A Sunday in San Marino

I spent an entire Sunday afternoon at The Huntington* and already, I’m planning a second visit. It was beautiful to say the least, and as silly as it is to admit, detaching for just a few hours surrounded by lush greenery was incredibly healing. The irony of sharing these thoughts online is not lost on me, but what’s most damning is the earnestness behind the sentiment—something the Internet despises unless performed in irony—and worse, I cannot think of a less goopy word than grounding to describe those hours. Say what you will about Gwyneth, but there’s truth in some of what she espouses. (After all: the inspiration behind some of her most popular musings is borrowed from ancient, typically Asian or Native, practices with centuries of findings supporting them.) Few things are more humbling, awe-inspiring, and rejuvenating than seeing nature in all its glory.

And to be clear: I did not step on the dirt with bare feet.  However, I most certainly enjoyed the horticultural experience with my shoes tied firmly on.

How nature produces such perfection astounds me: every detail, every color, every miraculous occurrence is profound even in a curatorial presentation. (Imagine it all if allowed to thrive in the wild!) The fragrance, too—especially from the Rose and Chinese Gardens—was divine, made all the more sensorial by the intensifying heat. It was impossible not to want to sit and stay awhile, perhaps read, write, or reflect amongst the collection of bonsai, but that seemed too trite (and frankly, I didn’t bring sunscreen to justify prolonged sun exposure). Instead, I settled on wandering around with a hot cappuccino in hand, admiring in silence and pausing only to take photos when the crowds of tourists cleared.

Next time, perhaps, when I’m less shy (and armed with adequate sweat-proof sunscreen) I’ll bring something to read or write with.

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xx

* Botanical Gardens, Library, and Art Galleries; a true multi-hyphenate most millennial slashies would be jealous of.