“If a picture can represent a thousand words, perhaps a kimono can offer a glimpse into a life, long past. The fabric of Bāchan’s life held fast between those strands and fibres so others might know the matriarch who came before them and share through each woven thread her joys and sorrows, her sacrifices and gains.” Excerpt from The Nail That Sticks Out
Neighbours had raved about the French bakery on St. Clair Avenue West. Keen to check it out, I strolled over to meet Michiko there one sunny afternoon in October 2009. During lunch and bowls of café au lait, I shared the story of finding a kimono that belonged to my bāchan (great-grandmother). Michiko encouraged me to donate it to the National Association of Japanese Canadians (NAJC) for an upcoming exhibit, thinking it might be a Japanese Canadian artifact.
“Why would you donate that old kimono when we have so many nicer ones?” Grandma asked, sounding embarrassed when I mentioned it later.
“It’s interesting because Bāchan made it,” I tried to explain.
A decade passed and I wondered what happened to Bāchan’s kimono. Attempts to reconnect with Michiko only yielded unanswered emails or the dreaded not-in-service phone message. In a final effort, I sent her one more email. Michiko’s response that August 2019 outlined the journey Bāchan’s kimono had taken. Initially it was compiled with items for a travelling exhibit but retrieved by Michiko when the project was abandoned. She had since retired, left Toronto, and misplaced her contact lists. Michiko never forgot about Bāchan’s kimono and wanted to return it. We arranged to talk the following week. Chatting away as if no time had passed, she explained, “The [Toronto] NAJC gave up their space . . . so, when they were trying to move out, I took it back, to make sure it didn’t get lost.”
About a week later the kimono carefully wrapped in paper and tissue arrived in a small parcel. Perhaps I imagined it or confused it with something else but for some reason I thought the lining was marked with a faded, permanent-ink stamp. Japanese rice, like flour and sugar, used to be sold in cotton sacks and thrifty homemakers like Bāchan salvaged the fabric. During the Depression some companies even printed sewing patterns on the opposite side of their labels knowing their customers would reuse this scarce material. It certainly was wishful thinking on my part to want to find a telltale sign of when and where the cloth originated. Re-examining it now, it instantly transformed from an authentic artifact to merely an original keepsake, void of any but sentimental value. Who, outside of family, would want to see this kimono? Looking at it again, there were only rust-coloured stains on faded fabric.
My mom visited from Florida each summer and always stayed with her mother in Don Mills. I swung over to Grandma’s condo after lunch the next day to reacquaint the family with this heirloom and see if it jogged any memories. Uncle Tin, grandma’s brother, had just walked in minutes before me. Influenced by a Meiji-era sensibility, our old-fashioned manners are steeped in custom and respect. For example, we’d been taught to never go anywhere empty-handed. Arriving at Grandma’s place, where these lessons were instilled, I unpacked the cinnamon biscuits I brought. As Mom tidied the cluttered kitchen, I doled out the cookies and put the rest away. Sitting down to enjoy an early teatime, I presented the kimono for Grandma to examine. “Oh, that’s a different one than I thought. That’s not from Salt Spring Island [where we lived prewar], that’s a newer one.” Grandma might be of advanced age but has a long-standing reputation for her almost photographic memory and uncanny ability to remember dates, names, events – and in this case, kimono.
I point to the faded yoke lining, and both Grandma and Uncle Tin confirm what I suspected. Speaking in unison, they are adamant, “That’s not from a rice bag!”
Suzanne Elki Yoko Hartmann is an editor and the author of a children's book, My Father’s Nose. Her work reflects her roots as a fourth-generation Japanese Canadian with German ancestry, and explores cultural memories, meaningful coincidences, community, and identity. She lives in Toronto. Learn more here.