Just Call Me Mama: The Gardeners

Slowly they made their way through the exhibit, pointing, elbowing each other like little children in excitement as they reached a new specimen. Ignoring the “do not touch” signs, occasionally they would flick a branch, as if to give the tree a ‘high five” for being so perfect. Mostly older men huddled in twos and threes and each wearing a distinctively worn out hat, their youthful exuberance and camaraderie made them as interesting to observe as the Bonsai trees I had come to see.

At the 82nd Kokufu Bonsai Exhibition at the Metropolitan Art Museum, I gained a great appreciation of these tiny trees. 269 of the most exquisite examples of Bonsai were on view representing hundreds of years of care – yes, some of the trees were three and four hundred years old. At first, my friend Gill and I were overwhelmed by not just the sea of trees, but the crowd that was lined up to gape in wonderment at each creation. And these were creations – each limb carefully manipulated to form what might possibly be the most perfect position.

As we slowly made our way from one tree to another, the incredible detail was evident: #11 had the most amazing color; #31 was in full bloom; #66 looked like an entire forest. Even though it is the middle of winter here, there were trees representing each season; the barren branches of winter; beginning buds of spring; full bloom of summer and turning leaves of fall. In fact, #187 was filled with perfectly formed brown leaves just about to fall.

Some trees had dead limbs intertwined among the live branches; one had slabs of stone between the branches that sprouted out from the dirt that left us mystified at how such a thing could happen.

I would love to be able to show you pictures as my descriptions don’t do a single tree justice, but we followed the rules and didn’t take pictures.

Until.

We were walking on the second floor and an open passageway allowed us to see down on the first floor display; row after row of trees. Gill started it, pulling out her phone and snapping a picture. I figured since we weren’t taking a picture of a specific tree, it would be alright and pulled out my camera.

I took two pictures and as I was putting my camera away, saw the security people quickly gathering and almost silently talking into their security microphones. With visions of me locked away in a Japanese prison for my photographic crime, Gill and I, laughing at the obsurdity of it all, walked quickly but calmly through the rest of the exhibit, careful as one or another guard suddenly appeared to observe us. We both thought the “high fiving” the trees was much more of a crime and complained that we saw no security guards apprehending any of the gardeners, but such are the ways of Japan.

Afterwards, we went to a Bonsai market and were able to take as many pictures as we wanted.