“Bonsai”

When I went off to college, my parents lost their gardener.

My dad never touched a mower, a rake or a hoe, so they decided to hire someone.  My mom looked in the want-ads and found a prospective replacement nearby, but Dad was skeptical.  Japanese names were as ubiquitous and as much in demand among gardeners in 1961 as Latino names are today; and he figured that if they had to advertise, they must not be any good.  Whatever Ted and Audrey’s decision-making process was, she ended up making the call, and that is when Sam came into our lives.

Masami Kaneyoshi needed to advertise, because he had only recently moved to the area.  My mom and dad became his first clients, and he billed them $25.00 a month, an amount that didn’t change as Sam came every week for the next fifteen years.   

If you showed up on a Wednesday morning, you would find Sam and Audrey inspecting the petunias, chatting over the shrubs, or just sitting cross-legged on the front grass, sipping coffee.  They found lots to talk about.  Audrey was an interior decorator/designer whose own house was artistic, warm, and welcoming; and she deeply appreciated Sam’s equally creative work on the exterior.

Sam’s work was lovely.  The edges of the flower beds and the lawns were razor sharp; and the lawns were manicured, because Sam used a “front-throw” mower like the ones used by greenskeepers at the country club.  He introduced new ideas and new colors and new life into the potted plants.  The hedges and shrubs were shapeless under my care, but Sam shaped them into works of art, and there was never a weed in sight.  It just looked like Sam treated my mom’s yard as if it were his own.      

It did not take long for Sam to learn all about our family, because my mom was a chatterbox and quickly made friends out of strangers.  She also showed a keen interest in others; and although Sam was more taciturn, after a while he began to share about his life and family.

After Sam’s father died, he brought his mom from the Central Valley to Los Angeles County for better work opportunities for him, and that they might find a wider Issei community for her.  For the rest of her life, his mother was in the care of her son.  They had a small home, and not surprisingly, it was a doll house, thanks to Sam’s remarkable touch with all things growing.  When his mom died, my mom went to the memorial, a Buddhist observance.  Most of the aging attendees spoke not a word of English; the ceremony was conducted entirely in Japanese, but that did not dismay my mom.  The trappings of the service were different for this church girl, and the incense was intoxicating; but the solemnity and the grief were universal, and Sam was deeply honored that his yard buddy had come.

When Sam began to slow down, less able to handle the mowers and blowers as when he was younger; he confided in Audrey that he had not charged his other clients just $25.00 a month over the years.  Oh no!  He had spent little and saved a lot, quietly accruing a sizeable estate, with a paid-for house and an impressive investment portfolio of blue chips, bearer bonds, and bank accounts.  Sam created a trust account to provide scholarships for children and grandchildren among the families in the “San Gabriel Valley Japanese-American Gardeners Association.”

Funny, the things that can bring a rush of memory!  The smell of new-mown grass reminds me of Sam and how he came into our lives.  This quiet, humble, dignified, intelligent, hard-working caregiver had come to groom our lawns.  He came to shape the flower beds and rotate the colors from season to season.  He came to fuss over Mom’s potted azaleas.  He came to “bonsai” the pittosporum tobira.  He came to use his artistry to turn our yard into a showplace.  He came to be my mother’s friend.      

Note:

Issei are first generation immigrants, born in Japan; Nissei are second generation immigrants, born in the U.S. and Canada; Sansei are the third generation; Yonsei, the fourth