Barbara Wood's Home Front: Visiting Wiley in Japan Barbara Wood's Home Front: Visiting Wiley in Japan (November 17, 2004)

It's been more than three years now since my father died, and while I miss him still, the pain has been smoothed out, like a tumbled rock, into a sort of nostalgic pang I feel when I wear his jacket while gardening or notice the American flag I erected in honor of his birth on Flag Day.

A few weeks ago, though, in Japan of all places, I repeatedly felt the presence of my father. While it was bitter-sweet, it was reassuring to realize that my father lived on so vividly in a place so far from his home.

Wiley Wood must have loved Japan, from its dazzling natural beauty to the generosity and playful sense of humor of the people.

My mother had asked me to accompany her on the annual Sister Cities visit between her home of Roseburg, Oregon, and Shobu, Japan, a rural community of about 20,000 north of Tokyo.

We stayed with a family my parents had stayed with twice before, the Koyamas. Chiaki and his wife, Yasuko, had stayed with my parents four or five times. They were originally matched because Chiaki teaches horticulture and my father loved Japanese-style landscaping and all gardening.

After their many visits, they had become such close friends that when my father died, my mom saved a few of his ashes and gave them to Chiaki. Last year they ceremoniously buried the ashes beneath a tree Chiaki grew from seed gathered in Roseburg.

But I felt my father's presence in Japan not so much from his ashes, as from his near-legendary status there. The Koyamas, and several other of our Shobu hosts, all had "Wiley" stories. I was told about the time he asked for milk and sugar to put on the breakfast rice. While that was a shocking transgression in a country that usually serves rice unadorned in a place of respect in the meal, since Wiley-san had done it, it was amusing.

Outside the Koyamas house was "Wiley's tree," which Chiaki had used to teach Wiley the art of bonsai on an earlier visit. Chiaki insisted on taking a photo of me wielding the clippers on the tree.

Twice Chiaki appeared in the morning dressed in one of my father's wool shirts and bolo ties. His wife had carefully altered the shirt to fit his much smaller frame. "I am a small Wiley," he proudly proclaimed.

Another night, when the whole exchange group of 16 Americans and 11 Japanese stayed in a Japanese inn together, we were invited to sing kareoke during our 10-course dinner. Apparently this had been a favorite of my father, who loved to sing, loudly and sometimes a bit off-key.

In his honor my mom got up and sang along to Elvis' "Love Me Tender." I noticed my parents' friend, Jack Ayers, with a tear in his eye. "I was thinking about Wiley," he said.

Apparently the whole group thought I was like Wiley when, after a suitable amount of Japanese beer followed by warm sake, I went up to the microphone and loudly, and probably quite a bit off-key, took my turn at the microphone, too.
Barbara Wood lives in Woodside in an old house with two red-headed teenagers, a work-at-home husband, one full-time and one half-time dog, nine chickens and a fish. Her column runs the third week of the month.

E-mail a friend a link to this story.