Saturday we left the west side of Mobile Bay and moved to the east side. Before we left, we took one more day to do a little sightseeing at a nearby garden just down the road from our RV park.

Jason and I have always loved touring gardens – which is funny as we both hate gardening – but we love being outside, we love flowers, and we love wandering. So we find them to be joyful places to seek out.

The garden was not too big and we spent about two hours taking our time through the paths, sitting down at every porch swing we stumbled upon – to take a quick swing and absorb the views.

I recently read a book that had the creation of a large garden as its overarching storyline. The book taught me about how a garden should have many vista points as well as different “rooms” to visit. How gardeners will create inviting entryways to pull the visitor into a space that might not be visible until you step through the archway, the gate, the hedge.

And even though this garden could be considered small in comparison to some of the more famous gardens we have visited, it did indeed have many rooms and vistas for us to explore.

I have been using a phrase to help me mark time since the passing of our sweet dog Mechthild. Thinking of time as before, or after Mechie. And the few months between when she passed, and the here and now, feel somehow murky and lost. And what seemed so clear before feels very far away.

It was as if her passing issued into our lives a sharp turn in another direction. As if we stepped from one room in the garden to a completely new one that we had never planned to visit before. And we are still taking in that vista.

Toward the end of our visit we entered the section on the map entitled, “Asian Garden” only to find a chain blocking the path in one direction with a sign saying, “closed indefinitely”. In the distance we could see a peek of what looked like a teahouse.

We turned the other direction, toward the pathway that was still open, and found ourselves in front of a red bridge laying over a pond filled with Koi. On the other side of the bridge a Magnolia bloomed.

We followed the path up over the bridge and stood under the Magnolia looking back from where we had just walked. Again we could go no further - another chain blocked the path and we had no choice but to turn around and go back over the bridge.

This week we are settled on the other side of the bay close to the town of Fairhope. Fairhope is a very quaint village with lots of shops, picturesque churches, and a famous chef with a couple of restaurants.

There doesn’t seem to be as much opportunity for our outdoor strolls in a beautiful garden, but we are seeking out other outings. Heading to the Gulf shore beaches Sunday afternoon. Maybe taking a stroll through the “Alligator Boardwalks” on Saturday.

In part four of her poem, “Sometimes”, Mary Oliver writes this:

IV.

Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.

Today I sat down to write. I did not have something astonishing to share. I did not have a big piece of wisdom to put down here. I simply had the words to tell you about a garden we visited that brought us joy on a hot spring day. How the garden was in bloom. How there was a bridge that went to the other side and then back again. How the path was blocked and we could not go any further along that path.

How I had a dog name Mechthild.

How one night - not too long ago - she died unexpectedly.

How I still miss her terribly.

Garden wanderings - 3/9/22