Notes from the Garden

It is morning here and the sun is streaming through the Alders, the Big Leaf Maples and the Douglas Fir trees. I am writing this at a desk facing a full wall of windows, looking out at a sea of Sword Ferns mostly in shadow but minute-by-minute joining a chorus of those dappled by the light of the rising sun.

Small openings through the trees reveal the tall yellowed grasses of the meadow in the distance. There is a gentle breeze touching leaf and bough so that the light wavers with constant, changing intensity.

I am here at Bloedel Reserve, on Bainbridge Island. Over the past two years I’ve developed an intimate relationship with this place, returning for multiple stays in different seasons. Each time I am greeted by a family of close friends that appear in my paintings: the slender Doug Fir near the back deck with furrowed, violet bark and eyes that look back at me; the bower of Vine Maples at the threshold of meadow and forest; the regal Cedar reflected in the pond; the Black Locust tree, bright yellow against the faded, purplish wood of the sheep barns.

My purple truck sits in the driveway beneath a bower of Alders and a backdrop of Doug Firs. The mustard-yellow moss on the stone wall a perfect complement to her aubergine.

When walking out to the meadow the sweet smell of warm grass fills me with longing. A longing, perhaps, for some distant memory of feeling young and free, or perhaps a future where I can finally rest and be wholly part of the field. These longings mingle and marry into my present with a deep gratitude for being exactly where I am.

Being in nature gently urges us to be where we are. A kind of erotics of perception, an awareness of our own consciousness moving into and among the other forms of the earth. I think of the line in Mary Oliver’s poem “Wild Geese”: You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

One of the great lessons of our global quarantine has been the necessity to slow down and be where we are. That, coupled with the need to let go of former plans and to be open and adaptable for each new day, is an urgent message we all need to hear. Nature helps us understand this.

To be where we are. To cultivate our surroundings and our relationships with great intention. To be the loving gardeners of the lives we are living. To experience the small pleasures of growth and to witness with joy and curiosity the changes that reveal themselves to us each new day. To be the caretakers of the Earth and to feel proud of the home and the harvest that we play a role in creating.

Kimberly Trowbridge, Creative Fellow

Bloedel Reserve, July 2020