Susan Yamamura

Em Seattle, a temporada de caça aos cogumelos da minha família começava com debates em torno da grande mesa do café da manhã que ficava num amplo recanto rodeado de janelas lá em casa, onde a família fazia todas as refeições do dia-a-dia. À volta da mesa de jantar, eram analisados meticulosamente os rumores sobre amigos e conhecidos vistos em vários locais onde se encontram os cogumelos matsutake – nas Montanhas Cascade, na Península Olímpica e na área da cidade de Shelton [todas localizadas no estado de Washington, no noroeste dos E.U.A ...

The grandfather of my heart will always be my father’s father, Grandfather Araki (born a Kaneda but taking the Araki name as a yoshi), whom I called Jichan. He gave me the precious gift of unconditional love. I thought Jichan was his given name. In reality, it was a child’s version of ojisan, which means “old man” or “grandfather” in Japanese. Jichan’s true given name was Nisaku.

Grandfather asked me once why I called him Jichan. I told him all my friends’ names ended in chan and since he was my friend, I had added chan to ...

An elegant few, pale pink blossoms on the slender limbs of a delicate February Fuji Cherry tree, displayed themselves in the midst of a light winter snow. To Naomi, looking down on the scene from her second floor bedroom window, the blossoms looked magical—large, pink snowflakes amid the falling, smaller, white ones. The tree looked very much like the beautiful, delicate hazel tree in Elenore Abbot’s illustration for “Cinderella” in Grimm’s Fairy Tales. In this version of “Cinderella,” rather than a fairy godmother, the magical tree, upon a certain incantation, showers Cinderella with a gorgeous ball gown ...

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In writing this remembrance of Minoru Tamesa, one more memory of Min’s father, Uhachi Tamesa, comes to mind. My Jichan (grandfather) Nisaku Araki was a friend of Uhachi’s. On one of Uhachi’s visits to our house, I remember hearing raised voices from the kitchen, almost as if Uhachi and Jichan were having an argument. Such raised voices were unexpected and different from the usual low murmurings of polite conversation, so I peeked into the kitchen alcove, where they were seated around the table. Their voices were raised but both had smiles on their rather ...

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Last year, I googled “Minoru Tamesa.” I can’t remember why. I was startled to find a picture of him as a young man, looking a bit like a “tough guy,” nothing like the quiet, prematurely aged, sensitive, almost fragile-looking man who came to dinner. Believing there might be few still alive who knew the middle-aged Min, I decided to share my memories of the man on Discover Nikkei’s Facebook page, hoping that others with more memories of him would come forward. Eventually, Ken Izutsu responded to my post with the following comment, edited slightly for ...