family outing. When we got to Rhodes, I immediately found an outfit that I just loved. It was a turquoise and magenta plaid jacket, a pleated magenta skirt, and a white blouse.
While Yoneichi and Papa-san went off to another part of the store, I continued to look at all of the other possibilities. Over and over again, I brought various combinations to show Mama-san. “Don’t these look beautiful together?” I asked.
“Ah, very nice,” she replied. “That would look very good on you.”
Soon, I had quite a pile of outfits to consider. Eventually, I decided on three outfits and arranged them side-by-side. I was imagining the compliments my school friends would pay me if I were to wear each of them. Caught up in my thoughts, Mama-san finally called out to me in a quiet, questioning tone. “Mary-san?”
I looked over at her. She raised an eyebrow, and with a gentle, almost amused expression, asked, “How much is enough, Mary-san?”
The question caught me completely off guard. I stared at her, open-mouthed, for a long time. “I—I—I don’t know,” I said.
My cheeks flushed, and I looked away, embarrassed. When I glanced back at Mama-san, she gave me a reassuring smile and nod, and I felt better. She was still proud of me.
I turned back to the three outfits. Then I scanned the dozens of racks of clothes in the store, with hundreds of clothing choices. How much, I asked myself.
Mama-san could have just told me how much was enough, but then I wouldn’t have had to think about it for myself.
Mama-san and Papa-san wore simple, serviceable work clothes day after day as they worked in the fields. They wore khaki work pants, long sleeve shirts, sturdy shoes, and a hat; that was all they needed. They each had a nice outfit for special occasions, but nothing more.
Did I really want a lot of nice clothes, which would only make my friends envious? I wondered.
I had always been taught not to show off, and I had certainly been tempted to do so, even right there in the department store. I decided I only needed two sets of new clothes. I still had nice clothes from previous years that were in good shape and still fit me. I kept my original choices, including the turquoise and magenta plaid jacket! On that day, I also learned to ask myself, How much is enough? A simple self-examination that has stayed with me a lifetime.
My parents never bought more than they were able to afford and use. Even when our finances improved and we were fairly comfortable, they never wasted anything. Mama-san continued to save pieces of string to tie up sweet pea vines by the house or climbing pea plants in the vegetable garden. She saved paper bags that could be used again for another purpose. Coffee grounds and peelings from fruits and vegetables were buried in the garden. My parents didn’t think of themselves as frugal. They just naturally recycled useful things. Back then, we didn’t have a garbage service to take away our trash every week, so we found that reusing and recycling was easier than throwing things out.
My mother and father bought everything we needed with cash. Credit cards didn’t exist in those days, but it wouldn’t have made any difference. If my parents didn’t have the money, they wouldn’t buy at that time, and so they always stayed within their means. Their frugality was not forced, and neither did they ever express any sense of feeling deprived of any luxury.
In the course of their lifetimes, my parents accumulated few material possessions. Instead, they found something wonderful about the quiet pleasure of saving and living well within their means. Perhaps some of this came from their lives as farmers. Even today, professional farmers know that each year’s crop is at the mercy of the weather and other forces beyond their control. Such uncertainty naturally tends to create a sense of restraint when it comes to money. They never know whether next year’s crop will be a success or failure.
Of course, life today is much different than the life I led while growing up on Vashon. Yet, today, there is movement toward voluntary simplicity and rediscovering ways to live with fewer things and find greater happiness. Along the way, there are many unexpected benefits to reap: the pleasure of sharing our abundance with those in need, rediscovering the benefits of physical fitness, and enjoying “doing” rather than “having.” This approach may seem new in modern times, but it isn’t. What is old is now new again.
My parents instinctively understood this concept of voluntary simplicity. They would have been surprised to discover that people were writing books about a lifestyle they took for granted. They recognized what was needed in order to live a modest yet elegant life, close to the land, and they knew how much was enough.
The sun had not yet come up. An early morning chill numbed our hands as we checked strawberry plants, looking for bright red berries hidden under the dark green leaves. The soft swishing of our hands parting the leaves was punctuated by the periodic plunk of berries as we tossed them into wooden carriers.
After a hearty, pre-dawn breakfast, my three young children and I had begun picking in the field just behind my parents’ farmhouse. We had moved to Vashon Island for the summer to help Yoneichi with the harvest.
For a while, it was just Martha, David, Ray, and I. As the sun rose, other people started arriving, most of them workers from previous years, including entire sets of siblings. As we picked, we shared updates on our lives, bursts of laughter punctuating the buzz of our conversation. Many of the pickers had become our friends over the years, working together to harvest the bounty every summer.
Yoneichi pulled up in his green, 1957 Chevy flatbed truck, carrying a group of teenagers from Vashon who had come to help and make some money. Yoneichi jumped out of the cab and quickly took charge. It was the mid-1960s, and Yoneichi had long since replaced Papa-san as the boss of the farm, even though Papa-san continued to work.
The first day of the berry harvest was in full swing, with more than one hundred workers of all ages. We were a mix of humanity from a variety of socio-economic backgrounds—from older migrant workers to sons and daughters of middle-class families in Seattle and Vashon. For migrant workers, this was a way to support their families. For many of the kids, picking berries was the only practical way they could earn money over the summer. I was one of several “straw bosses” who roamed the fields, supervised the workers, and helped everyone stay focused on the harvest.
Most of the pickers were regulars who showed up nearly every day during the harvest, along with a steady stream of newcomers. There were four berry farmers on the island, and some workers would roam among the different farms. Workers collected the berries in carriers, and each carrier contained six boxes that were about six inches on a side and three inches deep. The carriers had handles to make them easier to lug around. When pickers brought the full carriers to the transfer station, Papa-san would transfer the berries to a stackable “flat,” which held twelve boxes.
In exchange for their hard work, pickers got one ticket for each full carrier. The tickets could be exchanged for cash at the end of the day or at any time during the season. Over the course of the day, the stacks of strawberry flats grew impressively, a tribute to the land’s bounty and the pickers’ hard work. The sweet smell of strawberries was everywhere, but it was the strongest and most mouth-watering at the transfer station. No matter how many strawberries I ate, I never grew tired of that wonderful aroma.
Most days by mid-afternoon, it got pleasantly warm, but it rained on us at least a few times every summer. When it did, we kept right on picking. Sometimes, it got hot, sapping everyone’s energy, so we cooled off by taking breaks at a large wooden water barrel that was towed to the field every day.
My