Botany Buddy

Twitter can wear me out sometimes.  I am a little to ADD to keep up with everything that is going on in all those different directions.  There are some wonderful people out there that I have gotten to know and I am a better person for it.  Let’s face it though, many of them are as fake as they come, especially when in the form of some tweet machine or corporate face.  The odd’s aren’t much different than in the world of touchable, seeable, smellable beings, but they are often more obvious, because it is easier to see behavior in print over a timeline than in a personal encounter.  Every once in awhile though you meet someone in the twitterverse that reminds you who you are and of your own timeline.

A few months ago I stumbled into one of those in @rainbowirisfarm.  It wasn’t anything I heard him say or do, but the few encounters I have take me deep into my roots unbeknown to him.  Rainbow Iris Farm is in a little known corner of the universe known as Bedford, Iowa.  You may be asking yourself how one can find the iris for the corn, and that can be hard.  However, also in Bedford is a little place called Lake of Three Fires.  There aren’t many big lakes in the land of tall corn, because it is just too damn flat to hold water.  This isn’t a big lake, but it had something even harder to find in the midwest.  It had a beach.

I grew up over the border in a little town in Northwest Missouri, and my parents split up at an early age.  Some of the fondest memories of times with my father involved two places…his rose garden, and Lake of Three Fires.  When my parents split up, it was during the gas crisis.  Mom got the Bug, and Dad got the MG.  At first I lived with my mom, and on visitation weekends with my dad, one of our favorite things to do was load up the MG and head to Bedford.  We would put down the roof and my brother would get the front seat because he was older.  I would sit in the back where there was no seat on the little flat space that the roof folded down into.  Sometimes I would even make a fort underneath the roof where I could nap out of the wind on the way home.

We knew the journey had begun, not when the roof came down, but when he popped in the Eagles Greatest Hits 8-track.   That giant orange toupee would start blowing in the wind with those giant silk collars and gold chains flapping to the wind in the same rhythm.  We new good times were ahead, including the drive.  When we would get to the lake, Dad always told us he couldn’t swim, but in reality it was just that the hair tape wouldn’t stay on in the water.  Decades later I can remember the sight of him on those trips vividly, but I can’t remember for the life of me what that lake looked like.  I can remember the rose garden vividly.  Every time I see @rainbowirisfarm in the timeline, I see that drive and even smell the Aramis like it was happening right then and there.  Then I go back down my own timeline and always end up in the rose garden.

With father’s day weekend coming up I will be going to the rose garden at Biltmore for a leisurely photo outing.  I recently did photo profiles of every rose in the place.  That was an even bigger journey through time than my twitter encounters.  Ominously missing from the collection is a certain Mr. Lincoln.  Rose gardeners will know what a travesty this is.  I started to wonder if the absence it was a nod to the South then I realized that Peace and Olympiad were missing too.  Maybe Mr. Vanderbilt just had something against symbols of democracy polluting his aristocracy.  Regardless,  I will go and inevitably get lost in the sights, smells and memories of times past.  I might even go all the way and put The Eagles on my iPod Touch.  They rightfully deserve a place there with Botany Buddy since my memories of them are much a part what has brought it about.   Now if I could just get just get that MG since I no longer need a truck.

In the last three weeks I have been visited by about thirty friends from distant places dating back over thirty years.   Some of them I don’t even remember not knowing and even though I hadn’t seen some in five to ten years it seemed as though a single day had not passed.  Most have married or should have been allowed to, and some we here to see one get married.  About the only thing that was different was some of us were a little softer physically and mentally.  However none of us were any softer in our passions.  When you get a group of artists, musicians, chefs, designers, and gardeners together you know you are in for aesthetic overload.  I have to thank Michael and Anita for choosing Asheville as the location for their special day.  There couldn’t have been anyplace more appropriate for such a reunion.

It was definitely a spiritual time and this in particular is a spiritual time of year for me.  Lately I have been completely enthralled in my writing for the update, but I have also been rediscovering my camera.  Two days a week I have been spending in the field capturing what has probably been the best blooming season I have ever encountered.  This has allowed me to capture from bud to bloom to leaf and to seed hundreds of varieties of plants.  In the process it has reconnected me to the people who introduced me to some of the plants, and the people I introduced the plants to.  This has been a true rediscovery of myself and I can never thank enough the people that have allowed this happen, just like I can never thank enough the people who first made these introductions to me.  There is an old saying that it is bad luck to thank someone for giving you a plant, you just give them one back and give one to someone else.  Gardening is without a doubt about giving and bringing people together rather than thanking them and going on your way.  Things and people always seem to keep coming around like the seasons in a garden.

This spring has also allowed me to reconnect with people I have never met.  In my excursions  I have visited private and public gardens as well as nature herself.  I have even just cruised neighborhoods scoping out that one missing specimen.  Twenty years ago this is how I first honed my craft with mentors and friends like Duane Hoover of the Kaufmann Gardens and so many others.  However no one made me better understand my craft better than those I studied that came before me.  Tommy Church, George Kessler, Frank Lloyd Wright and John Brookes are some of my favorites, but nothing influenced me more than the biography of Fredrick Law Olmsted.  I had read books about his work, but this was the first one that was really about him.  It is no garden book.  It reads more like a Western novel about someone who eventually found his was in a garden, and he was always the first to admit that he was not a Landscape Architect, just a lover of the arts and the land.  As a product of the liberal arts myself, I always related to him the most.

This spring I have been spending two days a week scouring the grounds of The Biltmore Estate, camera in hand and brain in the clouds.  Like the kid I was learning my craft in the parks of Kessler, and finding my way in the gardens I was creating, it is like Olmsted and I are connecting again after all these years and no time has passed.  Along the way I continue to meet new people as they find me crawling out from under a plant, trying to get that perfect picture of the bark.  Every once in awhile when I look beyond the picturesque gardens and soak in the pastoral, I realize Olmsted put that there too and I continue to meet new plants.  There is no one more responsible for the introduction of some the worst invasive species to these mountains than Mr. Olmsted, but I have not doubt he loved the land as much as I do.

I am sure that if he knew then what we know now, he would have moved from defining sustainability as related to money, to creating things that are sustainable without it.  He saw the plants as a palet to fulfill the visions of his designs, strong in Architecture, but grounded in the patterns of nature.  They were like the books on a shelf or the art on a wall and he brought a greater appreciation of them to all of us.  He saw sustainability as a plan to care for the land buy using it to generate the money to pay for the art.  I am sure if he were alive today, he would see that the plants need to take care of the land so we don’t have to plunder it to pay for the gardens we create.  In the end, he made us more aware.  He just wasn’t aware of the consequences of his actions, but without them we would not have come to the awareness we have today.

As I near submission of the next update, I will not jinx things and thank Mr. Olmsted, Oregon State University or the University of Arizona, but I will be sure and give them some plants back.  Most importantly, I’ll be sure and share them with others, because plants and people definitely go together.  In the end, without growing together we will never learn together.