From a Town on the Hudson Read Online Free PDF Page A

deciduous. We could make plenty of compost and also enjoy seeing the beautiful fall colors. Yet the houses in Japan, especially in residential areas near Tokyo, stand very close together. What made it worse was that we had high winds in the autumn. The winds blew the leaves everywhere. I had to clean up the garden and street every morning and felt bad when I would see our leaves scattering onto my neighbors' yards. The next-door lady and I used to call out to each other across the fence, "Good morning. Sorry about the leaves." "No, I'm the one who has to apologize. Some of my leaves have blown into your yard."
    In Fort Lee, our family lived in a simple duplex that had only one small deciduous tree in the front yard. Almost all of the leaves from our neighbor's yard collected at the front of our garage. Even though I cleaned them up as soon as possible, more leaves came and nobody came to apologize as they would have in Japan. One morning, I was raking leaves as usual and saw a man who lived across the street blowing "his" leaves toward "my" side of the street with his blower. I started to form a sentence in English in my head to stop his bad behavior. When I put the English together, however, a red truck came and sucked up the blown leaves along with my English thoughts. The man across the street closed the door after making sure that there were no leaves around his house. I saw that the mountain of leaves I had raked were left before me. Then, the leaves blew away again. I thought to myself, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do," and at that time quit one of the daily routines I had always done in Japan.
    This was the United States, where abundant nature grew on the huge land. Trees grew until they were mature, they spread their arms and legs just like a man stretching himself very comfortably on the spacious land. This was a poetic view of nature and showed a happiness with the earth. Why, I thought, did I have to complain about the fallen leaves? I would rather take delight in trees. I would talk to them in my mind.
    Trees,
    Â Â   shake your branches,
    Â Â   throw your leaves off as much as you wish.
    I will see your high-spirited shape 
    Â Â   in the winter's high sky.
    I will hear your tender rustling 
    Â Â   in the spring breeze.
    I will rest in your shade
    Â Â   under the burning summer sun.
    Trees,
    Â Â   shake your branches,
    Â Â   throw your leaves off as much as you wish.
    Â I will love you as you are.
    Was I too generous? Many more leaves have gathered again.

AFTER HE had been promoted to the third grade of School #3 in September of 1985, my younger son took a reading class from his former homeroom teacher Mrs. Benedict because he couldn't follow the new reading class. Though he still couldn't speak English, he was always encouraged in her class. He came to like the teacher much more because sometimes she gave him candy. One day, I heard that she kissed her pupils who gave her presents on the last day of the school year. For a nine-year-old Japanese boy who, ever since he had started to be aware of things around him, hadn't been used to being kissed, this was a serious matter. The rumor was apparently true.
    One bright day in May 1986, in the dentist's reception room in Fort Lee, my son and I were waiting our turn. I was reading a book. "That's it!" my son suddenly exclaimed and asked me if I had a piece of paper and a pen. "What happened?" I asked. "Nothing in particular. Hurry, please." He seemed hesitant to explain what he was about to do. I gave him a piece of paper and a pen and he started copying a sign on the wall. The sign said, "Thank you for not smoking." He wrote down "Thank you for not kissing" and looked relieved. "I'll show this to Mrs. Benedict when she starts to kiss me." He put the note into his pants pocket. He must have been worrying about how to refuse a kiss in English. I think he kept it for a while, but I didn't know whether the words