When Blooms Bring Nostalgia, Not Rebirth

Longwood Gardens, Pennsylvania, 2008

My ancient laptop saw the sun this week, as I hauled it out thinking the photos of springtime Oxford, England that I had stored on it would be perfect for this month’s floral challenge.

Before I even got to the Oxford pictures, though, I was startled to find a treasure trove of images from a day trip I’d made to Longwood Gardens, Pennsylvania, back in 2008, with a friend long forgotten.

The Gardens’ existence had vanished from my mind, as well as the young woman I was back then — a shame since both of us had a charm and buoyancy that could do much to lift my spirits now.

The Oxford photos stayed on my hard drive, untouched for now, while I scrolled, mesmerized, through the Longwood Garden pictures from that long-lost world. Let me share them with you.

My memories of Longwood are hazy. For one, I thought the Gardens were in Delaware, but actually, they’re just a few miles north of Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, an easy thirty miles from Philadelphia, where I was living at the time.

Above, my friend Liv ventures down a path lined with trees only recently exploded into color, beckoning me into the past. That day in 2008, I strode with her into a dazzling dream world of blossoms, forests, ponds, and whatever else awaited us.

On the Longwood website, I see that their entry prices are now around $25, but I was lucky to get a free ticket from Liv, a friend of mine from the University of Pennsylvania Band. Actually, she was a minor acquaintance, but in the Penn Band, we called everyone “friends.”

Liv gushed about Longwood Gardens. She’d been before, while I’d never heard of the place. I thought I might as well go because I was feeling spring in my young heart.

Longwood was enormous — over 1,000 acres! Flowers, meadows, and woodlands stretched as far as the eye could see. Classical-style follies nestled in foliage beside gorgeous fountains, and the gardeners were quite clever in shaping the hedges to their artistic visions.

One could sit all day reading or writing on a bench, or beside a fountain. But we had to move on if we were to see it all.

A garden is a place where you don’t have to talk; you just drink in the beauty. But I remember Liv babbled on anyway. I felt somewhat sorry for her.

A lovely, kind-hearted freshman from the Midwest, she hadn’t really made friends yet and resorted to buying extra tickets to events in the hopes that someone in the Band would want to go. I had already accompanied her to the opera, where we engaged in awkward conversation just as we did now.

And me? I was the schmuck who had stayed in Philadelphia for an extra year after my college graduation because I was in love with an underclassman. He had made it clear he didn’t want to date, but still, he kept stringing me along.

Of course, I was convinced I could change him. I spent that year hanging with my college friends and playing in the Band, while people made fun of me behind my back (and some to my face!).

I felt pathetic myself, yet still, the spring months found me overflowing with that intoxicating, addicting, all-consuming love, more powerful even than the sweet scent of flowers.

Despite my complicated life and the stilted conversation with Liv, I was in high spirits as I snapped my photos of Longwood Gardens. Such wonders we discovered as we wandered the back paths! We intended to circle back to the greenhouses, but this hidden fountain with its pools held us back.

Everywhere, trees bloomed and green lawns stretched off into the distance (thanks to those industrious gardeners!). Above, Liv poses with some of the shaped hedges we found. The one to her left is supposed to be a chicken. She’s leaning into its beak.

Eventually, we made it back to civilization — Longwood’s greenhouse and research buildings.

I love grand historic buildings more than the next person. After all, I majored in history! At the time I took these photos, I delighted in the ivy-covered facades and the colonial-style architecture mixed in with the classical.

The history of Longwood Gardens is fascinating. An arboretum stood here as early as 1798. According to Wikipedia,

By 1850, the arboretum boasted one of the finest collections of trees in the nation and had become a place for the locals to gather outdoors — a new concept that was sweeping America at the time.

The whole complex fell into disrepair by the early 20th century. The trees were about to be cut down by a lumber developer when, fortunately, philanthropist Pierre du Pont purchased and restored the property, opening it to the public in 1921. Longwood Gardens has been a source of delight to millions of visitors ever since.

Liv was ecstatic to finally enter the greenhouses, as she’d looked forward to this as the highlight of her trip. I’m ambivalent about greenhouses. The flowers are pretty, of course, but they’re rarely native, and I hate sweltering heat.

But when we stepped in and began to explore, I realized why Longwood’s greenhouses are famous. For starters, they cover 4.5 acres. That’s 4.5 acres. I’m not sure if we got to them all, or even scratched the surface. They were indeed unbearably hot, but just look at those beautiful blossoms.

It’s strange looking at photos of blooms from the past. Some of the leafy plants might still be alive if they are from long-lived species. After all, my parents have a rubber plant that’s older than me, and I’m thirty-seven! The blossoms, though, are most certainly dead.

So is the person I was then.

That’s a good thing — I think. I’m no longer in love with that boy who treated me cruelly. But on the other hand, I don’t have that spring-dreaming heart that made me pop awake so eagerly, ready to rush outside and breathe in Life itself like the sweet perfume of flowers.

In the picture on the top right, Liv, in the teal shirt and blue jeans, strolls ahead of me as I pause to take in the view. Now as I sift through my photos, it’s like she’s my guide from the past, leading me back in time through the delights of that greenhouse. I see myself still young, starry-eyed, and enchanted by the magic of flowers.

That’s how you feel when you’re twenty-two. Your soul stands garlanded with blossoms and ivy, your eyes shining. Carnations, orchids, asters, and daisies sprout from your fingers and toes as you dance barefoot in the grass.

Here I am as I was that spring, a young woman so sure of herself, yet so uncertain. When I found my Longwood Gardens pictures, I suddenly became that woman again, just for a moment, gazing at the blossoms through her eyes.

As I walked through the Gardens with Liv that day, as I ate meals with my Band friends, as I followed the boy I loved wherever he went — at his command — I recognized that I was on the cusp of great change. Yes, I delighted in this swirl of friends, the euphoria of being near the boy, but I longed to feel like myself again.

Finally, I reached for my own strength again, turning down offers from American graduate schools to go to Scotland, remembering that I am Erie, that I love the spring and the flowers for my own reasons, for their own sake.

My Longwood photos are beautiful but little by little, they break my heart, for I’m not sure I could find that youthful strength again.

Thank you to the editors of Globetrotters for hosting such a great travel publication! I was proud to get my first piece published in Globetrotters this week:

Anne Bonfert’s story about her last-minute flight reminded me of my unexpected flight to the south of France when I was a college student in England. Spontaneous flights can change your life, and I love Anne’s excitement as she finds herself in Malta:

Liam James H’s story about summiting the highest mountain in Wales had me living vicariously through his words, since I’ve always wanted to climb Mount Snowdon. The peak is more challenging than I thought, so I’m glad Liam made the journey for me!

Thanks for reading! — Erie Astin