(1)
In the fall of 1968 before I had come to stay at Tassajara, Roshi, I, and at least one other were, near the place at the beginning of Grasshopper Flat where it begins to widen, pruning some trees. About dusk and as the end of work period sounded, we gathered up our tools and had almost started back to the zendo area when he couldn't find his knife. I was self-conscious and in awe of him. He was in a much better position to retrieve his knife, there was little (so far as I could see), that I could really do to help, and I felt it would be insincere, a disreputable show, something not truly respectful of him, to begin beating the bush for his knife. He searched around for a short time and declared his knife found. We then returned to the zendo area. Some years latter during a time that I had begun to feel warm toward myself and others, and felt grateful, for the first time I suddenly remembered this incident.