For our lesson (Kyoko)

This article appears in the April 2013 issue of The Washingtonian website (<--please click).

Alone in the Garden, a Daughter Discovers Peace

Some people, like some flowers, are happiest in solitude. It took me a long time to realize I was one of them. By Kyoko Mori

The author grew up in Japan, where her mother grew flowers in a small garden. Photographs courtesy of Kyoko Mori.

(alternative sentences) The author was born and raised in Japan. When she was young, her mother kept a small garden where flowers grew.

Comments ( 0) | Published April 8, 2013

 

(Paragraph 1)

I never met the previous owner of my apartment in Cleveland Park, but she left two plastic planters of crusty dirt and dead marigolds on the windowsills and taped a note to the kitchen counter. “The windows get a lot of sun in the morning,” she wrote. “Marigolds do well.”

My understanding for paragraph 1)
Kyoko didn't have a chance to meet the former owner of her new apartment.  But she found a planter with completely dried soil and dead marigold on the windowsill.  The former owner left a note that marigolds can grow well at the windows because they get a lot of sunshine.  He or she must have liked marigolds.

 * * * * * 

Paragraph 2)
It was May 2005, and I had just moved to DC from Boston. Marigolds are summer annuals—the ones in the planters must have been dead for six months at least. They had turned to straw. I threw them into a dumpster in the driveway, washed out the planters, and drove to the nearest nursery.

My understanding for paragraph 2)
Kyoko left Boston for DC in May 2005.  Marigolds are in full bloom in summer, and they are one of the annuals which produce seeds before they die in winter.  The marigolds were already dead for at least six months when Kyoko moved in May.  They were really dried up.  Kyoko threw them away in the dumpster, but she washed and kept the planters.　She cleaned them, and drove to the nearest nursery.

* * * * *

Paragraph 3)
I hadn’t visited a nursery since the early 1990s, when I was married and lived in a house with a yard in Green Bay, Wisconsin. But like churches and football stadiums, nurseries are universal and unchanging. The smell of plants and wet soil, filtered light through the domed roof, shelves of flowering plants in plastic containers—all brought back memories of the flowers, vegetables, and herbs I’d grown in our yard.

My understanding for paragraph 3)
The last time Kyoko visited a nursery was in early 1990s.  At that time she was married and lived in a house with a garden.  The place was located in Green Bay, Wisconsin.  She visited the nursery and found that nurseries haven't changed much since then.  There are the smell of plants and wet soil, filtered light through the domed roof, shelves of flowering plants in plastic containers.  They reminded Kyoko of her old days when she used to grow various plants in Wisconsin.

For the phrase, " the filtered light through the domed roof ,"  I understood it finally.  I have been to various nurseries in my area, Hyogo Prefecture before, but they don't have the kind of "the filtered light through the domed roof," that was why I couldn't figure out what Kyoko meant there.  They have sun roof, and its shape is like a planetarium.  The filtering roof gives enough sunlight to the indoor plants.  I have been to a greenhouse botanical garden before, and they had the roof like Kyoko mentioned above.           

* * * * *

Paragraph 4)
There was an entire shelf of marigolds, but their prim yellow bonnets had always struck me as precious. I bought petunias instead—one bright-pink six-pack and another much paler, almost salmon.

Leaving the parking lot with the flowers and potting soil in my car, I almost expected to be on Webster Avenue in Green Bay, where the nursery and the grocery store used to be side by side around the corner from my house. In Wisconsin, though, my trunk would have been packed with plants and I wouldn’t have bought soil in an eight-quart bag.

My understanding for paragraph 4)
The nursery had an entire shelf of marigolds, which means there were plenty of them.  When Kyoko looked at their prim yellow bonnet, she thought it must be expensive, so she bought petunias instead.  She bought total 12 pots of petunias, bright pink and pale pink 6 each. 

She put the flowers and potting soil in her car in the parking lot.  Buying the garden flowers and stuff made her feel nostalgic.  She almost felt that there is the nursery and the grocery store used to be very close to her house on Webster Avenue in Green Bay, Wisconsin.  She didn't have to drive to get the stuff then.  She didn't buy soil in an eight-quart bag, she must have had a bigger garden, and her trunk were packed with more flowers if she were in Wisconsin.  

 * * * * *

Paragraph 5)
I had started my garden in Green Bay by hiring a guy with a rototiller to dig up the back yard. I ordered a truckload of topsoil from a landscaping company, had it dumped in the driveway, and moved it one wheelbarrow load at a time to the vegetable plot, the flower garden, and the herb patch. The substance I moved so laboriously was called ground, as in “I’m calling to order some ground.”

My understanding for paragraph 5)   
When Kyoko lived in Green Bay in Wisconsin, she started gardening by hiring a guy.  Maybe her back yard didn't have appropriate soil, so she had the guy to dig it up.  She also ordered tremendous amount of topsoil to a company.  The guy worked hard, he carried the original soil to another place for many times to remove it.  Kyoko wanted to grow vegetable, flowers, and herbs in the backyard.  It seemed to her, she was making an island.  She needed an awesome amount of soil. 

 

* * * * *

Paragraph 6)
The window boxes represented a totally different kind of gardening, and the bag of potting soil made me nervous. I was abysmal with houseplants. I had drowned and parched them in turn, placed them too close to the window or too far away. Not one had lasted a year. But petunias in window boxes turned out to be as hardy as the zucchini I used to grow. They loved the bright light in the east-facing windows of my third-floor apartment, and my old strategy for the garden—when in doubt, water—worked for them even though it had caused the demise of many a houseplant.


My understanding for paragraph 6)
When it comes to the boxes in the windowsills, Kyoko thought that they differ from gardening.  The small amount of soil bag made her nervous.  Kyoko was not good at houseplants.  She often makes mistakes, either too frequently watering them too much or letting them dry.  She didn't know where to place them, too much sunshine or too little sunshine.  She have never experienced a success, none of them lived more than one year.  Her petunias in window boxes were strong enough like the zucchini she had before.  They like bright morning sunshine coming from the east side of windows of Kyoko's 3rd floor apartment.  A good old strategy for the garden is always water them.  Frequent watering might not be good for indoor plants but generally they are good for  all plants.

* * * *

Paragraph 7)
All over my new neighborhood, I saw huge, colorful clusters of petunias, annuals I associated with the garden my mother tended during my childhood in Japan. Every morning, I ran to National Cathedral, circled its terraced gardens, jogged down the hill into the hazy green canopy of Rock Creek Park, and followed one of the winding paths through the National Zoo to the row of cherry trees across the street from its gate. Along the way, I recognized other trees and flowers from Japan: the blue hydrangeas my mother had loved, the small maples whose leaves turned red in early summer, the Japanese laurel with leaves spotted yellow.

My understanding for Paragraph 7)
She noticed her new neighbors in DC loved petunias and had a gigantic garden for this colorful flower.  The petunia brought her back to her childhood day's with her mother.  Petunia is one of the annuals, which her mother took care of.  Every morning, Kyoko ran to many places, such as National Cathedral, etc and she noticed the same of the trees like those in Japan.  The blue hydrangeas were her mother's favorite, the small maples whose leaves turned red in early summer, the Japanese laurel with leaves spotted yellow.

* * * * *

Paragraph 8)
After 22 years in the Midwest and six in the Northeast, I realized I was living once again in the climate zone of my childhood.

My understanding for Paragraph 8)
She lived in the Midwest for 22 years and in the Northeast for 6 years, Kyoko realized that the climate is the same as the place she grew up.

• • •

 

Paragraph 9)

My mother planted a flower garden every spring in front of our apartment in Ashiya, a suburb of Kobe where our family lived in the 1960s. Her sweet peas climbed a lattice of bamboo sticks and cotton twine to the bottom of our balcony and wound their way up the railing. By June, they were so thick that we could hardly see through the brass bars of the railing. When the vines reached the handrail, they doubled back down and began to produce seed pods that resembled miniature snow peas.

My understanding for Paragraph 9)
Kyoko's mother made it a habit to grow flowers in spring in their apartment in Ashiya.  It is located as a suburb of Kobe where their family lived in the 60s.  Her sweet pea grew taller, and trained a lattice of bamboo sticks with cotton strings.

 

* * *

Paragraph 10)
In the fall, my mother collected the seeds in small white envelopes she kept inside a tin canister for the next year. She let the other annuals die out and replaced them every spring. I think she was partial to the sweet peas because they climbed the lattice she’d made for them and bloomed on the balcony where we sat on breezy afternoons. Like the sparrows who ate the bread crumbs we scattered under the balcony chairs, they were unafraid and gregarious—eager, even, to be near us.


My understanding for Paragraph 10)
Kyoko's mother was very good at planting a flower garden.  Their apartment was located in Ashiya in the 1960s.  Every spring Kyoko's mother planted sweet peas and it grew so rapidly.  By June, the handrail was covered with the vines.  Kyoko's mother specially liked the sweet pea because she didn't bother making a lattice for them.  They had a good time on the balcony.  The wind was comfortable in the afternoon.  They gave the bread crumbs to sparrows.  They were not afraid of being near to them, and showed great appetite.

* * *

Paragraph 11)
My mother planted only annuals because the apartment was meant to be a temporary home. Our building had 32 rental units occupied by young families like ours who were saving to buy a house. My mother had some of the women over to tea every week, and in late summer she would send them home with zinnias, snapdragons, and sunflowers from her garden. Everyone marveled at the flowers she got out of a patch no larger than eight by ten yards.

My understanding for Paragraph 11)
Kyoko's mother planted annuals only because the apartment home housed temporarily.  The apartment home was for 32 young families like theirs.  All of them wanted to save money for their own housing.  Her mother invited some of the women for tea every week, and she gave them flowers and vegetables from her garden.  They surprised how efficiently she had made them out of a small- sized garden.

* * *

Paragraph 12)
When we moved into a house of our own in 1967, my mother had ten times as much space for gardening. She could finally cultivate perennials and bulbs that would come back every spring with more flowers. All around the house she planted roses, hydrangeas, forsythias, daffodils, hyacinths, tulips. My grandmother, who lived in the country, divided the peonies and irises from her garden and brought them on the train in plastic bags of black dirt and wet roots tucked into her suitcase.

My understanding for Paragraph 12)
When Kyoko's family moved to a house of their own in 1967, her mother had a large garden.  The space was 10 times bigger than their previous ones.  She started growing various kinds of perennials and bulbs that they repeatedly blossom flowers every spring.    Her grandmother, who lived in the country, divided some portion of her peonies and irises from garden, and put them into plastic bags in her suitcase and brought them to Kyoko's house. 

* * *

Paragraph 13)
I was ten years old, too young to know that 100 acres of perennials couldn’t have saved my mother from her unhappiness. She must have hoped that the new house would entice my father to spend more time at home. Instead we seldom saw him, and his numerous girlfriends started calling every night.

My understanding for Paragraph 13)
Kyoko was only 10 years old, and she was too young to know that such a large garden helped her mother for happiness.  She wanted the new house of their own will help her father at home more.  On the contrary, Kyoko didn't have a chance to see him very often.  What was worse to her family, his many girlfriends phoned him every night.   

• • •

 

Paragraph 14)

In 1969, the spring after my mother’s suicide, the yellow roses she had coaxed to twine around the garden gate began to bloom. My grandmother’s peonies raised their blurry pink fists under our living-room windows.

* * *

Paragraph 15)
The woman who moved into our house—she and my father would be married within a year—hated being surrounded by my mother’s things. She threw out the tapestries my mother had embroidered, but she couldn’t rip every plant out of the garden, so we had to move. The house my stepmother chose had a patch of grass and a few shrubs pruned by a professional gardener.

* * *

Paragraph 16)
My stepmother told me that my mother had been a failure as a wife and mother. Maybe she believed she was smarter than my mother had been. When my father started seeing his other girlfriends again, my stepmother threatened to leave him and blamed me. I made her miserable, she claimed, by talking back to her. She sat clutching the handle of the suitcase she’d packed, while my father begged her to stay and slapped my face to demonstrate his love to her.

* * *

Paragraph 17)
I wanted to show everyone I was far from all right, but aside from neglecting my homework or talking back to teachers, I couldn’t imagine what I would do to get into trouble. I attended a private girls’ school where wearing jeans to class or buying food from a street vendor—instead of at a proper cafe or bakery—was everyone’s idea of rebellion. Not counting my mother, I didn’t know anyone who had done serious harm to herself or her family. Besides, it was pointless to ruin my own life to spite my mother when she was already dead.

My understanding for Paragraph 17)
Kyoko wanted to show everyone that she was not alright.  She didn't do her homework and she talked back to teachers.  She didn't come up with any good idea her emotion to everyone.  She attended to a private girl's school which was very conservative, where wearing jeans and eating street foods are considered as rebellious acts.  Students who attended the school strictly followed the school's rules.  
Except her mother, Kyoko didn't know anyone who ruined herself or her family.  Kyoko stayed calm and was strong enough to know it is nonsense to blame someone who was already dead.      

* * *

Paragraph 18)
Being raised with all those flowers must have diminished my capacity for rage and self-destruction. No matter how angry I felt on the surface, there was always a core of cool logic underneath, as though my heart were made from those wet black roots my grandmother had dug up from her garden—a homely thing cultivated to survive.

My understanding for Paragraph 18)
Kyoko thought that she was grown up well along with the various flowers.  The flowers were something that they helped to erase Kyoko's rage and self destruction.  Kyoko felt angry on the surface, but she was able to stay calm.  Kyoko grew up to be strong, not easily to give up just like the wet black roots her grandmother had dug up.   



Paragraph 19)
In 1977, I left to study writing at a small college in Illinois, knowing I’d never move back to Japan.

My understanding for Paragraph 19)
In 1977, Kyoko left Japan to study writing at a small college in Illinois, US, because she had no more ties in Japan.

• • •

 

Paragraph 20) 

In July 2005, the petunias I’d planted in Cleveland Park were spilling out of the window boxes, trailing their pink flowers down the brick wall of my building. One morning, I heard a loud buzz—the sound a minibike might make starting up—while I was clipping the blossoms that had faded. A tiny stream of air, a micro-breeze, blew across the back of my hand. The next moment, a hummingbird and I were face to face, with only a few inches between us. His ruby throat at eye level, he hovered upright with his wings beating, like a swimmer treading water. After five, six seconds, he flew backward, plunged down to the driveway, and disappeared. For the rest of the summer, I noticed hummingbirds—male and female, though never together—sipping nectar from the petunias in the early morning and at dusk.

My understanding for Paragraph 20)
In July 2005, Kyoko's petunias grew taller than the window boxes, and were in blossom with pink flowers.  It reached the brick wall of her building.  One morning, she heard a noise.  The sound was like a minibike might make when starting up while she was clipping the blossoms that had wither.  She felt a little breeze.  Out of the blue, she noticed a humming bird came closer to her face,  only a few inches distance.  His throat was the same level with Kyoko's eyes.  He moved his wings so quickly just like a swimmer.  It happened for five or six seconds, and he few away.  In that summer, Kyoko noticed hummingbirds came to her garden.  She saw them, but she didn't see them in pairs (male and female) at the same time.  They came alone each time.  They came for sipping sweet water coming from the petunias at dawn and dusk.       

* * * * *

Paragraph 21)
Hummingbirds don’t build their nests, raise their young, or migrate as pairs. The male establishes his feeding territory, mates with several females, and takes off for the birds’ wintering grounds in Mexico or Central America. The first male I saw in July most likely left the area in early August and was replaced by others who were flying through. Not a single male hummingbird came to my window after early September, but a female lingered into October. With her white breast and slim body, she reminded me of a fish. In the last few weeks, she was at the flowers several times a day, gaining weight for the long migration and looking, finally, more like a bird. The last day I saw her was October 4.

My understanding for Paragraph 21)
Hummingbirds don't build their nest nor don't raise their baby birds.  They don't make a trip for a long distance to as pairs.  The male birds establishes his territory for foods, and he has with several female birds.  They move to Mexico or Central America for spending the cold season.   Kyoko noticed the first male bird in July.  He was likely to be flew away to somewhere in early August.  Then another hummingbirds came.  There were no more male humming birds came to her garden after early September.  But female ones still visited her garden in October.   Female birds has a white breast and slim body, and they look like a fish for Kyoko.  (Maybe after bearing the baby birds?)   Kyoko also noticed day after day, the female bird gained some weight for the long migration.  Finally she looked like a bird.  The last day of her visit was October 4.  

* * * * *

Paragraph 22)
Soon after, the petunias grew brittle and their leaves turned brown. The dried-up stems could hardly support the few buds that were still opening.  When the wind picked up, I understood why the former owner had left those marigolds to wither.  Empty planters would have blown away.  Still, it was depressing to keep dead flowers for ballast.

My understanding for Paragraph 22)
Soon after the final day of the female humming bird left on October 4, Kyoko noticed that the end of the petunias season.  The petunias leaves turned brown, and it still had a few buds, but they seemed to be hard to be blossomed.  When the wind blew strongly, Kyoko noticed why the former owner had left those marigold which remained dead there.)  If they had thrown away the marigolds, the empty planter would have blown away and went to somewhere.   But Kyoko felt sorry when she found the  marigold used as a weight for the planter.


Paragraph 23)
I returned to the nursery a few days before Halloween and found almost all the shelves covered with pansies.


　

I borrowed the pictures from some website for the image of describing the first sentence.

Unlike the fall mums corralled onto side tables, the pansies weren’t discounted—they were expected to bloom for quite a while.

 

 mums corralled onto side table (I borrowed the picture for the image)
We enjoy the flower's short blossom period by putting on side tables in the living room or somewhere.   

 

pansies on the ground (I borrowed the picture for the image)

Pansies bloom for a longer periods, we enjoy watching them on the ground. 

 

I recalled the fountain-size “flower clock” planted with changing displays of annuals in downtown Kobe.

Because it was in a public square in front of the train station, I saw it every month throughout my childhood and adolescence: first with my mother on our shopping trips downtown, then with my school friends on our way to the movies. I could picture the long, red second hand moving over a sea of blue pansies, with people in winter coats standing around. That must have been in January or February. Since leaving Japan, I’d never lived in a city where you could have flowers in winter.　　　　　　　　


Paragraph 24)
The dozen pansies I planted in the window boxes didn’t stop flowering even when it snowed. On a few cold nights in February, they shriveled up and stuck to the frozen soil, but they sprang back when the sun came out.

My understanding for sentence 2)

A few cold nights in February, pansies shivered up and they looked down to soil.  But when the sun came out, they were strong enough to blossom again.

 (I borrowed the picture for the image.) 

They were happier in cool weather, blooming through March, April, and the first week of May until the heat withered them. In Wisconsin, pansies had been summer flowers. In DC, they held my window boxes in place until it was time for petunias and hummingbirds again.

• • •

In Green Bay, the neighborhood where my husband, Chuck, and I lived had been developed during the Depression, with each lot intended to accommodate a vegetable garden. Our back yard was half the size of a football field.

My understanding for "with each lot" .... with each portion of the land

The first occupants may have been survival gardeners, but by the time we bought the house in 1986, the yard was an expanse of manicured lawn. In a few small clusters around the house, the former owners had planted bushes and covered their roots with mounds of tree bark processed to look like charcoal briquettes. The arrangement reminded Chuck of suburban gas stations. To me, our back yard was an American version of my stepmother’s cropped grass and trimmed shrubbery.

My understanding for "survival gardeners" .... they plant food for survival or storage.
(It may meant long life plants like potatoes, pumpkins, carrots or something like that?)  

 manicured = well-taken care of

 

The summer we bought the house, I was 29 and Chuck was 32. We had been living together four years, married two. He was an elementary-school teacher, and I taught creative writing at a college. The former owners, a couple our age, were high-school teachers. I couldn’t fathom why able-bodied people who had their summers off would need a yard so sterile and easy to care for. I decided to turn the gas-station-style landscaping into flower beds while Chuck did other outdoor chores, cutting the grass or raking leaves.

fathom ... understand
able-bodied = healthy
had summers off = do not work during summer season
sterile = unfruitful or unproductiveMy understanding)
Chunk and Kyoko lived together for the total of 4 years including married for 2 years.   

Kyoko couldn't understand why such people who had good health and had a long summer vacation needed a yard which was unproducive soil, and they didn't grow anything special to care about.

Getting rid of the bark took two summers because the ground underneath was covered with black plastic to prevent anything from taking root. I had to rip it out by the handful before I could plant perennials and biennials that would bloom the whole summer. I didn’t have my mother’s patience for roses, and the only hydrangeas that grew in Wisconsin were the plain “snowball” variety whose dried flower heads rattled around the autumn garden prophesying the destruction of all living things. 

My understanding) Kyoko wrote hydrageas were available in Wisconsin, but its flower shape looks like snowball, when dried in autumn, the brown color seems to be like the end of the world.   

the image of hydrangeas "snowball variety" on the internet

rattle ? scare or scatter 

Peonies and irises, however, could tolerate the harsh winters. Under our living-room windows every May, the peonies dropped their feathered petals one by one as though they longed to give back every bit of their beauty to the ground that had nourished it. The irises, meanwhile, perfected their elegant origami and quietly folded back into themselves, keeping their own counsel the entire time.

My understanding)  Kyoko compared the two different kinds of flowers here: peonies and irises.
Peonies are the flowers which needed to be taken care of.  Irises grow itself, we don't have to take care of this flower.

Peonies ... drop their petals one by one.  We need to give them some nourishment, they'll give back their power.

Irises ... like origami, fold back into themselves, they can take care of them by themselves.

feathered ...  If you describe something as feathered, you mean that it has feathers on it.

petals ... The petals of a flower are the thin coloured or white parts which together form the flower.

nourished ... To nourish a person, animal, or plant means to provide them with the food that is necessary for life, growth, and good health.

counsel ...    If you counsel someone to take a course of action, or if you counsel a course of action, you advise that course of action.


peonies or Shakuyaku in Japanese  (the image borrowed from an internet site)

irises or Ayame in Japanese (the image borrowed from an internet site)

• • •

Gardening gave my summers a structure. I’d go for a run in the morning and work in the garden until noon before sitting down at my desk to write. In the ten years I lived in that house, I worked hard to make the yard look nothing like the one Chuck and I had inherited. It took me a long time to realize that what I loved about gardening wasn’t so much making a home as working alone.

gardening is same feeling as working alone and making a home
gardening is equal to working alone and making a home

How could I have missed the parable that unfolded in my own garden spring after spring? I was an iris and not a peony. No marriage could give me the satisfaction I found in solitude: running in the early morning before anyone was up, spending hours alone in the garden and then at my desk. I didn’t ask Chuck to help me plan or plant the garden. I didn’t talk to him about the books I was writing until they were published and he could read them along with everyone else. Like an iris, I created in isolation and folded back into myself. 

parable ... lesson, moral tale, story
unfolded ...revealed      If a situation unfolds, it develops and becomes known or understood.
story in the garden

folded back to myself = hide myself from everyone,
she compared herself to an iris flower that folds itself and she hides herself
she doesn't show her emotion to others
If I had wanted to go on living with another person, I would have chosen Chuck. He was funny, honest, and smart. My need for solitude, though, was growing. When we were first married, I had been content to have a few quiet hours for my writing. Now I needed the morning in the garden, the afternoon at the desk, the weekend riding my bicycle through the countryside, wandering in the woods with my binoculars and bird-watching guide, or driving four hours to Chicago to see museum exhibits, always alone so I could listen to the conversation inside my head.

I moved out, to an apartment across town and then to the East Coast. Chuck, who has remarried, hasn’t lived in that house for several years. The last time I saw our old home, from the window of a rental car, the garage had been painted two colors, like a jester’s costume, and there was a for-sale sign out front. I didn’t have the heart to get out to see the yard.

• • •

I’ve thrown out the plastic window boxes the previous owner of my DC apartment left behind, and I’ve put terra-cotta planters in each of my six east-facing windows. They now comprise an aerial hummingbird garden of petunias and salvias, with two bird feeders hanging from brass planter hooks. The feeders are shaped like miniature flying saucers, each with a pencil-thin rim around the red cover. Hummingbirds have weak feet and legs (they belong to the order Apodiformes, which means “without feet”). They don’t walk or hop on the ground as robins and sparrows do, but they can perch on the specially designed rim as they drink the sugar water inside the reservoir. The perch gives me a better look at the birds than when they flit around the flowers, eating on the wing—which they still do.

My building was built in the 1920s. After 60 years as a rental, it became a co-op in the 1980s, around the time Chuck and I bought our house in Green Bay. It’s a typical big-city co-op—a predominantly single world—the antithesis of the small-town, two-story house that the Green Bay real-estate agent said was “a nice place to start a family,” though Chuck and I never planned to have children. My current building and my old house are parallel universes, and I’ve moved from the universe I didn’t belong in to one where I’m at home.

When I left my marriage, I wasn’t trying to be a hermit. Living with the one person I’d chosen—which meant having to keep choosing him day after day for decades as the two of us changed—was as exhausting as keeping a garden in the wilderness. By the end, partnership seemed impossible, even unnatural, to me. But community is a different proposition. Living among people I didn’t choose, working to establish peace or friendship in spite of occasional disagreements, makes sense to me.

The first hummingbird feeder is in the window next to my desk, so I can look up from my work to see the sudden movement, a flash of color appearing out of nowhere, which is the reward and inspiration for the hours I spend writing alone. The second feeder is in the window in front of my dining table. In mid-June, when the sky remains light till nearly nine, I like to invite my friends to a late dinner. By then, the salvias in the window boxes are tall enough to block the view of the houses across the street.

Sitting at the table, all we can see above the plants are the tops of the trees in the distance and the sky above, gradually darkening. It’s essentially the same view I once had lying on the ground in my vegetable plot between the rows of zucchini and tomatoes. We’re catching the sky between the green leaves I helped make, and if we’re lucky a hummingbird plummets through the blue depth toward us.
My mother, too, was happier in an apartment complex surrounded by neighbors than in a house of her own. The garden on my windowsill is my American replica of her sweet peas on the balcony where she and I once fed the sparrows. I wait for the hummingbird to return one last time at dusk, to kiss the bell-shaped flowers and the sugar water.

Kyoko Mori (kmori@gmu.edu) is author of three nonfiction books (The Dream of Water, Polite Lies, and Yarn) and three novels (Shizuko’s Daughter, One Bird, and Stone Field True Arrow). She teaches creative writing at George Mason University.

This article appears in the April 2013 issue of The Washingtonian.

------------

 

 

I am trying to understand this article because I am very so interested in her life., who She was born and raised up in Hyogo where I am currently living live in.  She previously lived in the Midwest part of in the U.S., the same area where I lived during my stay in the States in the year of 1990.  Now She now teaches creative writing in an American university in the Northeast.  Well, I am trying to make better sentences in my blog.  I think that reading news/articles from websites like this could help me improve my stentences in my blog.  

I have checked with my dictionary, but I couldn't understand some of the sentences.  I'm sorry but the Japanese translation is not available, so would you please help me explain them with another words or easily English?

(My findings foundings about the short summary of her life for briefing her life)
1957 ..... born to Japanese parents who lived in an apartment in Ashiya, Hyogo Prefecture
1967 ....  moved to a new house of their own              
1969 ....  her mother comitted suicide
1977 ....  moved to Illinois (Midwest) to study creative writing. in a college in Illinois (Midwest)
1990s ... moved to lived in Green Bay, Wisconsin (Midwest) where she lived with her partner for 4 years
     ??  ... lived in Boston (Northeast)
2005 ...   moved to Cleveland, DC (Northeast)

This article is long has many sentences, so I haven't read everything.  them all until yesterday.  I have put a mark with blue on the part I have finished reading.  marked blue where I have finished reading yesterday.   Please read up until the sentences that I've marked blue.   I have marked the points I could not understand with Yellow.  I marked yellow, where I cannot understand.