Written by Reed Venrick.
Take the leafy, shaded path—follow the boardwalk,
enter the Nakajima Teahouse—a name translating to
"in the middle of the island." There, you may sit
on "tatami" mats before "kotatsu" tables and order
green teas from Shizuoka or Uji Province.
As you peer over Hama-Rikyu garden toward
the bay, snack on traditional "wagashi" and "mochi"
desserts, just as the shoguns and emperors and
their wives and children did for centuries, and after
the disaster of World War 2, came visitors by millions.
But in June, 1879, it was here, his steamship anchored
in Tokyo Bay, Ulysses S. Grant—ex-general, ex-war
hero, ex-USA President—the most famous American
strolled, then sat and sipped tea with the emperor Meiji.
Tokyo was the final stop for a round-the-world voyage.
Grant stayed two months in Tokyo, where Hama-Rikyu
Garden and the Nakajima Teahouse, were the chosen
sites. There, Meiji—the emperor of Japan(only 20
years) listened, conversed and introduced a fascinated
Grant to a country transitioning fast from a medieval world.
As reported by historians, the emperor explained the history
of Japan(not least, Admiral Perry's visit, 25 years before),
reflecting on the country's social turmoils, including
the significance of the Satsuma rebellion, dragging Japan
into a civil war that displaced the samurai elite,
The emperor admired Grant—looked up to him as
a mentor, saw him as a political and personal connection
to the USA's growing international influence, even asked Grant
for advice on the ongoing Ryukyu Islands' conflict with China,
and encouraged him to stay on for months to discuss
international politics and learn more about those centuries
of Japan's isolation. But on that first meeting day in June, after
drinking green tea, after eating snacks, after temperatures
cooled down, they strolled about the cultivated trails, and
Grant was shown the aesthetic design of a Tokyo garden.
Then came the planting of trees: Grant's wife, Julia,
dug the soil for a magnolia, Grant, a bald cypress. Soon,
the seasons, the years, and many decades would pass—
a devastating earthquake in 1923, and fire bombings
in the 1940's destroyed much of Hama-Rikyu Garden.
But these generations later, in 2020, Grant's cypress
and magnolia still grow tall and stately—each year
peering higher over the waters of Tokyo Bay, like
many trees there, including the double-cherry blossoms
in spring, and chestnut leaves shading summer afternoons.
As we stroll on under the shaded pergola and out
under the sun, we walk through the old horse training
hectarage—in summer, flowered fields of canola and peony.
Then, amble up, along the levee, where Grant and
the emperor paused to catch their breath and gaze through
the blue mist of the windy bay. Behind them, grew the silent
but eloquent lives of trees and the mystery of nature that unites
peoples, as well, bonding generations for those who visit
the park on lunch breaks and those foreign tourists strolling in,
breaking from the rush and noise of crowds and screeching
rails of Tokyo's trains—people escaping from the angst
of ultra-urbanization, become visitors returning to nature
here in a garden by the bay, created by those ancestors,
who planted trees to provide precious shade and oxygen,
insuring that organic aesthetics was passed onto
today's space travelers on this star-rise island called "Nippon."
Here, where the sun rises first on the rocky edge of Asia
along the Sumida river, where the circle-round-moat marks
a perimeter's flow—all this illustrating that the trunks and great
trees are the best statues and monuments for display.
Showing that not only does the life of trees serve as beacons,
but let's experience what previous generations planted
to show a time capsule—recalling historical encounters
when a president met an emperor and planted the proof
that history is never past—not when history is living still.
Reed Venrick was formerly an English teacher at a Japanese university in Tokyo, Hama-Rikyu garden was his favorite park.