Sandra Moore - Peace Tree from Hiroshima: A Little Bonsai with a Big Story

Acknowledgments

Sandra Moore would like to thank Johann Klodzen and Felix Laughlin of the National Bonsai Foundation for being so generous with their time and knowledge, as well as Yasuo, Shigeru, and Akira Yamaki for sharing the history of their beloved bonsai and giving her permission to turn it into a story for children. She would also like to thank her writing mentor, Mary Quattlebaum, and her husband, Mark Felsenthal, for his endless patience and support.

Kazumi Wilds would like to thank Jack Sustic of the National Bonsai and Penjing Museum at the U.S. National Arboretum for sharing his wisdom about bonsai and the special history of the Yamaki pine. She would also like to thank BJ & Gary DeBusschere, and Mehdi Kashkooli who provided a comfortable environment in which to illustrate this book, and her son Hajime, who waited patiently while she worked.

Authors Note

T his book is based on a true story. In 1976, the Japanese people gave the United States fifty bonsai trees (one for each of Americas fifty states) as a present for Americas Bicentennial, or two-hundredth-birthday celebration. The Emperor of Japan also added three trees from his private collection. Masaru Yamaki donated his familys beloved bonsai tree to the National Arboretum in Washington, D.C.

Ive nicknamed the bonsai in this story Miyajima, after the island where it was born, during the time of castles and samurai. At the National Arboretum the bonsai is referred to as the Yamaki pine in honor of the Japanese family that cared for it for over three hundred years, and also as the Peace Tree because it is a symbol of friendship between Japan and America, two countries that were enemies during the Second World War.

In 1979, Masaru Yamaki flew to Washington to tour the bonsai collection. He stopped to look most carefully at the white pine his family had donated. When his host saw that Masaru had tears in his eyes, he asked, Is everything okay?

Oh yes, replied Masaru, These are tears of joy, because I can tell the tree is happy here.

While its true that Masaru had two grandsons, in real life they didnt go with him to America. But when they were college students, Akira and Shigeru Yamaki visited the United States to meet the little bonsai treethe oldest member of their family. When they returned to Japan, their grandfather told them the white pine had survived the bombing of Hiroshima. Masaru died a few years before I wrote this story, but Shigeru told me he felt his grandfather would rejoice in the heavens to know that his little bonsais big story would be shared with others.

I was born nearly four hundred years ago on the island of Miyajima. As I pushed up through the dirt, I saw my reflection in the mountain lake. A forest of tall trees surrounded me: cedar, greenwillow, and hinoki. Macaques, momongas, and bats darted between their leaves and limbs.

One morning, as the summer sun beat down, I saw a man. Alone, with a basket strapped to his back, he spoke to the beautiful trees. Later I would learn his name: Itaro.

I must bring back a souvenir of this island, of the trees that touched my heart, said Itaro. Then he did something that changed my life forever.

He carefully dug around my roots, gently picked up my small pine branches, and wrapped me in a cloth, wet from a nearby stream. Soon, I was his companion on the mountain trail, leaving the forest behind.

Itaros house seemed strangely quiet at first. I missed the gentle rain on my branches and the monkeys squawking high in the leaf canopy. But I grew to like my new home and the ceramic pot in which I was planted. For over fifty years Itaro watered me and pruned my branches, shaping me like a sculptor into a miniature bonsai tree.

You remind me of the magical island I visited, said Itaro, his hair now white with age. Thats why I called you Miyajima.

When Itaro died, his son Wajiro looked after me. And when Wajiro needed a cane to help him walk, he taught his son Somegoro how to care for me.

For three hundred years, the job of watching over me was passed down from father to son.

When our family moved to Hiroshima, it was Masaru who looked after me. He added more bonsai to our household. Beech, black pine, and blue juniper trees joined me on the porch.

In 1945, something terrible happened. A war raged in Asia, and Hiroshima was hit by an atomic bomb. It exploded two miles from my house.

Many, many people were hurt or killed, and most buildings were reduced to rubble.

Our family was fortunate. Though our windows were shattered, we were injured only a little by the flying glass. Masaru dropped to his knees and bowed, as a sign of gratitude. I, too, felt like bowing, as my friend was unharmed.

For several years, everyone in Hiroshima suffered terribly. But slowly, Masaru returned to his daily bonsai care: watering and pruning, wiring and shaping. And as we revived, his heavy heart became lighter.

And slowly the people began to rebuild. In ten years, our city had new streets, sidewalks, and spirit. Just miles from our porch, the Peace Memorial Park opened its gates.

Twenty years later, the classrooms were once again teeming with children, and the fields were full of cosmos flowers.

Then, thirty years after the war, my life took the most surprising turn of all.

A brilliant yellow sun rose over Hiroshima one morning as Masaru joined our tree family on the porch.

America is having a special celebration, for its two-hundredth birthday. The Japanese people will send a collection of bonsai trees as a gift. I have thought long and hard about how I could part with any of my beloved kodomotachi my children.

He closed his eyes and took in a long, slow breath.

Miyajima, you have seen the sadness created by war between Japan and America. You have felt the hope that helped us to rebuild. You are stronger than ever, and patient, and wise. I hope you will understand if ask you, my favorite white pine, to become a tree of peace.