On our island, the passage of time is measured in lives. With the passing away of my neighbor Ueda-san, I feel like a part of Japan has gone with her.
Ueda-san was often sitting outside in the early mornings, peeling shrimp out of a large bucket that the fisherman had just brought in. I'd rush past her in my high heels to catch the ferry, yelling over my shoulder, "Please take care of my cat while I'm gone!" It seemed like she was always taking care of my cat and that I was always gone. But this time, I'm not the one who is gone.
Ueda-san's generation represented old Japan, a time when everyone was busy staying home. At 78, she still tilled her garden by hand and used her own compost as fertilizer. She worked in her garden every morning, and in the afternoons brought wheelbarrows full of vegetables back home -- even though no one else was still living at home to eat them.