Garden as a Spiritual Place

For our anniversary, my husband gave me a wonderful book and CD, “The Rose, the Lily & the Whortleberry” [Harmonia mundi], a breath of spring as we head into the planting season. They celebrate the story of the medieval garden with the help of music performed by the Orlando Consort and art prints from illuminated manuscripts of the period.

Gardens in medieval times were small and intimate, the book explains. The earliest were enclosed gardens [hortus conclusus], so-named because they were surrounded by a protective wall. Inspired by poetry in the biblical “Song of Songs”, these gardens were meant to reflect an innocent Eden-like harmony between human beings and the natural world. Eventually a second style developed, the secular pleasure garden [jardin d’amour] in which courtly lovers enjoyed the good life.

The European Renaissance changed all that. No simple Eden here. Object was to display human skill in taming nature, with elaborate formal paths, geometric beds, cascades and terraces. Even individual plants were sculpted into exotic shapes [topiaries]. Later on historically , the English garden represented a deliberate return to the wild, “natural” gardening style.

Other cultures also have cultivated the ideal of the “garden” as a spiritual place or a “romantic” haven. In the Muslim tradition, the garden represents paradise and rulers in those ancient lands created elaborate pleasure gardens. The seemingly fanciful landscape scrolls of the Orient are actually faithful reproductions of mountainous parklands in which rocks, water and plants are carefully manipulated to create a sense of mystery, peace and awe.

These “idealized” gardens appeal to all the senses. Plants with colorful blossoms or exotic foliage become a feast for the eyes. Some plant choices create a sense of healing with their herb-like smells and still others are prized for their romantic fragrance. Others are selected for their fruit or because they produce spices that stimulate the taste buds.

Even without strolling minstrels, the connection between gardening and music is magical. From the medieval fountains to the murmuring sounds of modern water gardens, to the random bird calls and scurrying of insects, the garden comes alive with a music all its own.

No wonder so many centuries ago, troubadours like Jacques Arcadelt [1505-1568] were singing “woe is me, whose life is not restored by flower, branch, grass, air, grotto, wave. . .shade or breeze”. I invite you to celebrate spring this year by sharing your favorite “garden” song, poem, painting or photograph, even recipe with a gardening buddy—or even better, readers of this column. For starters, it will put all the weeding and digging to come in perspective.