It was a very wet Seattle day. Anxious to get out of the house, I went on a solitary walk. With permission from a neighbor, I headed over to my friend’s garden. On my walk over to her house, the rain stopped. The air smelled of cherry blossom petals and deep green thoughts.

My friend, Barbara Bonjour, recently passed away after a short battle with cancer. She had a deep love for gardening, was a member of the Arboretum, and was involved annually in the Northwest Garden Show.  A few friends asked me if I had ever taken photos of Barbara’s lovely garden and I said no.  I then made it my mission to go over and photograph her garden.

Obviously, Barbara was not home, but she was there in her garden, in spirit.

To walk in Barbara’s garden is to experience her love of art, her love of opera and theater, and her love of mythology. To walk in her garden is to travel to her favorite places. Her garden is like a book of poetry. The mind enters a different way of looking at the earth, colors, textures, forms. I thought I’d find clusters of flowers in bloom, but instead I found delicate flowers, flowers that an unaccustomed eye or a harried mind might miss. Barbara’s garden demands that you slow down, take a deep breath, look and listen. Use all of your senses to appreciate her artistry.  Use your imagination to comprehend and get to know the person who envisioned this Elysian garden.

Dense mounds of purple-black mondo grass create a soft edging and frame a delicate canvas of art. Barbara had an unusual way of putting together textures and leaf patterns. There was one leafy plant, each leaf holding a drop of water. Enchanting details, like the woodpecker door knocker and the rusty tool perfectly placed near the door, carried humor, hidden stories, and wonder.

How did Barbara create a woodlands park-like garden in such a small shady place? It’s like a sunken garden, filled with earthen and tree fragrances. I counted some 15 shades of green among the trees alone.

The longer I stayed, the more I saw. The more I saw, the more I understood my friend Barbara. From the pale colors of the light pink fuschia to the comical metal cats hidden behind fronds and bluebells, delightful surprises were everywhere.

I have no idea how many delicate dark blue and green glass balls I saw, of varying sizes, decorating her garden. The blue of the glass seemed to bring out the unusual and rare white rhododendron. Who made the dark blue glass balls? Were they a gift? Did she order them or have them made specifically for her? Did she buy then over time with her garden in mind, a collection that grew over the years?

Potted plants dot the garden. Again, some gorgeous green and blue pots, filled with greenery. There were also some golden and earthy colored pots with textures that give a warm richness and depth to the landscape.

Her Sicilian Trinacria made me smile. It brought me back to Sicily, to memories of having Barbara there on a yoga retreat, twice. Trinacria, a star with three points, and a Medusa with her head of snakes surrounded by three bent running legs and three stalks of wheat, is the symbol of ancient Sicily.  This Medusa’s colors are striking. I imagine Barbara looking at this special Trinacria in the market, and choosing this particular one because of Trinacria’s audacious colors and the amusing worried look of her brow.  It is as if she asks, “Does this color spell trouble?” I love this Trinacria and her bold red colors!

On another wall, I see faces. I am not sure whose faces they are, but I can imagine that Barbara bought these on her various travels. Some are so funny and fanciful, and others seem serious, some mythological. I think of gods of wind, sun, and gods of laughter protecting this lovely garden. For this performance, the jesters have the front row.

Bird baths offer reflections of trees and garden art is everywhere to be found.  Pea gravel paths seem soft under my feet. I see an unusual red leaf plant dusted with pollen. A corkscrew thorny plant graces a window pane. Buds burgeon, about to burst with color. Fresh fern fronds delicately brush against another cobalt and green glass ball.  Wait, I see my reflection in the glass ball as I am about to take yet another photo. I cannot get enough of Barbara’s magic.  I miss her and yet she is here, ensconced in every tree, every bud, every flower. The rich earth of this woodland garden lends its perfume to me. Every paved stone is thoughtfully laid out. Everything is in its place.

I silently thank Barbara for the gift of this hour in her garden. To walk through this complex, understated, and delicate garden is to to get to know Barbara in a new way.  May she Rest in Peace.

Enjoy the short slide show below. LINK (In case the video below doesn’t play, see this link)