Item From the Past: The Butchart Gardens

There's a lot to be said for traveling without a camera. Or at least not bothering to unpack the thing. I used to go places and not take pictures most of the time -- pretty much everywhere I went during the '80s.

For instance, I made no pictures of the Butchart Gardens, an extraordinary spot in Victoria, BC, during my June 1985 visit. The only image I have is the guide booklet above. But I remember the colorful evening light show the gardens puts on. After wandering around the fine floral displays in late afternoon, I waited in my rental car, reading, for dusk to come so I could see the variable colors sparkling among the plants, generated by strings of lights and well-positioned flood lights.

Quite a sight. I'm glad I wasn't fumbling with a camera at that moment.

An Afternoon Among the Flowers and Tanks

Today was one of those increasingly rare warm days -- clear and nearly 70° F. during the afternoon -- so we decided to visit Cantigny Park. The last time we were there was during the full blaze of summer, more than a year ago.

Fall coloration is far along, as it is everywhere else, but the gardens are still lush with flowers. We haven't had a hard freeze yet, and the Cantigny horticulturists must see to it that the gardens feature plenty of late-season bloomers.

Besides the flowers, we also went to Cantigny to see 11 tanks permanently parked on the property, such as this one.

All of them belong to the First Division Museum at Cantigny and are exhibited on the grounds outside the museum building. According to the sign, that's a 48.5-ton M46 Patton. On a day like today, kids (and some adults) were all over the tanks.

Urbs in Horto at the Lurie Garden

It's warm again. Today's small pleasure was lunch on the deck. Only a few more of those kinds of days left in '11.

Even in early October, the Lurie Garden in Millennium Park is still fairly verdant. But late in the afternoon on Sunday, it was hard to capture that lushness with a basic digital camera.

Measuring about five acres, the garden is sandwiched between the Pritzker Pavilion and the Art Institute, but hidden by a 15-foot hedge. The Lurie Garden web site claims that the hedge is a symbolic "shoulder," as in the City of Big Shoulders, but that seems like a contorted effort to squeeze a symbol out of a physical presence.

The garden, designed by Gustafson Guthrie Nichols Ltd., Piet Oudolf and Robert Israel, features perennials and bulbs, grasses, shrubs and trees in great profusion. The web site lists them, and I was glad to see that the designers weren't native-plant purists, though the majority are from some part of North America. Species from Europe and Asia seem to be well represented as well. If you insisted on native plants only, what would that be -- a vacant lot with weeds?

The Lurie Garden is also noteworthy because it's essentially a rooftop garden, since parking garages are below. It's been called the largest green roof in the world, though you'd never know that just walking around.

John Anderson, Hoichi Kurisu, Justin Bieber & Elvis Presley

I'm used to reading that such-and-such Japanese garden was ordered built by so-and-so daimyo during this or that remote century. So even though I knew the Anderson Japanese Gardens pretty much had to be a 20th-century creation, it was still a mild surprise to learn that the gardens were created in my lifetime.

"John Anderson, a third generation Rockford industrialist, started the garden in the fall of 1978," an article posted by WIRF ("Rockford's #1 News Source) tells us. "He was motivated to build a Japanese garden by a visit to Japan after graduating from the University of Wisconsin. The Japanese people, their culture, their appreciation for nature and their landscape design philosophy -- left a lifelong impression on him."

Being from a family of industrialists -- I've also seen him described as a venture capitalist -- Anderson thus had the scratch to hire Hoichi Kurisu to design a garden in Rockford. Kurisu had come to the United States in 1968 to become director of landscaping at the Japanese garden complex in Washington Park Gardens, Portland, Oregon. "Mr. Kurisu continues to this day to ensure continuous improvement of the grounds and design of Anderson Japanese Gardens," the garden's web site says. "The placement of every rock, alignment of every tree, and layout of all paths has been made with careful consideration by Mr. Kurisu over the last 32 years."

So not only are the gardens recent, they're still being overseen by the first generation, though WIRF did say that John Anderson's son (another John Anderson) is now executive director of the property, but only since earlier this year. The designer still comes to do design work every year. So "work in progress" is no lazy description of the place, though maybe "work across the decades" might fit better.

Since we were there last in 2002, the gardens have opened a new visitor center, larger than the previous one and also including event space. Preparations were being made for a wedding in the garden and a reception in the visitor center as we started to leave, right before the gardens closed for the day. The bride and the bridesmaids were outside, posing for photos, while the groom and groomsmen were goofing around in the visitors center.

The DJ was getting ready too. Part of his gear included life-sized standup cutouts of certain singers, present and past. Ann asked for her pic with a certain heartthrob of the day.

Yuriko preferred a heartthrob of an earlier era.

A Shishi Odoshi for All to See

This is a shishi odoshi (鹿威し). I'd seen one before, but did not know the name until we encountered this one at the Anderson Japanese Gardens in Rockford recently.

It's a hollow bamboo tube balanced on a small upright, with one end sealed. Water from another bamboo pipe fills the tube, and when it's close to full, it pivots on the upright and dumps its collection of water. The tube then drops back down, sealed end first, to make a pop against a rock below. Its traditional function was to scare off animals (deer, mainly) who might want to feast on the garden's plants. These days it serves the visual and aural aesthetic of the garden.

I'm not an authority on Japanese gardens, or even an enthusiast, but I know I like that feature. The big-picture bridges and ponds and trees and water features at Anderson please the senses as they should, but I also made an effort to see some of the details too -- the smaller bits of Japanese garden artistry, such as the shishi odoshi but also another fountain:

A stone pagoda nestled in the trees and undergrowth.

And a spheroid stone cat. With emblems of primate fertility?

Anderson Japanese Gardens

This June has offered northern Illinois an unusually large number of cool, cloudy days, some rainy. In between are more standard summer-like days. Mr. Blue Sky never does tell us why he has to be away for so long, but then again rain has its underrated charms. Despite cool conditions, crickets have started singing by night, and I've even spotted a firefly or two.

During one of those summer-like days recently we went to Rockford to visit the Anderson Japanese Gardens. We'd been there before, but it was like going somewhere new because the last time was nearly nine years ago, and that was during the fall. It was time to experience the gardens in the summer. In both seasons, Anderson remains one of my favorite Japanese gardens, and I've seen a few.

The one that impressed me most is still Ritsurin Koen in Takamatsu on the island of Shikoku. But part of that was circumstance. The morning I visited Ritsurin Koen, a heavy summer rain had just fallen, adding luster to the already artfully lush setting. Even better, I had the place to myself, a rarity in Japan.

Anderson has artful lushness too, and is only a little more than an hour away. It has bridges.

And waterfalls.

And expansive ponds.

And much more. Yuriko feels that Anderson is very much like a garden in Japan, and I thought the only thing missing was an on-site temple, complete with monks periodically ringing temple bells.

This Cantigny Bower Not My Prison

Back again on July 6. In the meantime, Uncle Sam Wants You (To Use Pyrotechnics).

Besides roses, there were plenty of other flowers and assorted plants at the gardens of Cantigny, including a Begonia Empire that featured nonstop pink, nonstop deep red, nonstop orange, nonstop fire; an Impatiens Kingdom; and a Millet Purple Majesty Realm. But nothing on the grounds pleased me more than the pergola, or if you prefer, bower or arbor. Whatever you call it, the one at Cantigny had several comfortable places to sit. This is the eye-level view from that sitting-place.

And looking up.

When, unfortunately, you have to leave the wonderful pergola of Cantigny, because all things pass, at least there's a nearby pond to walk around. Eventually, on the other side of the pond, you'll get a look at the entirety of the pergola, along with its reflection in the pond.

Stop and Smell the Betty Whites

A part of Cantigny is given over the roses. I don't think I've seen a finer rose garden since visiting the one that occupies a slice of Nakanoshima Park in Osaka, but then again I don't seek out rose gardens with any energy. But when I find one, I go look around. And smell around. "Stop and smell the roses" becomes literal activity at a time like this. A lot people were doing the same during our visit.

According to Cantigny, the 12,000-square-foot rose garden is home to more than 1,200 roses representing more than 55 varieties in 16 different classifications. That sounds like a lot to me -- a wide variety of grandifloras, floribundas, hybrid teas, minis and shrub roses. These had a sweet, pungent smell:

The sign told me they were specimens of the hybrid tea rose "Betty White." Looks like everyone likes Betty White, even rose horticulturists. Nearby roses were named for Julia Child and Queen Elizabeth.

Cantigny in June

The fireflies arrived in number last week, and so have tiger lilies in patches along the streets and in yards. Dragonflies flit around and mosquitoes focus on their targets. The Summer Triangle rides high in the sky during the few hours of dark, because the days are long. The sunshine bears down on us and the air steams. High summer has come.

June has also been a Rain Month this year, inspiring a lush landscape all around. So we figured it would be a good time to visit Cantigny, former estate of Col. Robert R. McCormick, a newspaper owner (the Chicago Tribune) back when that meant something. Namely, that Col. McCormick was wealthy enough to have a sprawling estate in then-rural DuPage County that's now a museum and garden.

It's an incredible garden. Or rather, 22 individual gardens on about 30 acres. But it wasn't that way during the colonel's residence: "In the 1930s, experimental farms served as practical laboratories," notes the Cantigny web site. "These laboratories tried new species of plants, tested theories of planting and harvesting, and investigated new practices in raising productive farm animals. One of the most successful experimental farms was Col. McCormick’s at Cantigny.

"After McCormick’s death in 1955, the Board of Directors decided to change Cantigny's focus from agriculture to horticulture by hiring famed landscape architect Franz Lipp to design and build a world-class garden. In 1967, Lipp began construction of this horticultural masterpiece, which is one of the largest display gardens in the Midwest with more than 160,000 annuals, perennials, ground covers and flowering shrubs and trees."

More than enough to delight visitors of all ages.

Cuneo Mansion and Gardens

If you're going to possess obscene riches, the least you can do is leave behind remarkable buildings for later generations to see. The heirs of Commodore Vanderbilt were good at it. Unfortunately for me, it's a long drive to the nearest Vanderbilt legacy structure. Fortunately, other robberbarons had similar impulses, including Commonwealth Edison founder Samuel Insull, who had a notion to have an Italianate mansion built for him a fairly close to where I would live nearly 100 years later.

Though not very warm, last Friday was clear and dry. More importantly, Lilly and Ann were still on spring break and Yuriko had the day off, so we all made the drive to the Cuneo Mansion and Gardens in Vernon Hills, Illinois, a suburb in Lake County. Biltmore, it isn't. Still, its lavishness befits a power utility mogul of yore.

But it isn't the Insull Mansion and Gardens, though in the 1910s he hired architect Benjamin Marshall to design the former and landscape architect Jens Jensen the latter. The Depression crushed the business fortune -- and more astonishingly, the personal fortune -- of Samuel Insull, so he was obliged to sell the property to another high-net-worth individual (high, as in stratosphere): John Cuneo Sr., a Chicago printing baron. Now the property of Loyola University, the mansion still carries the name of its second owner.

Pilcher Park, Joliet

One of the more complete descriptions of Pilcher Park in Joliet that I've found after a few minutes' search is on Waymarking.com, a site obsessed with topographical minutiae, and thus after my own heart. It says: "PILCHER PARK ARBORETUM, US 30, from Maple to Gauger Road, was presented to the people of Joliet by Robert Pilcher in 1922 with the stipulation that it should remain in its natural state. About 75 species of trees, including nine kinds of oak, are native, as well as many shrubs, bushes, and almost innumerable wild flowers.

"A collection of imports started by John Higgenbotham, the original owner, includes southern magnolia, sweet gum, cypress, tulip-tree, white fringe, pecan, black birch, and hickories and black cherry trees. Plans for development envisage introduction of trees from all over the world. A five-acre picnic camp, across Hickory Creek, is connected with the main part by a footbridge. One-way motor lanes are supplemented by five miles of narrow footpaths and several miles of bridle paths."

We drove some of those one-way motor ways last Saturday, and saw the footbridge, though "picnic camp" isn't the way I'd describe it. Across the bridge was a run-down looking picnic shelter. Near that site also stands a statue of Robert Pilcher, a remarkably traditional standing bronze, arms by his side, on top of a plinth describing the good deeds of the man. I didn't get a picture, but naturally Google Images has one (scroll down about half way; and there are other pictures of the park in early spring).

Elsewhere in the park are the aforementioned and -pictured nature center and the totem pole. Walking paths led away from the nature center, and we did a little wandering. The oaks mentioned by Waymaking were especially evident, since it was hard to take a step without stepping on an acorn of one kind or another. The whole place was an extravagant August green.

Hard to believe that in three months there will be browns and grays and bare branches. The Temperate Zone is an exacting taskmaster.

The curiously named Bird Haven Greenhouse & Conservatory is also part of the park. Not the largest conservatory I've seen, but well worth a walkthrough. This is the exterior, with lush flower beds on either side of the adjacent sidewalk.

Not visible, but just beyond the trellis on the left, was a gazebo surrounded by folding chairs. We figured someone was going to have a wedding there, which was confirmed when a couple of bridesmaids showed up just as we were leaving.

Inside, the conservatory had the usual rooms devoted to different plant climates: tropical, arid, temperate. Plus an assortment of small memorials. This one caught my eye: a memorial cactus for one David Hritz. We should all be so lucky to be remembered in this way.

Domes

I wondered: just how many varieties of poinsettias are there? We arrived at the Mitchell Park Conservatory, aptly known as the Domes, on Saturday just as the sun was going down somewhere behind a compete gray blanket of clouds. Inside one of the three domes, I saw a sea of poinsettias, the star flowers of the Christmas floral show, which was to be over the next day.

Milwaukee County's web site tells us that in the 1950s, "a design competition, won by a local architect, produced the plans for the new conservatory. Donald Grieb's winning entry called for three beehive-shaped (not geodesic) glass domes, 140 feet in diameter at the base and 85 feet high, offering 15,000 square feet of growing space for plant display. Each dome would have a distinct climate and exhibit plants in a naturalistic setting. These are the Arid, Tropical, and Floral Show domes. Construction began in 1959 and proceded in stages."

The damp gray outside made the interior of the conservatory that much more vivid, but it would have been vivid any time in the floral dome, with its hundreds of poinsettias of various hues and still-decorated Christmas trees, or the tropical dome with its lush greenery, or even the arid dome, with all its dozens of weird cacti and such dry-world plants.

In the floral dome, a small sample of the flowers, doing no justice to the subtle color variety that I experienced:

In the tropical dome, some elephant ears. That's what I call them, anyway:

In the arid dome, some of Milwaukee's few palms, plus skyscraper cacti:

I've long liked conservatories, as far back as a visit to the United States Botanic Garden in Washington, DC, over 25 years ago, which I happened upon without any plan to visit. Glass domes are pleasing to the eye practically by nature, and plant diversity never falls to amaze, though botany isn't my calling, since I can never remember the names of very many plants. My reaction is more basic than informed: "Wow, look at that strange one."