Most of the time I find myself so focused on the task at hand, usually grading essays, that I don’t look up and ‘smell the roses’. I guess the people in my life who love me have begun to notice this and take issue with it—-and it was that stance which led to a truly lovely day, thanks to the kindness and planning of my 22-year-old adopted son. He took us to The Huntington Library, Art Collections, and Botanical Gardens. (huntington.org) Our self-paced tour began with the Chinese Garden. It was incredible. That is all I can say. The care that the landscape designers took to make it look at once both planned and unplanned was intriguing, as though a perfectly proportioned little world had appeared magically around existing streams and waterfalls. Not a fiction that was believable, more like willful suspension of disbelief. The paths led us seamlessly into the Japanese Garden next, and while the aesthetic was in some ways similar—-Asian landscape style is unique and has a particular sense to it—-the Chinese and Japanese Gardens were intrinsically different. While the Chinese Garden was ornate and resplendent with carvings and shapes and movement at every turn, the Japanese Garden was quite the opposite: rustic wood and natural stone and more emphasis on the shapes created by Nature rather than the shapes created by Man. And yet, this was an illusion of course, because the beautiful bonsai trees were perhaps the most painstakingly groomed plants in the entire place, but somehow they were made to look effortless and natural. And, the enormous arched bridge could never exist without the hand of Man, and yet there was an organic essence to it that made it seem to grow naturally from the water and trees surrounding it. In fact, the effect was so complete that when we came upon a small rustic structure on the bank of the river filled with slow moving Koi, in a fit of inspiration Brenden challenged us all to write a Haiku on the spot. My girls each wrote something, and of course he showed off—-composing his actually in Japanese. Mine was infused by the mist, and the rain, and the sights we had seen so far, and it was born of the peace and tranquility of the moment: The Squirrel climbs the Tree: Watching. Waiting. Cool wind blows… Water—-rippling—- Next there were other gardens: the Australian Garden and the English Garden (complete with a statue of The Bard himself). Each held different sights, and tapped into a different experience. We felt like we were floating through various times and places. We were travellers, and somehow Nature was our time machine. The English Garden felt the most familiar, but then immediately foreign as it fronted an incredible collection of Greek and Roman statuary. My children all struggled to best each other in their knowledge of mythology. Each statue told a story, and as we walked slowly in the inviting grayness of the afternoon, our story was now mingling with theirs. Our time in the gardens culminated with the most beautiful afternoon tea in The Rose Garden Tea Room. I am something of a tea snob, and, for better or for worse, so are my children. Brenden is particularly well versed, and it was his idea that we should partake of a proper tea as our sustenance that day (and to be sure, after all that walking we were a bit peckish). The four of us have taken tea together at home and in tea rooms many times, but this was definitely the most delightfully formal tea experience we have had to date. Each of us chose a unique tea blend in an individual pot, and we passed them around tasting each one in turn. The savories and sweets were varied and tasty, and the service was very attentive. Such a glorious indulgence. The rest of the afternoon was spent marveling at the beauty of the main house and pouring over the old books in the library, and the iconic art on display in the museum. Of particular note among the many incredible works were a Gutenberg Bible, a hand-copied and illuminated edition of The Canterbury Tales, and a handwritten note from President Lincoln. We could have stayed another entire day just taking in the literary and intellectual air…but unfortunately, eventually even this fine outing, like all good things, had to come to an end. I think my daughter summed it up best in recounting the events to her friends later that evening… “It was truly the most impeccable day.”
The value of time spent in frivolous beauty is almost immeasurable, and yet our contemporary society doesn’t seem to validate this kind of respite very often. We are so much more likely, as a society, to divert ourselves with drinks at a bar, or a going to a water park, or riding a roller coaster--not that those are necessarily bad things. But, they are distracting or diverting. They are not introspective. They do not, usually, teach us about the human experience and they do not teach us to honor and respect tremendous beauty. They are to activity what youtube--or TV, or even movies--is to reading. They distract or entertain without asking much from us in return. But Nature and Literature ask us to participate and to think. They require us to be present. We have to look and imagine. We must be active not passive. As we live each day, may we seek out the more authentic experiences. I had seen several movies in the months prior to this excursion, and some were sweeping and intense and I enjoyed them. But, honestly, I have not lately felt as alive and as present in the moment as I did that day, in that place, with those people.
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Wendy Picard GorhamWendy lives and works in the midst of words everyday--English teacher by profession, and writer by passion! Archives
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