The gardens of Children's Mercy Hospital are a respite for an anxious soul.
I fell asleep to the sound of rain last Saturday night. Thunder rumbled in the distance. But it was the sound of the rain that I listened to mostly. I could hear it slap gently against the bedroom window. I could hear it falling softly against the leaves of the trees just outside. I could hear it hit the ground as it splattered against the brick path. I could hear it ping against the air conditioner. I could hear it collect in the gutters and run down the rain spout. And I could smell the dampness that blew in on the night air.
That rain sounded so good, so hopeful. You see, rain has always been a sign of good luck for our family. On the day my husband and I were married, it rained. And that was more than 30 years ago. On all the camping trips we ever took, it rained. And every one of them was fun. On the day we moved into our new house, it rained. And we came to make that house a home. On the day our first grandchild was born, it rained. And she is precious!
Sprinkling of richness
I knew the rain was good for the gardens too. Sprinkling only goes so far. Natural rainwater is so much better. As welcome as its wetness is, rain also brings with it nitrogen to fertilize the plants. I suppose that's why everything looks so much better, so much greener after a rain.
Through the rain last Saturday I saw the gardens of Children's Mercy Hospital in Kansas City. One is encased within four sides of the immense building. High above, the sky is visible through the trees within the garden. The greenery itself starts at ground level where gray-green flagstones pave the garden floor.
A pair of redbud trees rises up two stories. The wide canopy of heart-shaped leaves presses against the glass of the windows on the second floor. Neat flowerbeds surround the perimeter of this unusual rectangular indoor-outdoor garden. The beds are filled with hardy perennials, tender annuals and several tropical plants. A few large containers are scattered throughout the garden.
A water garden bordered by thick stone slabs sits in the center. Next to it a birdbath holds a handful of caladium. It's just as well the plants are there. No birds are likely to fly down four stories into the deep well of the building to find their way into the garden.
A few feet away from the pond a topiary dinosaur covered with tiny round leaves of ivy poses in an ambling stride. The ancient animal seems more playful than threatening as it hovers over what appears to be its watering hole. Hostas trimmed in white grow nearby.
Caladiums are the most abundant plants in this garden. Spear-shaped leaves of white and thinly outlined in green completely line the wall that borders the cafeteria side. More caladiums with red leaves and green veins light up the space across the way. More hostas cluster under one of the redbud trees. The leaves are lime green edged with a darker shade of green.
Indoor-outdoor greenery
Sprays of palm-like plants fan out from several containers throughout the garden. They are joined by even larger palm trees rising from the ground. Short rhododendron plants fill in much of the space between the palms. Huge elephant ears soar out of the garden area. Their wide expanse and exotic look give a tropical feel to the garden even more so than the palm trees.
In the corner a neat container of a mother-in-law plant grows next to a statue of a young child. Perhaps because this garden grows in the middle of a children's hospital, the statue is fitting.
This enclosed garden is visible only from within the building. Although a door allows access for garden maintenance, visitors delight in this garden spot from hallway windows where comfortable redwood benches have been placed or while sitting in the cafeteria of the hospital and peering at it through the large expanse of windows. The smudges of fingerprints on the windows bear witness that many children must enjoy looking at the garden.
Lining the way
The other gardens are at the front of the hospital. The one near the street has bright red geraniums and brilliant yellow marigolds growing at the foot of the large kaleidoscope sign that marks the entrance to the hospital. Deep-green sprays of liriope with purple flowers emerging from the centers line the curb. Miniature juniper bushes cluster along the back of the sign. Ornamental grasses with feathery seed heads wave at the front of the sign much like a flag bearer signaling the anxious and confused people who must enter this place toward the right direction.
More red and yellow flowers grow at either side of the driveway. Salvia, geraniums and marigolds pop up among the low carpet of blue rug juniper. Behind them spirea bushes spread out until they bump into tall evergreen trees.
Large beds of variegated hostas and white and red begonias soften the garden spaces at the door leading into the hospital. Smooth rounded stones create the illusion of a dry creek bed running past the flowers. Several comfortable wooden benches allow visitors and family members a peaceful respite. Some of the benches are tucked under a wide eave of the building, offering protection from the rain.
Escape from concerns
These gardens are healing. I know, because I saw them while visiting my little granddaughter. I had spent most of last Saturday, and a good part of the week, at Children's Mercy Hospital with her. Her mother was with her almost continuously. I merely offered my daughter a needed break. During that week the baby lay in the white metal crib or sometimes cuddled in my arms, uncomfortably coughing and crying and struggling to rid her little body of whatever was plaguing it.
When I walked through the gardens, the green color soothed my emotional discomfort. The tightly enclosed space of the interior garden felt safe in spite of being in a place where unknown and unexpected happenings are too common. The lush dampness of these gardens during my visits allowed me to escape to another place for a little while. But, I couldn't stay away too long. So I returned to my granddaughter's side.
Sometime during that day last Saturday the rain started. I almost couldn't hear it over all the humming and beeping of monitors in her hospital room. I almost couldn't hear it over the low murmuring noises of nurses going about their business outside her room. I almost couldn't hear it over the creaking of the rocking chair as I cradled her in my arms. I almost couldn't hear it over my concern for this helpless little infant. Yet, somehow, I did manage to hear the rain.
Through the narrow window of the baby's room I could hear it slap gently against the glass. I could make out raindrops streaking down the windowpane. I could see the rain puddle on the flat graveled roof of the area just outside the window.
That rain sounded so good, so hopeful. You see, rain has always been a sign of good luck for our family. On the day our first grandchild was born, it rained. And she is precious!
-- Carol Boncella is education coordinator at Lawrence Memorial Hospital. You can send e-mail to her at gardenspot@ljworld.com.
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