Sweet Gum Sunset

A quick slideshow of my recent trip to Kew. The last Saturday but one, I was there for a talk on wild orchids. On the way back, my route led me through plant identification beds, past prairie planting (which now meant something to me, after Sussex Prairies) and on through the Alpine garden, which was mesmerising in its stillness - there was no one else around. I loved the cascade (more like a mini-waterfall, if that's possible, because of its vitality), where the air was clearer and purer, an invigorating place to pause for a while, and sloping paths flanked by beds of exquisite, tiny flowers.

Finally, the slightly grey day opened up into a dreamy dusk and beautiful sunset pictured above. It was the "magic hour" beloved by cinematographers. Two russet pink trees called "Sweet Gum" (Liquidamber styraciflua, USA), framed the red brick Queen's House behind which unfurled a deep crimson sunset.

An immaculate patch of prairie planting, right:


I didn't have long before the talk and, apart from enjoying soaking up the atmosphere and sampling a few of the "100 gardens within a garden", I'd decided on one "must-see" destination. This was the Rhizotron and Xstrata Treetop Walkway, 60 feet above ground, created a couple of years ago.

It took a while to find - trekking westwards made me realise just how huge Kew is - and when I arrived, for one reason or another, my first impressions weren't so good. From ground level, the structure looked like an ungainly rollercoaster, more than a little out of place in the centre of graceful sweet chestnuts, limes and oaks, their thinning autumn leaves making it seem even less likely to be the immersive canopy experience I'd hoped for.

I realised later that I was letting my personal experience of rollercoasters cloud my judgement. Not to digress too much, years ago, I foolishly suffered a car crash experience at Blackpool on what was then the theme park's most extreme rollercoaster. Since then I never use the phrase "rollercoaster ride" as shorthand for an exhilarating experience, and when I hear others use it, tend to think they have no idea - yet anyone who can get away with marketing sheer undiluted horror as family entertainment deserves some credit . . . I should have known better, of course - as children, on a daytrip on the south coast one summer, my brothers and I survived a brush with death on a derelict, rickety old rollercoaster with the world's dodgiest brakes.

But I'd come all that way and, though I was tempted not to bother (and wondered if it was really for children from its fairground appearance), decided it was worth seeing if the walkway looked better in the treetops, as you'd expect. In a nutshell, I wasn't disappointed. It was something else up high, a marvellous piece of engineering and craftsmanship. After the vertigo-inducing climb (although dizzying on the way up, and I've a head for heights - I passed one poor guy clinging to the railing as he inched his way up one step at a time - once you were on the walkway, it was fine, and the descent was no problem either), as soon as you'd progressed past the fairly sparse foliage of the first clump of trees, you were in another world.

Quickly, for now, a few action photos of people on the walkway and one of the carved inscriptions, which reminded me of the botanical garden in Montpellier. Undeniably, the walkway was an exhilarating experience - people looked relaxed, happy,
leant on the bannister to gaze at the trees and views, pointed things out to each other. And there were great views of Kew landmarks - the Pagoda and the Palm House.

I suppose it goes to show that a different perspective, literally, in this case, is often all that's needed. Or, as in my twilight walk back through the grounds, a change of light can alter a landscape beyond recognition.

Gardens ask that you give them time - the opposite of our instant gratification culture. From one moment to the next, they change. You never step into the same river twice, as the philosopher said. The same goes for gardens: give them a little time and they usually surprise you, as I found in the treetops and on the sweet gum sunset stroll to the exit.