Sanctuary

When I woke up today, no power in the 'verse the could make me work, and I decided my morning should fittingly be a total waste of time. So I went and had a long, langorous stroll in the gardens. If you don't live in Madison, let me catch you up. The Olbrich Gardens are your standard botanical gardens, maintained by private donations and free to the public. I hadn't discovered them till last year, when I took a long walk from my current apartment shortly after moving in. To my pleasant surprise, I learned that I was only 20 minutes away from paradise. Like most gardens, the grounds are divided into separate areas aptly called things like the Rose Garden, the Herb Garden, or the Tranquil Pool. Unlike other gardens, however, Olbrich, in September of 2001 acquired a Thai Pavilion.

Now, many may disagree with what I'm about to say, but it occurred to me today that the wonder of the Pavilion is not by virtue of being breathtaking. In fact, to give you some sense of scale, the Pavilion is only about the size of a two-story garage. Most visitors, showing up to ooh and ahh at the stucture, tend to stick around for about 2 minutes before turning back. Personally, I find there's something very modest about this incredibly ornate piece of craftmanship. It does nothing but stand there like a large parasol to be passed underneath. But if you sit there with it, and realize that it's not going anywhere, that it's built to stand, you can't help but feel comforted by its presence. So I guess I don't really return regularly to look or oggle, but to be in good company.

Having felt reconstituted by my stroll, the thought occurred to me that places like Olbrich are sanctuaries. Inside, there are spots where you can stand and see nothing in any direction but carefully maintained landscaping, little bubbles devoted to removing all discomfort from your immediate surroundings. There's no sign of the busy road beyond the garden's front entrance or its two flanking rivers down which people cruise their noisy pleasure boats. Just layer upon layer of delicious eye candy. This feeling of protection from the harsh or, if not that, at least abnoxious reality of our daily lives is, though I apologize for the use of such a schmultzy word, priceless.

But sancturaries don't come cheap as the story behind the Pavilion reminds us. On the day of 9/11, the plane carrying the pieces of this gift from Thailand was one of the last granted permission to land in the States after circling for hours. These little pockets of tranquility must be built, paid for, and maintained in the midst of a political climate that doesn't always welcome them.

But we should welcome them. These pleasant places, while isolated and withdrawn, radiate peacefulness. Once I had left the gardens, I found myself lightly touching the tips of hedges as I walked home, hardly bothered by the traffic to my other side (Don't worry, in Madison, you have to do a lot more than look distracted to be mistaken for a maniac). But really, if all sanctuaries, like Olbrich, rub a little bit of their contentedness off on everyone who roams there, shouldn't that be enough to argue for their necessity.