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Botanical


So last time, I had us on our way to The Fort Worth Botanical Gardens. And we were hoping that it wouldn’t be a repeat our experience with the Fort Worth Water Gardens. Though, come to think of it, I’m not sure how it could have been as bad as the almost “comically dangerous” Water Gardens.


Well, I suppose it could be. If you tried. Say, if you had a garden in which all the planets were poisonous. Except for the ones that were carnivorous. And had big teeth. And tentacles. And insisting on singing “Feed Me, Seymour” in the a castrato-soprano tessitura voice and then afterwards demanding a film contract with Roger Corman. (1)


Where was I? Oh, yes...so we drove across town and found ourselves in the parking lot of the Botanical Gardens. We found a spot, collected up our hats, water bottles, and other paraphernalia, and, after a bit of confusion about where the door was, we soon had admission tickets in our hot little hands. After that, we were entering into the Gardens themselves.




About the photos: Four today, all of the the Kokedama Forest. You can see what I find it difficult to describe. But, seriously, if you are ever in an area where this installation is on display, give it a look!


And they were...amazing.(2) I see on their website that they are no less than 120 acres in size. There are 23 different specific gardens and collections, displaying over 2500 different species of plants. It’s no wonder that people say that you can’t really explore the place unless you budget in four solid days.


We exited the doors into one of the gardens, specifically, the Adelaide Polk Fuller Garden.(3) This is described as “a 3.5 acre lighted display garden that highlights a dynamic representation of stone hardscapes, trellises, water features, and seasonal color plantings.” This means it is full of beautiful plants and, surprisingly enough, beautiful out-buildings as well. I guess you’d call the buildings “gazebos.” and “arches.”


Whatever, in combination with the flowers and grasses around them, they’re all very pretty. It has a fairy tale feel to it, though, that doesn’t mean the overall aesthetic effect is precious, or what our grandparents would have called “Chocolate Box.” There’s a bit more strength to it than that. Which, I suppose, makes sense. Even the most enchanted garden has a touch of Druid.


Oh, as an aside, I looked up Adelaide Polk Fuller (1915-1985), after whom the garden is named. She was a famous social figure, philanthropist, and a long-time friend of the Garden. She seems like she was quite a character. She and husband, oilman William Marshal Fuller, were known for their art collection, including a lot of the American impressionists. She was a general patron of the arts, and it seems that Fort Worth’s creative scene owes a lot to her. Also, she was a “sportswoman, big game hunter, and conservationalist” who won multiple trophies in many different sports ranging from golf to gunplay.(4)


From there, we made our way to the Japanese Garden.(5) Or, more precisely, to the East Gate. The Japanese Garden is frankly amazing. It is huge, for one thing, a full 7 and a half acres. According to its webpage, it is full of “cherry trees, Japanese maples, magnolias, bamboo, bridges, and ponds filled with koi fish.”


And, almost always, there is something in bloom. Maybe not a lot of things, but something. This is because, again according to the webpage, it was planted in accordance to the Japanese philosophy of “Mono no Aware...[which] translates to ‘transient/bittersweet beauty.’” I’m not quite certain what this means. I’m guessing, though, the idea is that garden is planted so that one or a few plants are in bloom during any one season, but not all of them. Thus, to look at the garden is see some things gloriously alive, but other things not so.


Our first port of call was the Kokedama Forest. (6) This was a stunning installation, but which is going to be hard for me to describe. I’ll post a few photos of it, so you don’t just have to rely on my attempts at a textual description. A picture worth a thousand, etc.


But, envision a large, intricate, bamboo framework nestled inside a metal framework. Then, crowd the bamboo framework with over a thousand green spheres of leafy plant matter, from which spring the trunks and branches of tiny trees.


These spheres are Kokodama, which is kind of Bonsai. Basically, you make a ball of earth and peat, you set a plant in it (a tree, perhaps), and then you wrap the ball in moss and wire to keep it together. The plant or tree grows out of the ball, and you display it on a platform, or suspended by a nylon cord, or...as in this case...in a vast framework of bamboo.


The Kokodama Forest was really quite astonishing, and for almost half a minute I was just sure that once I was back to Georgetown, I’d try a Kokodama or two myself. After all, it’s just playing with mud, right? How could that go wrong?


Answer: with me? Almost everything. A gardener, I’m not. The best I could manage would be to produce a few soggy mud-balls while turning the backyard into a bog where, if I were very lucky, I could race swamp-boats between the house and casita. And/or raise mutant albino sewer crocodiles from New York City under the porch (why not? Everybody else seems to be migrating to Texas)(7). But Kododama? Nooooo...not a happening thing. Ah well.


Anyway, we took a few moments to look over the Kokodama Forest. Then, it was time to move on. And so, we headed out...this time to see...


The Moon Bridge.


More to come.




Footnotes:


1. “tessitura,” I just learned this word. It means the range at which a certain a certain musician or class of musicians is most comfortable. Thus we have “in the soprano tessitura” or “in the soprano baritone tessitura.” Or, in my case, “the Michael Jay Tucker tessitura,” i.e., total silence. That way nobody gets hurt.


2. The Botanical Gardens’ webpage is here: https://fwbg.org/





6. The Kokedama Forest at the Fort Worth Botanical Garden has a webpage here: https://fwbg.org/events/kokedama/


However, I gather that the installation is the work of the Nomad Studio (which has its webpage here: https://www.thenomadstudio.net/nomads) and was originally placed on display at the PHS Philadelphia Flower Show in 2021 (https://www.thenomadstudio.net/kokedama-forest).


I also understand that it will be running only until December of 2024. So, if you want to see it, and it isn’t already *after* 2024, get there soon.


Here’s a newspaper article on the Forest: https://ntxe-news.com/artman/publish/article_139238.shtml


7. The idea that there are giant, killer, albino alligators living in sewers is a venerable urban myth. However, to the best of anyone’s knowledge, there aren’t any real man-eaters down among the sewer pipes.


That said, the sewer alligator--snow white and vicious--is an engaging myth and NYC even has an unofficial holiday celebrating it. See: “Celebrating the NYC Sewer Alligator Legend: An Evening of History & Art,” https://www.nycgovparks.org/events/2024/02/09/celebrating-the-nyc-sewer-alligator-legend-an-evening-of-history-art




Copyright©2025 Michael Jay Tucker


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I provide these blog postings for free. That’s fine and I’m happy to do so. But, long ago and far away, I was told that if you give away your material, that means you don’t really think it has any value.


So, to get beyond that, I’ve decided to make it possible for you to leave me a “tip” for my posts.


If you like what I write or the videos I produce, and feel you could make a small contribution to support my efforts, please go here:



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Again, I don’t mind if you don’t. I just want to provide you with the option so that I won’t feel quite so much like I’m just tossing my works into the wind.


Either way, thanks hugely for dropping by the blog :-)


~mjt


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Walking To Wimberley

Welcome to Wimberley, Texas—where the cypress trees lean over lazy rivers, the cowboy boots are ten feet tall (and painted like rainbows), and the coffee shops echo with guitars and gossip.

In Walking to Wimberley, Michael Jay Tucker invites you to join him on a meandering, thoughtful, and often hilarious journey through one of Texas’s most charming Hill Country towns. Based on his popular blog entries, this collection of travel essays explores Wimberley’s art, history, music, and mystery—with the dry wit of a seasoned traveler and the wide-eyed wonder of a first-time visitor.

 

Whether he’s hunting for the perfect taco, pondering the existential meaning of oversized footwear, or just trying to find parking on market day, Tucker brings Wimberley to life with style, warmth, and just a hint of mischief.

Come for the scenery. Stay for the stories. Bring your boots.

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