I came here from South Australia, the driest state of the driest continent, and every year I’m taken by surprise by the lushness of spring and summer here.  The contrast between the concrete skyscrapers and the richness of the gardens and parks strikes me afresh every year.

This year I got lucky with the weather.  I planned a couple of days off for the cherry blossom in the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens (not to mention the tulips, which bloom at the same time), and for once the weather was glorious.  Those April “showers” – usually more in the category of rainstorms – sometimes destroy the blossom, but not this year.

The Gardens were beautiful.  No secret here, though – it’s a popular spot year-round, but the Cherry Blossom Festival draws crowds.  I try never to go on “the” weekend – the last weekend of April is the official festival, and hundreds, probably thousands, of people descend.  I suspect every Japanese person in the metropolitan area comes to the Sakura Matsuri that weekend.

http://www.bbg.org/exp/cherries/sakura.html
I went on Thursday.  No events, true, but empty benches, where you could sit and gaze at the blossom to your heart’s content.  Space on the green lawns, where you could sit under the trees, petals drifting on the breeze, and daydream.  Empty seats by the lily pool, to watch the goldfish, not to mention ducks in the full flush of their spring libido.  (Who knew they held each other under the water?  Well, maybe you did, but I didn’t!) And a relatively short line at the café.

There I was, taking photos of the wisteria, and I saw a father bringing his young (maybe 6) daughter to the garden.  The little girl, I think, was more into video games and didn’t really understand the appeal of fresh lilac-scented air and flowers. I could hear his voice but not hers. “See how pretty the flowers are.  Look, she’s taking a picture of the flowers.” Mumble, mumble. “Yes, this is still the park.  This is all part of Central Park.  Central Park is my favorite park in the whole world!” They climbed the steps to the overwalk that looks out across the Garden to Fifth Avenue, and I heard them discussing the medallions of the original 13 states set into the stones.  “Yes, that’s New York.  And over here, see, that word spells Virginia.” I just loved this man introducing his little daughter to the beauties of the garden and the country’s history, all in one soft spring evening.

Father and daughter visit the park.

Then, on another day, I took the bus straight from work to the wonderful Conservatory Garden in Central Park (Fifth Avenue at 105^th Street). 

http://www.centralparknyc.org/virtualpark/northend/conservatorygarden
This is the secret garden – it’s amazing how few people know about it.  It’s a formal garden – one end French, the other English, and Italian in the middle.  (That means nothing to me, but it may to you.) And in the English part is the real secret garden – a tiny hedged-in pool with a fountain statue of Mary and Dickon from the book “The Secret Garden” which all little girls adore. 

At this time of year, the Conservatory Garden is filled with tulips and lilacs.  Banks and banks of glorious color, and the intoxicating scent of lilacs.  Every time I go there, I see people just standing, breathing, or reaching to sniff a particularly pouffy lilac branch. 

And of course, there’s the robins.  For some reason, robins like this garden.  There’s always one or two hopping around on the paths or among the hedges, and one or two in the trees singing their hearts out.  The sparrows, too – they like the Dickon/Mary fountain, since it’s really a bird bath, and they like to perch on Mary’s head.

I understand the garden is beautiful in summer, too – it’s just that it’s become a rite of spring for me.