Yaddo Revisited

Sunday morning. I quietly dressed and tiptoed out of Mom's, headed for Ballston Spa to pick up the boys for church. I left a tad early because I wanted to visit Yaddo, the Rose Garden in Saratoga. I suspected the roses were long past their prime, but I had gained quiet strength from visiting last summer, and I wanted to see if there was anything I could capture in pictures to put on the Jairus House website - hopeful that I might be able to share a bit of beauty with others who are not well enough or close enough to visit themselves.

I was surprised at the plethora of "Don't Park Here" signs posted at the entrance and all along the drive. I pulled into the small parking lot and climbed out of my car into the chilly morning air. Not a soul was in sight. I skirted the muddy section of the path, keeping to the grassy edges. The dew was heavy and cold on my sandalled feet, jolting any last bit of sleep from my senses.

I was right that the roses were past their prime now. But there were enough flowers to work with. I walked slowly, snapping pictures as I moved through the formal gardens, surprised at how many bumble bees buzzed about, dipping in and out of the fading blossoms. Even old roses have plenty to offer!

I wondered if anyone was stirring in the artist's colony castle on the hill above me, wondered if anyone happened to be looking down on the gardens from one of the dark windows, wondered if they were speculating about why some woman was fluttering about the dying flowers, taking a multitude of pictures. Probably not. True artists likely indulged in the hefty nightlife of Saratoga, a world that begins ramping up at midnight. Surely they wouldn't even open an eye until well after noon.

I didn't care. All the more privacy for me, all the more easily I could stand in funny poses and lean over plants without thought of who might object. No, this is for all the newly diagnosed cancer patients just beginning their journey, for others who are in mid-journey, and those who are nearing the end of a long and arduous path.

I hope I can show the quiet beauty so striking in their various colors, sizes, and shapes. I hope the website will be able to portray the softness of their petals, the grace of their arrangement on the grounds. What I really want to offer is the experience - the peace of the environment, the vitality of so much greenness, the reflectiveness of sitting on the bench by the coy pond, letting the gentle breeze and the lazy turns of the fish revive long lost internal strength. I probably can't do it. But at least I can try.