06/24/2007

The View from Sunnybank

Memories light corners of my mind

By Dee Blair
Local columnist
dblair@
voyager.net

Read Dee's past columns here
Read Dee's Good Dirt blog

It was a lovely summer afternoon.

A specially equipped van drove up and unloaded seven people with Alzheimer's disease including three in wheelchairs for a scheduled garden tour. The group was mostly silent. Occasionally, one or two patients would ask where they were, and required confirmation that they were "on track,” and that their driver wouldn't forget how to get home.

One elderly man hoped, over and over, that he'd turned the stove off before leaving. Their caretakers kept up reassuring, cheerful conversation, and shortly, settled everyone in the main garden.

One person in a wheelchair was bent nearly double; the two others stared straight ahead, their hands restlessly picking at the blankets on their laps, not seeming to notice, or care, where they were.

Two others made their way to the benches, arranging themselves carefully. A small lady seemed reluctant to let go of the bench arm, needing its solid reassurance; she looked confused and tensely alert.

Mama Nature was feeling benevolent. Her soft breath ruffled the big grasses, moving the more delicate flowers just enough to release their scents. Birds sang, and the air was redolent with the buzz of busy insects.

The whole garden was a cheerful jumble of gay colors: bright reds, intense pinks, rich golds and pale or deep blues managed to co-exist happily with oranges and purples. Pure white Alyssum wound through the beds, its perfume connecting everything. The fountains burbled, their soft murmur muting the rough blat of the outside world. Caregivers chatted quietly among themselves, and with patients.

Gradually, as I watched, these visitors began to respond to Nature in her best mood. Hummed fragments of an old song came from a blanketed, wheelchair-bound woman. The bench sitters made comments, addressed to no one, about the sights and sounds around them. Three others began to explore, tentatively.

But something special was happening to one slim, wheelchair-bound man, Mr. Jones. He sat up straight, looked around, smiled and began talking conversationally, his bright eyes taking in everything.

"…Ummm…those rosemary leaves are delicious! I know all about that plant!” he said.

Then, pointing to a particularly beguiling daylily: "This wonderful peach color reminds me of Jean's summer dress … I often pick the best blue irises for my mother; she buries her face in them, and thanks me, laughing, because I get them from the neighbor's ditch area”

And more quietly: "I love the summer sniffs because it means no school for two long months… we'll ride the donkey…I have a garden, but it's partly my sister's, too. I can grow just about any veggie, but flowers capture me.”

Then grinning: "We take snapdragons on picnics, and make them 'talk'…”

The staff surrounded him, sharing their own experiences. Mr. Jones answered questions, and pointed out favorite plants. Now the others, apprehensions forgotten, were exploring and commenting. The bench-arm woman, in her own world, nodded and smiled to herself as she wandered around. Even the "stove-worried” man was sniffing appreciatively, describing the lovely kitchen bouquets his wife would gather from their own garden.

Too soon, it was time to go.

A staff member came over to thank me, shaking my hand.

"This is truly a special day. Mr. Jones, in that wheelchair, has never spoken. It's a marvelous resurrection; we couldn't believe our ears… He's so articulate — so full of vivid memories!” He shook his head. "Amazing! The staff won't believe this!”

The van pulled away, Mr. Jones still gently reflective. I wandered back into the perfumed garden, deeply content, recalling Shakespeare's Hamlet, to Ophelia…

"There's rosemary, that's for remembrance…”

Sunnybank Garden, 325 Sixth Street, Traverse City, welcomes visitors most days from around 9 a.m. until evening. Special needs groups should call ahead (929-4351) to avoid disappointment. The sign out front announces open times, which may vary.