Another visit to Magnolia Gardens, May 2008

A return visit to the beautiful and historic Magnolia Gardens last weekend brought fresh evidence of the splendor and tranquility of this 500-acre wildlife refuge and informally landscaped English-style garden. Whereas a couple of months ago, azaleas and camellias were at their peak bloom, last Saturday the beds were filled with countless varieties of summer-blooming flowers, and, of course, iris along the banks of the small lakes filled with cypress trees.

I now I have membership at this very special garden only about a half hour from home, and can walk the paths and trails any time of year now without having to pay the admission price. I will plan on upcoming visits to bring my backpack and water and a couple of good books to read while I rest on a bench and listen to the sound of birds or the wind in the trees.

Here are photos from last Saturday's visit: Magnolia Gardens, May 18, 2008

These photos are from my visit in early April: Magnolia Gardens, April 2008

You can compare the views at two very different times of seasonal blooming.

Magnola Gardens in Spring

Magnolia Gardens in Charleston is one of the oldest and most beautiful gardens in the world. Visitors from every corner of the globe come here to admire it. More than 250 years old, it was originally a formal, French-style garden, but in the 19th century, one the owners, Rev. John G. Drayton, converted it to an informal, English garden with a more natural and untamed look.

Located on the banks of the Ashley River, this most enchanting and lovely garden spreads over many acres, it's shady paths lined with azaleas and camellias in full seasonal bloom as I walked there yesterday afternoon. Being amidst such resplendent beauty one can only gaze in awe at the sublime artistry of Nature, her flowers, trees, birdsong, rivers mingled with the loving guiding hand of the creators of this garden who wanted to share this beauty with posterity.

As one walks in the garden, on every side there are new places to veer off and explore -- side paths to sit and rest on a bench in a little setting of trees with statues and flowering daffodils and iris; views of the Ashley River and marshes, lagoons and ponds surrounded by cypress trees; and more winding, flower-filled paths that lead up to the famously photographed long bridge over the main lagoon and thence back to the plantation house and entrance.

For the entire duration of my visit, I found an interior peace and what can only be described as a state of bliss where the world outside this garden was but a distant memory, and the sensations and blissful feelings of each moment among such exquisite beauty made me aware of the truly important and valuable things in life.

Only a few hours later, sitting on the porch of the family home downtown, the calm and gentle breeezes of the afternoon gave way to violent wind, rain, hail and tornado warnings from the same storm system making its way directly toward us from the devastation it had wreaked in Atlanta and surrounding areas. Never could a day be filled with such stark contrasts in the moods of Nature, reminding me once again that storms rush through the tranquil times in our lives, and, as this one did, pass out to sea leaving clear skies and gentle breezes once again.

My Flickr page of photos of Magnolia Gardens

You can't go home again, or can you?

At the end of Thomas Wolfe's novel "You Can't Go Home Again," the protagonist George Webber, realized, "You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood.... back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame.. back home to places in the country, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting, but which are changing all the time -- back home to the escapes of Time and Memory..."... Yet generations of Americans have longed to go home, either to their actual childhood homes or to metaphorical homes located somewhere in the past...

Susan J. Matt
writing in The Journal of American History,
September 2007



Ever since reading "Look Homeward Angel" by Thomas Wolfe as an English major in New Orleans many years ago, I have recalled the impressions his work made on me, and in particular, my concept of "home." I grew up in New Orleans, and, unlike so many people there, I could not wait to finish college and leave the city for good, despite all the fascinating and dreamlike qualities of the place, so unlike any other city in America.

Decades later, however, and especially since the images of the devastation wreaked on the city by Hurricane Katrina, and the great flood it brought, I have thought about returning to visit, to retrace my steps, paths, explore the home streets and sidewalks, trees, backyards, stores, and landmarks that decades ago in my youth were so much a part of me that I could not even imagine living anywhere else, even though from an early age I knew the city of my birth would not be my permanent home.

I think in this regard I am like so many people who are drawn to their hometowns, to their own familiar landmarks, street scenes, smells, sights, ambience and deep-rooted sense of place that we cling to, no mater where we live, work and are anchored in the present.

I find the Sunday New Orleans newspaper, The Times-Picayune, which I read most of my young life, at the local library, I go online and read New Orleans blogs and the daily news online, I think about the parks, walks, French Quarter, old neighborhoods and sandwich shops, my high school in old Algiers, across the Mississippi River from downtown New Orleans. All these images and memories flicker by from time to time almost every day.

Even though i have no desire to go home to the physical "place" to live again, even in retirement, I find myself returning again and again in my thoughts and memories. So in that sense, we can "go home again," but never actually return. I keep in mind always that the "past is prologue" and the city where I was born and where I spent my formative years molded and shaped who I am today, for better or worse.

Over the years since I have left home, I have lived in quite a number of small towns and cities, each indelibly etching themselves in my memory. In each of them, I believe I sought out, however brief my stay, the links and ties to my original home that were there to be discovered deep within the structure and unique sense of place of each town and city where I subsequently lived. It's hard to describe. It was a feeling that soon came over me, part of the ongoing search for permanence, stability and roots. I did this consciously but probably mostly unconsciously, always with the thought in mind that this or that particular place could never be "home" as I once knew it to be. However, I often think about one idyllic, small college town where I lived for only seven months, and where I imagined I had found something akin to the home of my dreams. Alas, it was not to be.

Now that I have at last, after years of restless roaming and searching, found my "home place" here in Charleston, I have the luxury of indulging in my memories. Ironically, Charleston is where my ancestors are from and lived in the same neighborhood in the historic district where our family home is now. Life has a way of mysteriously completing circles.

I have never been homesick for New Orleans. I have no one there to visit now, no family or friends in that place. I have only my memories. And that is enough.

Early spring

Everything is a bit early this year. The azaleas are starting to bloom, the Japanese magnolia blossoms are a fading but beautiful memory, and the oak tree out my window is starting to bud and leaf out. I am not sure if this is related to the overall global changes in climate, but things seem different this spring. Nevertheless, early or late, I rejoice in the new growth and the flowers that bring such hope and promise at this time of year. Spring is the season of new birth and renewal. To me it is an even more symbolic time than fall when all the signs in Nature point toward winter.

It's still winter, though, officially, and the paradoxically blooming winter shrub, the camellia, is at it peak of blooms at the state park. Every time I go there, I walk through a wonderland of pink, red, and delicate white flowers. It's so extraordinary to me -- all that beauty in the depth of winter and into early spring.

My February walks there yielded a treasure trove of images, not least among them, photos of those spectacular and beautiful camellias which all during this winter have reminded me that spring is coming and that life and hope and beauty transcend the seasons, our moods, and all the events and occurrences in this life that would keep winter in our hearts. The beautiful camellias in bloom in the heart of winter are the small miracles and signposts of life that I find daily no matter what it looks like outside or my mood at the time.

Camellias and February at the state park

Golden light and shadows

When the days are short, the afternoon light is all the more precious and fleeting because the sun goes down so early these winter days. All the more reason to savor the late afternoon shadows and sunlight that backlights the trees and shrubs at the state park as well at the nature preserve. The warm light filtering through the trees cheers me and gives me a warm glow. I gathered together some of my favorite photos taken the last month or so which illustrate what I mean. We are fortunate to have such mild winters here. Last night coming in from downtown about 11 the air was so cool and brisk it was just perfect. When I am out walking at the nature preserve or park I embrace the brisk air, marvel at the shadows and seek out the light.

Golden light and shadows

(Best seen as a slideshow)

Always new beginnings

... Life is filled with suffering, but it is also filled with many wonders, like the blue sky, the sunshine, the eyes of a baby. To suffer is not enough. We must also be in touch with the wonders of life. They are within us and all around us, everywhere , any time.

If we are not happy, if we are not peaceful, we cannot share peace and happiness with others, even those we love, those who live under the same roof. If we are peaceful, if we are happy, we can smile and blossom like a flower, and everyone in our family, our entire society, will benefit from our peace. Do we need to make a special effort to enjoy the beauty of the blue sky? Do we have to practice to be able to enjoy it? No, we just enjoy it. Each second, each minute of our lives can be like this. Wherever we are, any time, we have the capacity to enjoy the sunshine, the presence of each other, even the sensation of our breathing...We can be in touch with these things right now. It would be a pity if we are only aware of suffering...

Thich Nhat Hanh
From Being Peace in the collection of his work entitled Essential Writings

I am drawn again and again to two places nearby where I can seek and discover, as if for the first time, the special wonder and joy of seeing woods, trees, flowers, and blue skies in familiar places, my sanctuaries, if you will.

I can look out my window and see the slight breeze rustling the leaves, which are still on the old oak tree changing color, but which will soon be falling, probably not long after the freeze we are expecting in a couple of days.

I can walk a few short blocks out my door and come to a tree-filled vacant lot in the middle of developed neighborhoods that has an ancient white oak in the midst of it, which calls out to me in its solitary splendor every time I walk by.

If I concentrate and cast off negative thoughts and images that seem to want to intrude so often on my consciousness, I can attain a purer form of being and oneness, thoughts and images focused on the good and the beautiful just by walking in the woods or looking up above the trees to the blue skies.

As Thich Nhat Hanh says, we have the capacity at any moment in our lives to enjoy those blue skies, even if it is cloudy and overcast. We know it is there just beyond the dark clouds. There is a brighter overcast light coming through the clouds right now as I look at the oak tree, and the scattering of yellow leaves on the tree stand out in a last show of autumn brilliance before winter's winds and cold at last leave its branches bare and outlined against the blue sky that is visible now in faint patches, a reminder of the wonder of those everyday experiences that can be so blissfully transformative.

Always new beginnings