I grew up in a garden. So to speak that is. Every summer we planted zinnias with my mother in the back corner of her border garden that was flooded with sunlight. My sister and I spent countless hours in the shade of the silver maple at the opposite end building fairy houses from the twigs, pebbles, and moss we collected around the neighborhood.
We lost a number of toy plastic animals over the years, slowly incorporated into their natural surroundings hidden under a hosta and eventually a pile of mulch. More than once I took my stuffed animals into the garden to pose and photograph with a small disposable camera. I still remember that click and crank of the camera as I snapped a shot and readied for the second. Something about these botanical surroundings always brought out my creativity.
And while our own backyard held endless possibilities for play, it was little compared to the Missouri Botanical Garden which we frequented with our grandmother first in strollers and then on foot. My sister and I didn’t need a playground. We romped from rose garden to koi pond sticking our noses in petunias to feel the soft petals caress our nostrils and hopping from stone to stone across the reflecting pool in a race for the other side.
Admittedly I was a little disappointed then on my first visit to the Des Moines Botanical Garden which felt closer to the size of my own backyard than the nearly 80 acre expanse in Missouri. Central Iowa however as I’ve come to learn in the 14 years that I’ve lived here has plenty of pockets of nature tucked away between the endless cornfields that cover much of the state. From Gray’s Lake just down the street from my apartment to 20 minutes north up to Saylorville Lake. From the Neal Smith trail I roll over on my bike to the Neal Smith Wildlife Sanctuary I have yet to visit. And finally, from the Rose Garden tucked behind the Art Center to my most recent adventure, Reiman Gardens on the Iowa State Campus.
“We romped from rose garden to koi pond sticking our noses in petunias to feel the soft petals caress our nostrils and hopping from stone to stone across the reflecting pool in a race for the other side. ”
I unintentionally chose one of the hottest days of the summer to pack my sketchbook and a picnic to visit this 17 acre gem in Ames. But the sun on my back was the only impetuous to move me forward to the next shady spot as I brought pen to paper examining pollen covered stamens and the folds and creases in every petal. Taking the time not just to appreciate the flowers, but observe and sketch them slowed life (at least for the two hours I roamed) to a pace well suited for a hot summer day. A pace I more often would like to settle into.
The summer up until this point has been full, dare I say busy? With two picture books on overlapping timelines to illustrate it has been months since I took the time to slow down. To draw simply for the sake of drawing, without agenda or deadline. Despite the sweat dripping down my back, finding my way back into a garden bigger than the small plot beside my apartment was just the refreshing respite I needed.
