Just Another Adventure: Keeping a Promise to Me Part 3:
Gardeners Grabbed by Life-Altering Events
On our final day of exploring gardens I was looking forward to disappointment; being let down. How could anything equal or top what we had experienced over the past two days? I was in the process of resigning myself to a rather long day of ho-hum. Then I quickly found out just how wrong one person can be. Another life lesson for Gene. Don’t make decisions before you know the facts.
First up, the facts. Anderson Japanese Gardens is located in Rockford, IL. The short story is a businessman named John Anderson loved all things Japanese. Over a period of years he constructed a Japanese style garden in his swampy back yard. Mr. Anderson visited the Portland Japanese garden and formed a relationship with the director, Mr. Kurisu. Hoichi Kurisu became the designer of Anderson Japanese Gardens and now every tree, every stone, every path flawlessly speaks the language of Japanese gardens. If you know you will never make the trip to Japan, Anderson is the American Mecca of this style garden.
My guess is everyone who walks the paths at Anderson sees a different garden on several levels. Physically I would say the paths chosen to walk the garden lead to different rooms of design, subtle shifts in plants and hardscaping. Then there is the spiritual aspect. It is almost impossible to find words for this sense, but if you allow it, you will leave refreshed, renewed and calmer behind your bellybutton. We spent the entire day walking the paths, crossing streams and bridges to visit each room. By the end of that day I was both exhausted and renewed.
I do not remember the existence of anything resembling a straight path. All paths wandered and meandered, each reaching out to control your speed as you walked. All textures were there to experience with each step. Some paths were wide enough to accommodate crowds of strollers, some of whom were in strollers and wheelchairs, others dictated you walk in single file. There was always a reward around each bend, another temptation see what was in the next room, the next opening with an expansive view.
If, for some reason, I could only walk one section of path it would be around the pond strolling garden.
Trees and Shrubs
With the last name of Bush, how could I not be fascinated by trees and shrubs? While I may be exaggerating just a tab, it seemed as though every limb, every twig, every leaf and needle was exactly where it should be in the overall scheme of things. The attention given to each shrub, each Japanese maple, every evergreen was as though every individual had its own personal trainer. I can only imagine the attention to detail, the stepping back and observing, walking forth and nipping, walking back once more multiplied over time and time again to achieve this end.
When driving in IL and WI I am always amazed by the smoothly polished granite stones everyone has in their gardens. I am told each stone was carried to the region by glaciers, then left as the ice retreated. The stones were rolled over and over in the ice as in a gem tumbler. Given millions of years the stones lost their edges and became smooth as a baby’s behind.
In Anderson they were literally raised to new heights. I saw stones as big as VW beetles stacked like children’s toys along the creek. It boggles the mind to try and imagine how each stone found its place one on top of the others. There were times when I entered a room featuring these large boulders and would stand in silence, lost in my imagination and the feeling that I should somehow make a connection.
From the moment I walked out the door into the garden there was water. Water flowing over falls that spoke to you as you walked by. There were falls of every size from the monster West Waterfall to the small streams gracefully stepping down to flow under an arched bridge. It seemed as though every path had its individual stream, waterfall and bridge. Usually there was a bench nearby each fall with a view.
I remember two large lakes, each filled with koi large enough to ride and flashing color as they skimmed the surface with their mouths open following each human as they came near an edge.
I remember the many Japanese lanterns in granite, the large bridges over the Spring creek, and a Tea house. There was a viewing house out over the pond and to its right a long rambling spirit bridge. I know I am forgetting so many features, but the best way to overcome my memory is to spend the day at Anderson yourself.
When my body becomes compost, Anderson is where I want to be sent for my next life. Perhaps become the spirit of a Cryptomeria overlooking the koi, or a solid presence in one of those huge polished granite boulders.