March 20, 2015 - 21:53
For the rest of the semester, I’ve decided to change up my site sit. Recently I wandered through the Sunken Garden on a walk around campus, and I think that is where I’d like to return to for a little while. I visited it today in the snow, excited for the peace and to experience the dampening of sound that makes the world serene and quiet as white flakes float towards the earth. Instead, I was greeted with the noise of Haffner construction. It wasn’t exactly was I was expecting, but I found that after a while, I didn’t mind it that much. It was loud and unpredictable, but it was part of that place at that moment in time, and a reminder that the places we live and work and wander through on campus did not simply spring from the ground one day fully formed. Sometimes you have to do construction and sometimes that’s noisy and messy.
As much as I could accept auditory mess though, I spent my time under the trellis, because I did not want to disturb the pristine snow in the sunken section. (It's funny how snow can make you feel like an intruder in a place you know well; I'm far more hesitant to step on freshly fallen snow, while I'll go stomping across grass, a living organism, without a second thought.) Overhead, the vines climbing the trellis were fiercely twisted together—braided, looped, entangled. It made me think of the interconnectivity we discuss so often in class. I’ll also be curious to see if the intertwining nature is still apparent come warmer weather and green foliage, for today the thick vines were bare and naked. They still didn’t stop the snow from filtering through to the patio beneath though.
I’m also interested in doing a little more research on this spot, as a plaque indicated that the garden was a class gift, so perhaps that will be my goal before I return next week.