I keep myself small, always conscious of the space I take. I’ve never been loud and proud. I don’t know what it’s like to raise my voice or my hand. I’m the one at the back of the room you probably weren’t aware of. I’m afraid of breaking the “rules,” of making demands, of being the center of attention. I prefer solitude in landscape to public or private gatherings. All to keep safe. But now I’m thinking about communal situations.
I used to have a dream where I was at a party. It was outdoors. People were chatting in groups, drinks in hand. Some were huddled around the food tables. There was an ebb and flow to the hubbub that carried across like music. In the dream I ran between the various clusters of attendees, my arms spread out and my lungs on full blast. No one batted an eyelash. This was a gathering where I could approach another without fear to ask, “will you be my friend?” Somewhere someone sang, another danced…some sat mutely on a bench…others wandered alone. The party had no guest list. Did I mention this was a dream?
In fifth grade there were four of us. Outsiders in our class we would meet in a forgotten grove the excavators had missed when paving the parking lot. In this space I would lose my timidity. The shaggy spruces would become touchstones for my imagination. The thicket a boundless expanse — despite its diminutive border — in which I could explore who I wished to be. Ambling the trails of Washington Park I try to recapture that feeling again. Both human and nonhuman intermingle in this public estate. Trees laugh, and so do children who thread through the adult ramblers. Yet, I trek in unease. In the gathering to hear the wind’s whispers is there a conversation to be had? In the shared glimpse of a fleeing bird is there deeper intention created? We hikers come together for moments of delight, then break apart for our own tracks, as enmeshed in the scenery as the hidden creatures who rustle round us. There is no business plan here, no economic strategy, no event facilitator. But, in these fleeting encounters can something of far greater significance happen?
Located on Multnomah and Clackamas land, the city of Portland, Oregon contains over 10,000 acres where fir groves, trout creeks, reed marshes, and lily ponds provide habitation for organisms. In these pulsating ecosystems humans may discover entanglement, confront fluidity. I grapple with these spaces — observing, exploring, questioning. There is the miracle of moss at Forest Park troubling my ideas about autonomous living. The whiz of winged bugs at Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge force upon me the deceptions of nativism. The rhododendron garden at Crystal Springs interrogates my alienation from the soil. What I at first considered passive spaces metamorphose into conduits of disquiet. I’d like the opportunity to discuss my thoughts with fellow strollers, but anxiety silences me. It’s an instinct I’ve relied on to survive. I fool myself that the more isolated I remain the less danger will befall.
I’m in the aromatic midst of a floral maelstrom. At the International Rose Test Garden six hundred and fifty varieties bloom in profusion. The whirlwind of color and smell overwhelms. Cream, lavender, crimson, ruby, pearl, and saffron corollas inundate me with their transcendent perfume. I float in an eddy of scents, heady and unnerving. Dazed, I close my eyes. “It’s quite the aromatic assault, isn’t it?” A voice asks. I open my eyes to a twinkling gaze and a twitching nose. “It’s…it’s…intoxicating!” I reply, woozy from the stimulation. “Imagine how the bees feel,” my interlocutor says. In response a buzzing insect alights for a brief spell between us, then swoops in erratic circles across the flowers. We two chortle, then walk away. But, the interaction stays with me for the remainder of the day. I reflect on its spontaneity, marvel at how quickly we fortified each other’s pleasure, forged mutual wonder in a terraced garden.
As our living accommodations isolate, as our niche boxes contract and further segregate, we require more participatory spaces. We’re in the throes of recognizing the many ways to being human, which is why gathering spaces are essential. But how we function in those spaces is also consequential. What if we renounced our assumptions about the structure of certain arenas or their inherent objective? What if our playgrounds were specific to the needs of the neighborhood children? What if our gardens were in service to local fauna while tending to our consumption? What if our parks engaged civic responsibility by upending our ability to conquer land and one another?
I grew up on a culture of romantic comedy films. Their scripts ran invariably the same, their protagonists unchanged. I was both skeptical and envious of them for this reason. My experiences never seemed to align with the idylls they promised. Love in these fairytales appeared constrictive and toneless — a one-for-one exchange between two very specific types of people played out in their private sphere. But, love in my world is a public, complex, messy action: muddled up in personal ambition between friends, fraught with power struggles among siblings, contending with parental doctrines. It is a source of suspicion among strangers and breeds bigotry I sense, though can’t unravel. Love as I know it isn’t confined to secluded circumstances, but bubbles erratically — untidily — affecting all our lives.
I still continue to puzzle out when to emphasize selfhood and when to concede to the collective in my relationships. However, I have felt truly loved when I’ve found people…and places that provide scope for me to both be and become. So I am striving to develop that capacity within while searching for venues encouraging this duality. Because when such gathering spaces — interior and exterior — are capable of holding with purpose, when they are transparent, perhaps we can all finally believe there is room for us too.
The Garden of Awakening Orchids (also called the LanSu Chinese Garden) is a magical gathering space built through international cooperation between the sister towns of Portland, Oregon and Suzhou, China. It is poetry of architecture and nature, featuring a scholar’s studio, gracious pavilions, and walkways for reflection.
How has gathering and public space changed because of the pandemic for you?
Great readding your post
Thank you for stopping by to check it out!
I like your thoughts. They’re free flowing. Your photos are awesome!
Thank you for your kind words and for stopping by to read this post!
Beautifully written and a joy to read.
Beautifully and brilliantly written. I’m in awe!
Thank you so very much for your kind words. Take care!
What a beautifully worded and thought out post. I could see the scene as if I witnessed it myself, of two strangers fleetingly interacting.
Thank you M! I feel that way often about the blogging world as well. Hope this finds you safe and healthy.
Beautiful post and beautiful photos. I love how you talk about the push and pull between internal and external. Great writing.
I appreciate your stopping by to read and for such lovely compliments. Wishing you well.
Your writing is something else, I drifted off into the dream your words held…and also thought back to my great times in Portland 🙂 Wonderful photos, and they seemed to embrace being able to do everything and be everywhere at once, like your words: “Somewhere someone sang, another danced…some sat mutely on a bench…others wandered alone” ~ where in my dream, I do all those things. Wish you well, take care.
May our dreams of a world where we get to be our complex selves and live in kinship really come true for everyone someday. Thank you for your lovely message. Sending you kind thoughts and the delights of the season.
What an incredible garden! After reading your beautiful, meditative post, I did a quick online search of this magical place. It sounds like an absolute Must to visit.
Your photos are so clear, I can almost smell the blooms. Thanks for this spiritual refreshment. 🙂
I’m happy to hear my photos really brought this beautiful place to life for you. The many gardens of Portland are a joy to explore and I hope you will get a chance to immerse in their beauty someday. Thank you for the lovely compliment.
What I missed most when the pandemic first started was spending time with good friends. Now that restrictions have been eased, I feel a little uneasy around those same friends if they get too close. Very strange how our feelings can change from day to day.
Yes, it is fascinating how we adapt to differing circumstances…for a time I missed eating out…but now can’t bring myself to go back to the restaurants that have re-opened. Thanks for sharing with me how this time has been affecting you. And I hope you will be able to enjoy the company of your friends in a safe and personally distanced way.
Been feeling this too, the restaurant experience isn’t so relaxed as it was.
I’ve wandered in that dream garden, in my dreams. I can even smell it now. The photos are pure bliss. I admit that I’m moving away from gathering places now. Receding into my wilderness as much as possible, where I encounter almost no humans. This is where I feel the most loved and accepted. But, I realize that I am the minority. 🙂 Hope you are well, dear A.
I understand…nature is where I too feel I can be comfortably alone, and myself. But, I know that even amidst your self-governing isolation, you are still investing in the connections that matter to you. It’s always such a deep pleasure to hear from you and to know that you are taking care of yourself. And thank you for your love and support. ❤️
Such a beautiful post! You could have read my mind. I couldn’t meet my friends for 7 months because I started my dental work just after social distancing was eased. I’ve never liked crowded spaces and the pandemic has just made me dislike them all the more. However, a part of me, craves and longs for human company and more importantly: touch. We’ve lost hugs — so important for an expat missing and craving family. Nature has always come to my rescue. Your beautiful pictures show me that you’ve found comfort in nature too. I’ve had a love & hate relationship with linear, fairytale-like rom-coms. These days, I can’t seem to be critical. 🙂 If I feel good — the movie’s good! Take care and stay safe!
Haha…if the movie gives you comfort than it definitely is a good movie for you! Yes…even more so than before I’ve been in the midst of fields and hills and plants…where I can be…me. I’ve been grieving the loss of human touch, but thankful for soulful connections…and hugging trees a lot, which is helping. 🙂 Wishing you well as you continue your dental work.
These very deep thoughts give me a lot to think about during this time. Not only because of changes the pandemic has brought upon us, but because as I age I see relationships with friends change too. I guess I am feeling a bit disconnected while questioning how important it is to feel the opposite. Chats with strangers do seem to feel a little more precious these days. Excellent post … you are a wonderful writer and photographer!
I understand. Perhaps the ways we feel about human connections and community right now are also (and probably have always been) shaped by where we live. Building relationships is challenging work and I often think back on how I lacked the skills to do that work in real life. It’s interesting that blogging has led me to deeper communications with strangers than I had in many of my friendships…. I appreciate your thoughts and your lovely compliment. Take care.
What a wonderful article: so thoughtful, poetic, and meaningful. Sometimes the choice between being selfish or pursuing a collective interest is difficult. I think that it’s good to be selfish unless it goes against your moral standards. Small talks with strangers are so important during these difficult times. It is safe to smile and say hello from a safe distance. I can recognize when people smile even if their faces are covered with masks . The virus doesn’t transfer through a smile and friendly chat. We have trees with white fragrant flowers in the neighborhood and a beautiful small lake not far away, where heron, red wing black birds , ducks, and geese live. You still have good dreams at night. In my dreams for this past week, I had been robbed twice. LOL!
It will be so very important to continue thinking about how to navigate meaningful relationships into our uncertain futures. Thank you for your generous words and understanding. Wishing you peaceful dreams and happy walks among the white fragrant flowers and neighborhood lake.
I’m wondering what you’re holding on to so tightly you fear its loss?! Your spot sounds idyllic 🙂