“The place I like best in this world is the kitchen.” Banana Yoshimoto wrote in her novel Kitchen. In my case, the place I feel most attached to is the garden of my old house.

The house which I used to live when I was a kid stood in the middle of a foothill. The garden was the size of about half of a badminton court. It was at the back of the house facing south, surrounded by concrete walls. It was my playground.

There was a gracefully shaped Japanese red pine. Being about 5 or 6 years old playing with pine leaves, piercing them in a tissue paper like a stitch. There were some azaleas in bunches as well. I would pick their pink flowers and taste the subtle sweetness of the nectar.

Most of the backyard was occupied by a large clothesline. It was my job to help mom or grandma to hang the washing on the line. I would get wet clothes from the spinner of the twin-tub washing machine, put them in a plastic basket and take them to the backyard. Then I would pick up shirts, socks and so on, and one by one pass them to mom or grandma to hang.

Mowing the grass did not feel like hard work. It was play to me. I also enjoyed helping my grandpa remove weeds from the lawn. I would get excited when I was allowed to use a lawnmower. I would feel sorry when mowing the beautiful tiny flowers of blue-eyed grass.

I also liked the blue periwinkles on the fence. Our neighbour had a small pond in their backyard that had some Koi fish in it. I would sometimes look over the fence at my neighbour’s pond with Koi fish. But mostly, I would not look past my periwinkles.

My grandma taught me how to press the edge of the hose to sprinkle the water to the garden. It was a huge discovery. I was amazed by how far the water will go and the small rainbows I could make with the water.