“Do you know how lucky we are?” Oliver was saying. “To live in a place where the water is still clean? Where we can still eat the shellfish?” She thought about the Salish who used to tend these gardens. She wondered when the last oyster was harvested in the beds around Manhattan. She thought about the leak in Fukushima. She thought about old Jiko’s temple, clinging to the side of the mountain in Miyagi. Or was it? “I wonder how much longer we have . . . ,” she said.
