Kew

I flew nonstop to London, taking a small bag with jeans, t-shirts and sweaters, all in black, and a small camera, but no telephone or computer. The trip was only for a week and no one needed to talk to me.

The days passed quickly, beginning with a city tour on a red double decker bus. St. Paul's cathedral, the Tate Modern and the Tower of London were within walking distance of the hotel. Soon, the trip was almost over.

In a taxi cab on Thursday, the driver asked whose face was on the clock at the Bracken House. I replied "Winston Churchill," a factoid learned on the red double decker bus tour. The cab driver was crushed. "In ten years of asking, you are the only person to have known that!"

Possibly as a result, my luck ended immediately. A volcano exploded in Iceland and I was stranded in London. The BBC reported that it would be months before the ash and molten glass subsided and airplanes could fly again.

In daylight, the hours passed quickly in the National Gallery or at the British Library or on the London Eye. When night fell, I grew homesick. I began spending more time in London parks and gardens -- St. James Park, Hyde Park, Green Park. And most of all the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew.

I visited Kew Gardens twice during my stay in London. Near the entance, formal flower beds containing golden pansies, daffodils and tulips caught the eye.

Peacocks roamed freely about the garden. In the early morning, this one hides in the flower bed near the snack bar, waiting for a handout.

Several Victorian greenhouses, called glass palaces, contained collections of tropical and temperate plants from around the world, including giant palms and tree ferns.

My favorite spot at Kew Gardens was the Conservation Area in the native British woodland.

Trees towering overhead were still bare of leaves and native English bluebells, wild hyacinths, were just beginning to open.

A golden pheasant ambled through a thick stand of English bluebells and came directly to me, passing by my feet.

The stag beetle loggery is a habitat for Britains largest native beetle.

Near the center of Kew Gardens is a lake, home for coots, mallards and swans. A pair of geese rest beside the lake, while five goslings hide in Mother Goose's outstretched wings, their fuzzy yellow heads barely visible among the feathers.

A white swan built a nest among the cyprus knees beside the lake. The mute swan is native to England and these swans mate for life.

Days at Kew Gardens passed quickly. It was good luck to have the opportunity to visit this extensive garden twice on my visit to London.

Garden pal

After it was all over, I sifted through her belongings. The red brush, rarely used, was discarded, along with various medications, a stoneware bowl and her dirty leash. The blankets were washed and folded, for the animal shelter. Everything left behind fit into a grocery bag.

Paltry few remains from a dozen years as the family dog.

It was the end of an era. She came to us lost and skinny, full of heartworm. The vet cured the heartworm and she grew a healthy brown and black coat. She enjoyed our developing rituals, the morning walks, the sweet nothings in the evenings. She gardened with me every spring, lying in the long green grass, her back to the sun, watching me pull weeds or make compost. If she noticed that the children grew up and left home, she never showed it.

Did she know that bloodroot came up every spring? Did she notice the Virginia bluebells along the path? Did she sense that this year, a lowly patch of violets was the most beautiful of all?

In her last winter, she grew senile, once again lost and skinny, hurting in various places. The vet came to our house to put her out of her pain.

I kept her blue collar. She had a spring in her step and those tags had jingled against each other for a dozen years.

You belonged to me.