A Hot Day

Waves of long green leaves tumbled down to the arbor path on both sides; leaving only enough room to walk single file. The blue flowers sticking up among them were the size of two fists put together waving on long stems. They gave the feel of a watery existence. The arbor was lushly covered with wisteria giving the day a cool feel. The pronounced smell of roses in my mind was turned into the smell of brine. It was joyful to walk down this path parting the waters like Mosses. The illusion and contrast momentarily took my mind off the extreme heat of the day.

The radio the night before had warned it would be the hottest day of the week. It had been a hot week. A little hotter was not a good sign for walking beautiful gardens. It was the museums my good friend and I wanted to see, especially the Photograph Exhibit of Edward Weston. I envisioned a long over powering hot walk to the outlying buildings. I almost did not want to go. It was the only day we had together to see this exhibit.

The day was everything that was promised, HOT. But large gardens have their surprises. After a short hot walk, we came to a crossroads. Dusty paths from four directions meet. The one we need is the little trail to the left. It leads us under a canopy of trees. It is cool and gives the feel of damp. We are not aware of the dusty road to one side and the grass area to the other. A short branching path gives us a vista of a large carved fountain in an expanse of green grass. Its gurgling sound and splashing water give the allusion of cool. We keep walking to the promise of an air-conditioned building. We are disappointed when the shade of the canopy runs out way before the building is reached. There is a big tree not too far off with an empty bench under it. We gratefully sit in the shade to contemplate the brilliant glare of the sand stone building. Its stately pillars made it look like a temple of hopefully cool air.

When you go from a hot place to a cold place, your body tends to boil over like a car. The photos were so interesting I did not notice this effect. In Edward Weston's early years, he photographed things up close. His photos are so simple that a bell pepper for a moment looks like something a bit obscene. It was interesting how a black and white close up of an every day object can be so different looking.

There was a picture of a locked door. It reminded me of the church in Hornitos. Not long ago I had gone by this church on a car trip. The church and its door were as inaccessible as the picture of the door. The picture that brought the itchy feeling of the start of tears was Mono Lake. It was taken from the water’s edge up the banks to see the pine trees beyond. It is a desert now. Those trees are gone. The great masses of LA have raped the land of its water, so little grows there anymore. The briny waters are still the breeding grounds for seagulls, but not the creatures that use to live off and among the leaves of those long-gone trees.

We left the temple of cool purified air feeling a bit changed. The tree again beckoned. We choose the cool grass to lie in this time because our bench was occupied. We reflected on the clang of rivet to steel girder. They were adding a research center to the Huntington Library. It has always seemed odd how the extensive gardens and small galleries scattered about were a library. Oh, it is a library of antique books. Scholars from hither and yon come to examine the stacks in the volts behind bolted doors with guards. It is not a place for the public, but it is a cool place for scholars. I get up to find a mildew mark on my bottom. My friend seems a bit concerned. I yank down my tunic to cover it. She seems satisfied. I notice more mildew speckled bottoms throughout the day.

The day seemed to call for an iced drink with plenty of ice floating in it. I choose fresh squeezed lemonade. Iced tea was a close second. Watermelon from the cooler caught my eye. The lady at the checkout register was a jolly pink cheeked soul. The door behind her opening and closing all day had left the little room warm. It was even warmer outside under the pergola. As I was eating my watermelon, I could smell the faint order of fertilizer and things growing. It was an interesting combination, not at all unpleasant, simply different. I dipped a clean paper napkin in my friend’s iced water and pressed it to the back of my neck. She did the same. It revived us enough to continue our trek.

We looked down on the Japanese Gardens in the canyon and remembered the koi in the ponds and the Zen Garden behind the decorative fence from past visits. We knew that the walk back up the canyon paths no matter how lovely, would be too much. We settled on watching children play in the sprinkler on one of the large expanses of lawn. By now all the benches under trees were full to over flowing of resting people. A breeze blows up our backs and cools the sweat in my hair. It is a nice feeling. It was time to go home when a tiny sparkling fountain in a tiny shaded garden is too hot.

The tree our car was parked under had done its job. When we open the doors a blast furnace of stifling air did not hit us in the face. We climbed in and started the car air-conditioner for the short trip home and a nap.