When you think of a garden what do you envision? Flowers, shrubs, towering trees? The MEMBG has all these and more. Often it is the little things that people don't notice, or take for granted, that make a world of difference to their physical and aesthetic experience of the garden.
When I close my eyes the first that come to mind are the large river rocks. They border the paths and streams and form the retaining walls and benches found throughout the garden. In my imagination I can almost feel their bulk and weight; their irregularly rounded shapes. I feel their rough and smooth surfaces; their earth tone shades. The rocks provide a reminder of something permanent and solid in a world of seasons and change. And yet change, they do too, as time and erosion wear them down. Whether observing, actually touching, or just walking past, the rocks help me gain a perspective on the impermanence of life.
I think too of the wooden planks that bridge one side of a path to the other. I often wonder about the construction of a particular bridge. I'm curious as to how long ago it was made, how it was engineered, the color of the original wood and the stain used to protect it. I like the way a bridge feels underfoot and the sound that is made when people cross it. Some people shuffle, others have a more defined gait; they walk in accompaniment to their inner rhythms, which in combination with others are sometimes in harmony and sometimes not. And people's choice of footwear, whether sandals, sneakers, or boots, creates variations on a rhythmic theme, which I like to imagine is for my listening pleasure.
The smell of the wood after a rain or heavy garden sprinkling is intoxicating. I become aware of its prior state as a living tree, if only for a short time. I especially like to reflect on the function of a bridge. It is a point of connection and it also marks a transition. If, while crossing a garden bridge, you were to pause a moment in the middle, you might feel a combination of the tension and the excitement that comes from such an encounter with yourself and with nature.
Many other things I like about the garden is its signs. The definition of a sign is a visible object that points to a fact or conveys a meaning. The signs in the garden are different sizes, made of different materials and serve different functions. On the perimeter of the garden, near the entrances, are large wooden signs publicizing its existence. After all, most basically, we have to know there is a garden and where it is in order to enter it. Then there are smaller wooden signs that direct people to The Nest, the outdoor classroom in the northern end of the garden. This is particularly important for our visiting tour groups, because The Nest is where the tours begin. And then there are the very small green plastic signs beneath and in front of selected trees and other perennials. The signs indicate both the botanical and common names and vegetation's origin. Finally there are appropriate-to-the-setting subtlety placed small signs in recognition of donations made to the garden in someone's memory or in their honor. All these signs add to my experience of the MEMBG. They help me to orient myself. They provide me information. And they afford me a moment's pause in contemplating the relationship of one person to another as it is honored in a gift to the garden.
As cycles tend to end where they once began, I'll ask again, what do you envision when you think of the garden? Please share your thoughts and insights with me. I look forward to learning what is special to you and passing it along to others. You can email cfelixso@ucla.edu or call (310) 206-3887.
CAROL FELIXSON, Docent and Communications Coordinator