Recently, I hopped on my ancient bike and pedaled to my own personal cathedral. Only a few blocks away, on the grounds of the magnificent wooded former mental hospital, stands a towering forest of giant evergreen trees, planted, I think, by the prescient Dr. Munson, who believed beauty would help to heal broken minds. Their enormously thick trunks define a cathedral-wide, 'reaching for heaven' pillared avenue that seems to go on forever. Over the past century these mighty trees have sheltered and nurtured hundreds of sturdy children now growing confidently to adulthood beside their parents. A thick bewilderment of branches muffle Division Street's traffic noises. The forest floor, with its deep carpet of pinecones and needles, feels springy under my feet; I walk my bike reverently, gazing at its massive dignity with awe, while breathing in a century's accumulation of pungent perfume. (I am reminded of incense, damp, ancient stone, and candle wax...) The air is fresh; sunlight emits a golden glow at the distant end of this long, towering tunnel; slivers of November sky peep through the tops of 70-foot high branches. Like the cathedrals, it's always cool here, even on hot summer afternoons. Little snow could find its way down to the forest floor, I muse.
Pausing, I lean my metal steed against a tree, and settle beside its huge base to reflect awhile on the medieval minds that conceived and built Hereford, Gloucester and Canterbury Cathedrals, to name just a few. After a time away from those incredible structures I always find myself longing to return there, to breathe in genius. This place is as close to their awe-inspiring beauty as I can find. How lucky I am to live so near.
Think about it. The vast majority of uneducated men who dedicated their lives to raising the cathedrals didn't understand basic hygiene; only herbs helped them cope with disease. Life spans then were brief; heartbreak and pain were constant companions. Rotten/inadequate food, falls, severe winters and marauding invaders were common nightmares.
They had to make every bit of clothing and equipment, like scaffolds and ladders and ropes and hammers. Paper was infinitely precious; architects would chisel intersecting lines onto the cathedrals' stone floors to visualize vital geometry.
Yet, they persevered. Those gigantic, glorious structures, conceived and erected a thousand years ago, still stand, astounding anyone not made of stone. Today, with all our computers, all our fancy tools, we can't do it. Look around. Nothing compares. Nothing ever will again. Barefoot men quarried millions of tons of magnificent stones, climbed dizzying heights, created unrivaled, story-telling stained glass windows and statuary, which they raised to the heavens with the crudest handmade pulleys, and which fit precisely. Each building, full of grace and towering strength, speaks eloquently of their unshakable faith more clearly than any words ever could.
This wonderful pine forest recalls cathedral wonders in a much more intimate way. Sometimes, when the world is too much with me, a visit to the 'Evergreen Cathedral' is my prescription for melancholy. What had seemed a pressing worry before is gently smoothed and sorted. Reorienting, I mentally zoom into space above Earth, and look down; everyday problems become less weighty, relatively unimportant in the Grand Scheme of Things. I empty my tangled thoughts, refocus on accomplishments, beauty, simple joys, and the realization that I am part of it all, alive, connected.
The perfumed, peaceful silence, pierced by the clear call of a bird, follows me cheerfully as I pedal home through a thick, scattered, golden carpet of leaves with a much lighter heart.
Sunnybank Gardens, 325 Sixth St., Traverse City, have closed for the winter. The gardens will reopen on Memorial Day weekend 2009. Please call 929-4351 to schedule next year's events. Visit Dee Blair's Web site, deeblair.com for recent columns, garden photos and her music, or e-mail her at blairdee@gmail.com.
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