of a sedoka verse:

Hagi no hana / Obana Kuzu-bana / Nadeshiko no hana / Ominaeshi / Mata Fujibakama / Asagao no hana

Scholars generally agree that the plant Okura termed Asagao was not today's modern morning glory, which arrived in Japan later from China. It was Kikyo, the native bellflower whose deep violet blossoms speckle limestone hillsides. With that brief verse, Okura fixed an ecological roster that Japanese artists, kimono weavers, and writers have replicated for over twelve centuries.

The Seven Autumn Blooms: Botanical Roles and Toxicity

Each flower in Okura's septet carried distinct symbolic weight in early Japanese literature. Several also held medicinal value in traditional remedies when processed through pharmacological drying and boiling methods, though none served as simple table greens.

Plant (Japanese / Botanical)	Common English Name	Primary Cultural & Practical Trait
Hagi (Lespedeza thunbergii)	Bush clover	Woody shrub featuring weeping purple blossoms; associated with autumn melancholy. Non-toxic, but far too fibrous for food.
Susuki / Obana (Miscanthus sinensis)	Japanese pampas grass	Silver plumes placed in vases during moon-viewing; wards off evil spirits. Foliage edges are sharp enough to cut human skin.
Kuzu (Pueraria montana)	Kudzu / Japanese arrowroot	Vigorous climbing vine. Starch extracted from deep taproots produces translucent confections, but the vine foliage is unpalatable.
Nadeshiko (Dianthus superbus)	Fringed wild pink	Fringed pink petals symbolizing traditional modesty (*Yamato Nadeshiko*). Contains triterpenoid saponins; dried stems were used as diuretics.
Ominaeshi (Patrinia scabiosifolia)	Yellow patrinia	Bright yellow umbels. Translates colloquially as "maiden flower." The root emits a potent, sour odor when dried for herbal remedies.
Fujibakama (Eupatorium fortunei)	Thoroughwort	Clusters of lilac florets resembling pleated hakama skirts. Dried foliage yields a sweet, coumarin scent used in early sachets.
Kikyo (Platycodon grandiflorus)	Balloon flower	Five-pointed star blooms used as samurai crests (*mon*). Roots contain platycodin saponins used in cough syrups, toxic if eaten raw.

The "Osukina Fukuwa" Mnemonic Acronym

Memorizing seven classical plant names in a foreign language, or even in modern Japanese, can feel daunting. Japanese schoolchildren, ikebana students, and tea ceremony hosts rely on a widespread phonetic trick: O-su-ki-na-fu-ku-ha.

The phrase translates naturally as "お好きな服は？" (Osukina fuku wa?), meaning "Which clothes do you like?" Each syllable functions as the initial sound for one of the seven flowers:

• O (お): Ominaeshi (女郎花)
• Su (す): Susuki (薄)
• Ki (き): Kikyo (桔梗)
• Na (な): Nadeshiko (撫子)
• Fu (ふ): Fujibakama (藤袴)
• Ku (く): Kuzu (葛)
• Ha (は): Hagi (萩)

A student picturing a rack of traditional kimono and asking Osukina fuku wa? can run down the list in three seconds. The acronym preserves the complete botanical collection without stumbling over archaic terminology.

Singing Okura's Mnemonic Rhythm

For those who learn better through auditory rhythm than word puzzles, the seven flowers can be sung using Yamanoue no Okura’s original poem meter. The Japanese poetic rhythm follows five- and seven-syllable units:

Ha-gi no ha-na (5)

O-ba-na Ku-zu-ba-na (7)

Na-de-shi-ko no ha-na (7)

O-mi-na-e-shi (5)

Ma-ta Fu-ji-ba-ka-ma (7)

A-sa-ga-o no ha-na (7)

Teachers in elementary music and literature classes frequently map these lines to the traditional melodic cadence of Hotaru no Hikari (the Japanese adaptation of Auld Lang Syne) or a basic pentatonic nursery chant.

Notice Okura's repeating refrain of no hana ("flower of"). It provides rhythmic padding, turning an administrative botanical ledger into an infectious, singable chant. Substitute Kikyo no hana in place of Asagao no hana at the end if you prefer contemporary terminology; the syllable count remains nearly identical.

Vanishing Habitats in Modern Japan

The Seven Flowers of Autumn once grew wild across roadside banks, suburban clearings, and agricultural terraces throughout Honshu, Shikoku, and Kyushu. That natural abundance has shifted over the past three decades.

Unmanaged forest succession, widespread concrete riverbank revetments, and suburban development have shrunk Japan's native semi-natural grasslands (satoyama). The Ministry of the Environment's Red List now classifies Fujibakama (Eupatorium fortunei) as Near Threatened in wild habitats; most specimens seen today in public parks are cultivated hybrids. Native wild Kikyo has suffered similar drops in population across regional prefectures.

Preservation societies in Kyoto and Nara hold annual seed-gathering and replanting drives, reintroducing wild thoroughwort and balloon flower colonies into temple gardens and river corridors. Remembering their names through songs and acronyms is no longer just a parlor trick for tea hosts. It keeps these native species recognized and protected in areas where wild meadows are giving way to commercial developments.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ)

Q1: Can any part of the Autumn Seven be safely eaten?
A1: Yes, but only after extensive mechanical or culinary processing. The starch from kudzu roots is washed, settled, and dried to create *kuzuko*, which produces traditional confections (*kuzumochi*) and medicinal tea (*kuzuyu*). Similarly, balloon flower (*Kikyo*) roots are peeled, soaked, and seasoned in Korean cuisine as *doraji*. None of the raw leaves or flowers, however, are consumed directly as table greens.

Q2: Why did Yamanoue no Okura write "Asagao" if he meant Kikyo?
A2: During the eighth century, the word *asagao* referred broadly to bell-shaped morning and daytime blooms, predominantly the purple native balloon flower (*Platycodon grandiflorus*). The plant we identify as modern morning glory (*Ipomoea nil*) arrived in Japan from mainland Asia during the subsequent Heian era as a medicinal import, gradually absorbing the name *asagao* for itself.

Q3: When is the best time to see all seven blooming together?
A3: Late September through early October offers the best viewing window. While bush clover (*Hagi*) starts blooming in late August and pampas grass (*Susuki*) lasts deep into November, all seven species overlap naturally during the traditional harvest moon season (*Chushu no Meigetsu*).

Preserving Japan's Autumn Flora in Modern Daily Life

Okura's eighth-century verse transformed ordinary meadow plants into an enduring cultural touchstone. The Seven Flowers of Autumn remind us that nature does not need to offer practical sustenance to hold deep value. While the spring greens nourish the body through midwinter cold, the autumn blooms serve the senses.

Whether you test your memory with the Osukina fuku wa pun or hum the classical 5-7-7 cadence during an evening stroll, the result is the same. Recognizing bush clover in a quiet corner or identifying the silver tips of pampas grass brings an ancient, contemplative rhythm back into modern life. Leave the cooking pot in the cupboard, step outside, and simply watch the autumn fields move in the wind.