Month: April 2004

Tacoma’s W.W. Seymour Botanical Conservatory

We’ve tried to get into the
W.W. Seymour Botanical Conservatory several times in the last few months, only to discover that it was closed for remodeling, returned a month later to discover that remodeling had been delayed, and another time after it had reopened only to discover that it was closed several hours for a wedding.

Perhaps that was merely a means of guaranteeing that we would only see it under ideal conditions, and yesterday would certainly qualify for ideal weather as far as the Northwest goes. As you can tell, the blue skies provided the perfect backdrop for this gorgeous greenhouse.

Once inside, it’s easy to see why this 1908 Marvel might require consistent maintenance.

Although the plants are obviously the main appeal of the conservatory, many of the plants are set against an interesting backdrop of what appeared to be Aztec or Mayan articfacts.

Although the main lobby featured an amazing variety of lilies, I found myself most attracted to the lilies that seem to be part of the permanent collection.

While the brown and purple varieties quickly caught my attention, for some reason these haunting white orchids left a more lasting impression.

Follow the Leader

I’m glad I finished my Open Source Politics essay yesterday, or it just plain wouldn’t have gotten done today as I spent most of the day playing with Gavin and Kel. Gavin’s mother was trying to finish her new addition and asked me if I’d take Gavin for a few hours.

I was more than happy to do so. It was a beautiful, sunny day and Gavin and I spent much of it playing outside after our obligatory hour and a half playing with Pahtah’s Playmobil Knights.

We spent nearly an hour at a nearby playground where Gavin found a new friend, at least for an hour, and they played follow the leader while Grandpa tried to take pictures with his new camera.

After a lunch out at the local Jack in the Box, we returned home about the time Kel had just finished his nap. Although Gavin was complaining about being tired after a mile or so, he seemed to have more than enough energy to spend the next twenty minutes jumping off a log and rolling on the ground.

Now, despite efforts to improve the photo in Photoshop, this shot reminds me of what a wonderful instrument the human eye is. I was so caught up in the kids’ joy that I wasn’t even aware of the sharp contrasts in the light in this picture until I got home and tried to print it. My expensive digital camera obviously had problems stopping the motion and managed to overexpose the kids’ faces while obscuring the woods. I guess it just goes to show that an unthinking photographer can still defeat the best camera.

One Trout, Hold the Mercury

Proving true to my word, I’ve managed to string together two weeks of articles for Open Source Politics. The latest, One Trout, Hold the Mercury follows up on an earlier story about the Bush Administration’s willingness to sacrifice the potential health of citizens to guarantee the wealth of his energy supporters.

Hass’ Basho

My recent attempts to put words to photographs I’d taken once again led me back to haiku, and, in particular, to Robert Hass’ The Essential Haiku: Versions of Basho, Buson, and Issa, another of many books I’d been intending to read.

Needless to say, it doesn’t take any more of a reason than that to settle down with a book as good as this one. So far, I’ve finished a third of the book, the section on Basho. I’ve particulalry enjoyed the historical introduction to the poets. Even more so, I’ve been fascinated by the inclusion of parts of journals that incorporate haiku poems.

One of my favorite poems, with introduction, is:

Unchiky, a monk living in Kyoto, had painted what appeared to be a self portrait. It was a picture of a monk with his face turned away. Unchiku showed me the portrait and asked for a verse to go with it. Thereupon I wrote as follows–
You are over sixty and I’m nearing fifty. We are both in a world of dreams, and this portrait depicts a man in a dream. Here I add the words of another such man talking in his sleep.

You could turn this way,
I’m also lonely,
this autumn evening.

Obviously it’s difficult to pick a favorite from a selection of classics like this, but this one:

A caterpillar,
this deep in fall —
still not a butterfly.

seems particularly poignant to me at my age.

And somehow this one:

They don’t live long,
but you’d never know it —
the cicada’s cry.

reminds me of several of Emily Dickinson’s poems.