Tag Archives: winter

A QUINTESSENTIAL RHODE(-y) TRIP

A WINTER VISIT TO THE WEYERHAUSER RHODODENDRON SPECIES BOTANICAL GARDEN

January 18, 2014: “There was something profound about the light today, the tint of it, warm and yet cool, a haze that seemed as if it might be practicing to become fog, someday, but was perhaps still not quite up to the task.”

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Today’s visit to the Weyerhauser Rhododendron Species Botanical Garden moved me a long, long way toward recovery from that strange, lingering malaise I’ve felt toward rhodies after decades of witnessing their torture and abuse, via those tens of thousands of spindly, garish-flowered, root-weevil-infested, mass produced, Home Depot-looking specimens I’ve driven past, each demeaningly planted right next to the bare concrete foundations of thousands of pastel-painted, cedar-sided, seventies-vintage, split-entry homes and bungalows in Northwest suburbia. There, I’ve said it.

“Ohh, thank you, thank you,” I whisper, “you wonderful garden creators, you amazing plant collectors and you painstaking gardeners who have each labored so carefully to create and maintain this wonderful botanic sanctuary! Visiting your garden is like being invited to bite into a dozen, no hundreds of different hued and shaped, delicious, amazing, old school, classic apples after years of mealy, flavorless, zombie-like, red delicious.”

20140118-DPP-609s What a wonder! What a humbling, quieting experience to walk through this botanical masterpiece, painted with more than 700 species of rhododendrons from all over the world, to see them clustered together and mingled with myriad other woodland plants upon a forested canvas, especially here in the chill and oft-rainy Northwest, in mid-January. What treasure to share this space with a large, confident, thick winter-coated coyote (Thank you Mary for making sure I didn’t miss him silently crossing that dew-laden meadow), and with those expansive, fragrant, backlit witch hazel trees (see the yellow one in the photo below?), in full pungent bloom, and practically no one else in the entire 22 acre preserve. Every one of my awed senses swirled and sighed in grateful overload.

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The air was hazy and cold, but the low-angled sun found ways to weave its cheering rays between the tree trunks and to pierce the winter-lush vegetation, warming pools of pungent, forest air and warming our faces, as well whenever we stepped into one of them. I surrendered, quite happily, dozens of appreciative gasps and muffled chuckles of recognition and delight, and I also discovered a new plant crush. Rhododendron arboreum ssp. cinnamomeum (below). Who knew?

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20140118-DPP-634I suppose it could have been the combination of that romantic light and the chill of the thick, witch-hazel-pregnant air. Or maybe it was something they put in the water fountain, but I’m telling you, Rhododendron arboreum ssp. cinnamomeum shot an arrow deep into my awareness today, looking like a million bucks with those long, elegant, jewel-toned leaves and their mysterious, dark, matte, cinnamon undersides, all strangely aglow. Va va Voom! And hooray for January, when we’re not so blinded by the beauties of  lush rhododendron blooms and other flowers that we can concentrate on their exquisite, if much quieter foliage!

For those of you who’ve never been, or if you just haven’t been lately, I highly recommend this botanic wonderland of gravelled paths and earthy smells to help realign what you 20140118-DPP-613sthink you know and feel about rhododendrons, and maybe, just maybe flush some of those scraggly, sick-rhodie visions from your own tortured consciousness, as well.  The eight dollar admission fee seems a worthy investment in oneself, even in January, especially when you consider the costs of developing and maintaining such a magnificent, world-class collection and keeping it open to the public, year round.

And as a total, extra super bonus, be sure to allow time to take in the wonders of  the adjoining, Weyerhaeuser Pacific Rim Bonsai Collection which is mind bogglingly beautiful, wonderfully educational, and free.

Take the 320th Ave Exit off I-5 between Seattle and Tacoma, and follow the signs.

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Namasté

Winter’s Exquisite Palette

We are but one week from the bottom of the trough, less than a week, actually from this year’s longest night. And though the momentum of these shortening days slows perceptibly while many of nature’s colors continue to bleed and fade, there is still enough beauty and texture, even within the rumpled ruins of these last few days of the year to settle a fretful mind and inspire wonder. What the heart hungers for is out there. Trust this. You will not find it in stores or on the web. And it will not fit within the production schedule of a network or the pixels of a television screen. But it is there just as surely as the stars are there, even when you cannot see them.

This morning, coffee in hand, I toured the raggedy perimeter of my garden simply to see and smell the damp, chill, outdoor world. I did not feel compelled to carry a fancy camera or trundle with a tripod. I did’t even bother to put a fresh battery in my point-and-shoot. I wanted to travel light, to pose a simple question and let the day answer as it would. “What have you got for me?” I asked.

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Turns out this day offered me the exquisite beauty of death; fallen soldiers, once green and upright, untouched and unappreciated since slumping ever so gracefully to Earth in my shade garden a few months back. Seeing them this morning quieted some much too busy part of me that has been scurrying and fretting in that crafty way the manufacturers and marketers want us all to scurry and fret this time of year as we try desperately to keep up, to measure up, to open our wallets up and buy, buy, buy that, ‘NEW’, ‘AMAZING,’ perfect ‘thing’ they want to sell us.

Having been practicing for decades now, a bumbling student learning to call my soul back toward center from the frayed edges of obsession and feelings that I am utterly lost, this humble jumble of decaying leaves was a faint beacon on the horizon helping me to navigate toward safety. I might easily have missed it looking for something much grander. A wet mat of decaying leaves? Seriously? Big whoop. What possible salve or redemption could they offer?

But here’s something you might not have guessed. Seeing those leaves and even recognizing them would have achieved little or nothing had I not stopped, pulled out my little iPhone camera and paid them the honor of my time and attention. It could have been any camera. Or a sketch pad. Or a the whispered first line of a poem. I could easily have kept moving, could easily have said “No. You’re just not that beautiful. You’re not that important. I’m gonna keep looking. I want something better than you. Prettier, maybe. More impressive.” Think how often we do just that. To decaying leaves, certainly and to myriad other minor miracles. And also to people, which really, are profoundly major miracles. Often, even to the very planet that is our mother and every manor of her children. We have been taught to think that there will be something better just ahead, so we foolishly try to live in that next moment rather than the one we have now. And the chase never ends. And we often feel lost. And in our mercurial, grasping wakes we leave trails of rejection and destruction. The world doesn’t need to be this lonely, but it is, because we are always, habitually looking for the next, even better thing.

In some delicious way, it was stopping and acknowledging them that transformed these leaves into something more. Into something magical. It was saying “You are enough. Your beauty is enough to get me to release my hold on all the petty little things I’ve been fretting over, and on those much grander things I often hope for. In these next few minutes, I am yours. You are what I choose to see, what I choose to bend deeply over, despite my achey back. You are what I will frame up ever so carefully in my little camera, what I honor with my attention in this moment and the one that follows.”

I give lectures and teach classes and workshops about such things. Some sense this essential, transformational secret before they ever enroll, hoping to become better practitioners while for others the light bulb comes on in some newly triggered ‘aha’ moment along the way. And there will always be some who listen to each lesson and complete each assignment, and still leave certain that the secret must be in the particular camera or iPhone app I am using. When a chef’s food is delicious do you credit the knife?

If you would like to find a family to practice your seeing with, if you’re achey for reminders of just how to find your own soulful north star, perhaps a class is just the ticket to help you define and explore your own visual path, or perhaps it would be a perfect gift for someone you love. My next class offering will be through Bellevue College, beginning on January 27 on their north campus. I also love to work with students individually either through coaching and reviews, or in guided shoots. Feel free to contact me if you have questions.

In the mean time, try grabbing something as simple as the camera within your phone (the less complicated the camera, the better), go outside and give your attention to something none of your friends could possibly be jealous of (see photo above). Showy, exotic, far-off locales and pictures of swankadoo foods in swankadoo restaurants that most of your friends will never have a chance to visit are fine, as far as they go, but these are not the subjects that will help you find your inner quiet. To accomplish that, begin by looking for the simplest, least impressive subjects. Give your eye and your attention permission to become fascinated with whatever little thing captures its fancy, not worrying for a minute what others will think. Do this just for you, considering only your contented sigh in that one moment you stand within. This may feel awkward at first, and that is as it should be. You’ll get better at it. Just as you get better at finding your breath when you practice yoga. Just as you get better at hearing the chords and the harmonies when you give yourself to music. You’ll learn that you can trust yourself. If you’re not there yet then trust me, for now. Budget ten minutes. No more. Now, deep cleansing breath. Quiet your mind by stepping out of it. Search for a pattern, an intersection, a texture, a color that pleases you, that intrigues you. It need not be much.  Matter of fact, less is generally better than more. A  wash of sky, a few faded leaves. The visual equivalent of a whisper. A single word. A sigh.

It’s there, I promise. And it wants you to find it.

 

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I’d love to hear from you if this simple practice helps you. Send me a note or leave a message here. Include a picture, but just one. Choosing is part of the assignment.