the parsley.blog.landscape.life

originally posted November 9, 2008

there is an immensely subtle language to Japanese gardens, most of which I really have no idea about. my boss went to Japan and went to many of the famous gardens, reporting back that they were jammed with people, but the crowds were very respectful; including immense numbers of schoolchildren, who are learning something at an early age that most Americans never quite get the hang of at all.

the day I went to visit the University of British Columbia campus, it was pouring rain, which is why my pictures of the Nitobe garden look so gray. this is said to be one of the most authentic Japanese gardens in North America.

there is an overall metaphor in the garden, of the journey through life.  there are landmarks at particular points that represent milestones like marriage, family, achievements; the character of the path changes to represent the difficulties of life.

the stone by the path is called an “alarm rock”:

it doesn’t actually represent anything in itself, and maybe “alarm” is a poor translation of whatever the Japanese really is, but it is intended to get your attention and alert you to the fact that something important is coming up next. in this case, it’s a punctuation to the largest and most impressive of the stone lanterns, this one a tribute to the man the garden is named for, a diplomat and educator:

there was a special lantern elsewhere in the garden, representing marriage:

people were apparently making wishes, whether for future hoped-for marriages, or some help for their current marriages, or in memory of past marriages, I couldn’t say:

I couldn’t tell you for sure what I wished for, but I admit I did throw some kind of Canadian coin in there.

the garden was beautiful, but I spent a lot of my time looking for Katsura trees, Cercidiphyllum japonicum, which is a tree I first learned to recognize on that Northwestern trip. I don’t think it would ever grow here in the semi-desert, but it seems to love the sogginess of Seattle and BC, and it turns the most remarkable color in the fall.  I seemed to be visiting at just the right time to see it.

I learned that I could tell when I was standing under a katsura tree, even before looking up at it, because the fallen leaves have a sweet smell.  I’m often better at noticing things like that than something large and obvious like an alarm rock, the significance of which may only be apparent in retrospect.