Dad loved rocks.

ad loved rocks.

Growing up, Dad would pick up all kinds of rocks—mostly by the side of the road or along a pathway. He would stop, assess one, and the lucky ones would end up in the pockets of his baggy chinos or in a bag he usually carried by his side. The magic wasn’t in the rock's exterior, but what he could envision inside. Dad would split the rocks, carve them, creating whimsical animals and bird-like sculptures. When Dad passed away at the end of 2017, he had planned on spending his retirement years carving all the rocks he had found. They lay in small piles throughout the house in different shapes—ovals that were flat, round ones, and some that perhaps had something special waiting to emerge.
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In thinking about a gravestone for Dad’s gravesite, it was clear that some kind of actual stone would be appropriate. But what kind to get and how to carve it? It needed to embody wabi-sabi—organic and not overly ornate or too polished. Dad also had a wry sense of humor, and we could imagine adding a “Kilroy was Here” illustration somewhere on the stone—a legacy to leave behind. So, I set out looking for the perfect wabi-sabi (imperfect) boulder. I called around and looked, but no one had anything like what I was envisioning.

Finally, I went to Marinakos, a granite and boulder yard just north of Seattle, near Carnation. My best friend Liz’s brother, George, worked there. One day, Suki and I went out and searched for the perfect boulder. Our dog, Suki, obsessed with rocks, was in heaven at the rock site, looking, running, trying to dig and play with all the rocks she could move.

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After much searching, I finally found what looked like the perfect-sized boulder in the middle of a pile. George went away and came back with a small crane that reached in and lifted the boulder for us to examine. By this time, I had stopped wondering what was inside the boulder and just decided to go with whatever would work at that point. We pulled it out, poured a cup of water on it, and tried to envision it. It was close to the size I had imagined. I said, "Let's go for it," without knowing what would be inside.

At Mareneko’s, they have a 150-foot saw, set up across the width of a gymnasium, used to split huge granite boulders for fronts of houses and other decor. They said it might take some time, but one of the workers had already set up the saw for another job and said he could fit it in. So, the next day I got a call, and the split boulder was ready for pickup.

When I saw the perfectly cut rock, I was amazed and surprised. It was a beautiful shade of green, smooth like a granite top with no fissures or imperfections. The person cutting the rock had decided to do a rough polish, so it had a perfect matte finish and looked like the ideal surface.Then came the question of what to put onto the rock and how to engrave it? I wanted to use one of Dad’s illustrations—something that represented both Mom and Dad's life together. After several iterations and a variety of illustrations, we settled on a sketch of the house.

Of course, the detailed illustration was too complex for anyone to engrave, so it sat for more than a year, just waiting to find a machine and someone willing to take the risk. In the meantime, Lynette weighed in with a font choice, and we got the simple wording and dates in place. Finally, I was able to redo the illustration and simplify it enough so the engraver would actually tackle it.

The end result is a boulder featuring the house and our family name, along with representations of Mom and Dad on the front. Their personal mantra, “Heritage Values,” is engraved at the bottom. It sits atop a simple slab of marble with both the Goto and Miyamoto family crests on each corner. After a long journey to create something symbolic and representative of Dad’s simple yet irreverent attitude and artistry, I can only hope he would like the result.

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