What's your definition of paradise? Is it a tropical beach with manicured sand and perfect aqua colored water? What about your ideal vacation? Jet setting to a different culture, road tripping across the country? Where is your little slice of heaven, your paradise? What if it was right in your backyard?
Sometime over the weekend Mom randomly thanked me for taking care of the yard. While her sentiment was sweet, it was unnecessary. The lawn has to be mowed (and replanted but that's a whole other issue), the vegetable garden has to be planted (because if I get rid of it inevitably it becomes more grass for me to mow), flower beds have to be weeded. It's just what is needed. If Dad was taking care of the yard it would look a heck of a lot better! I'm just trying to keep up. But it got me thinking. Dad always had quite a bit of pride shaping, cultivating and designing his yards. From the house on Fernwood in Maplewood, to Brookside in Millington and all the way past Sebec to Bucksport, there has always been an ever changing and rotating group of flowers, shrubs and trees that have adorned all the properties.
There is a place on Mount Desert Island called Asticou Azalea Garden. I go there every year, around this time, to photograph the brilliantly blooming azaleas and rhododendrons. Usually I stop by early morning on my way home from photographing the night sky and/or sunrise in Acadia National Park. The garden is an inspiration for me.
I joked with both Mom and Dad that I would like their backyard to be a mini version of Asticou. It's a lofty ambition and Dad, just tired thinking about it, quietly told me not to bother. I looked at him and said, "When are either of you going to be travelling anywhere, anytime soon?" There was no harshness in the truth I spoke of. I continued, "Instead of having to take a vacation and go somewhere to see beauty and get away from everything to relax, you have your backyard. That's your paradise, that's your vacation. And you can go out there anytime you want. You have your own hidden paradise right in your backyard. Who wouldn't want that?" He agreed. And we continue on...
Sometime over the weekend Mom randomly thanked me for taking care of the yard. While her sentiment was sweet, it was unnecessary. The lawn has to be mowed (and replanted but that's a whole other issue), the vegetable garden has to be planted (because if I get rid of it inevitably it becomes more grass for me to mow), flower beds have to be weeded. It's just what is needed. If Dad was taking care of the yard it would look a heck of a lot better! I'm just trying to keep up. But it got me thinking. Dad always had quite a bit of pride shaping, cultivating and designing his yards. From the house on Fernwood in Maplewood, to Brookside in Millington and all the way past Sebec to Bucksport, there has always been an ever changing and rotating group of flowers, shrubs and trees that have adorned all the properties.
There is a place on Mount Desert Island called Asticou Azalea Garden. I go there every year, around this time, to photograph the brilliantly blooming azaleas and rhododendrons. Usually I stop by early morning on my way home from photographing the night sky and/or sunrise in Acadia National Park. The garden is an inspiration for me.
I joked with both Mom and Dad that I would like their backyard to be a mini version of Asticou. It's a lofty ambition and Dad, just tired thinking about it, quietly told me not to bother. I looked at him and said, "When are either of you going to be travelling anywhere, anytime soon?" There was no harshness in the truth I spoke of. I continued, "Instead of having to take a vacation and go somewhere to see beauty and get away from everything to relax, you have your backyard. That's your paradise, that's your vacation. And you can go out there anytime you want. You have your own hidden paradise right in your backyard. Who wouldn't want that?" He agreed. And we continue on...
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