If you¡¯re anything like me, at this time of year you check out the weather report twice a day for that all-important bit of info: the »¨·ÛÇéˆó (kafun j¨­h¨­, pollen report).

When the sun is out, that little icon on the screen signaling »¨·Û×´›r (kafun j¨­ky¨­, pollen conditions) turns a warning shade of red, which means it¡¯s time to don a ¥Þ¥¹¥¯ (masuku, mask) and, in extreme cases, cover your eyes with glasses. And weekend plans include trips to the nearest Ëa¾Ö (yakkyoku, pharmacy) to stock up on items such as Ä¿Ëa (megusuri, eye drops), »¨·ÛŒŸÓÃ¥Þ¥¹¥¯(kafun seny¨­ masuku, pollen-specific face masks), »¨·ÛÖ¢ÓäÎËa (kafunsh¨­-y¨­ no kusuri, hay fever medication) and anything else you can cram into your shopping basket.

Hay fever and ¥¢¥ì¥ë¥®©` (²¹°ù±ð°ù³Ü²µ¨©, allergies) have been on the rise in Japan since the 1970s and specialists have put the blame on three main culprits: ɼ»¨·Û (sugi kafun, cedar pollen), ´óšÝ›AȾ(taiki osen, air pollution) and ʳÉú»î¤Î‰ä»¯ (shokuseikatsu no henka, change in diet). Of these, cedar pollen has an especially bad rep. Japan¡¯s mountain regions are overrun with government-sponsored cedar forests that were created in the 1950s. Many of those forests are now neglected, leaving the cedar pollen to ïwÉ¢¤¹¤ë (hisan suru, fly and scatter) through the air ¡ª on a crash course with our sinuses.