Small world

Leave it to Pri to find a random architectural garden in Sonoma that happens to be on our way to the lighthouse, but just wait... it gets stranger. We stopped at said location, Cornerstone Gardens, after driving through a lot of grape fields (I apologize to any wine aficionados for my unceremonious description). Hastily, we tried to don some semblance of humanity as this was our first real interaction with civilized people since leaving NJ. After walking past the large purple chair that guarded the parking lot, we made a quick stop at the visitor's center. Once inside, we were greeted by an older gentleman who looked and spoke like he had stepped out of a Steinbeck novel written just down the road. We learned that the gardens were free to the public, and that there were several small artsy shops congregated near the parking lot to peruse as well. The actual garden is best described as a menagerie of artistic landscapes presented in small spaces almost like a flea market. The artists were each given a rectangle of land about 30ft x 20ft (some larger some smaller) to do whatever they wanted with.
One of the first exhibits had a circular pit of sand that you could walk on barefoot surrounded by metal walls on which were polished plates littered with graffiti. From the open ceiling hung about 100 strings of that bead-like chain that dogtags are worn with. Examining the edges of the sand revealed several expo dry erase markers. We contributed our own additions to the metal walls before carrying on.


The next garden was an absolutely beautiful display of form and texture. I forget what these plants are called, but as shown below they were arranged in a stunning field of amber grasses. The space was completed by a small grove of dark colored olive trees.


A long reflecting pool spotted with small fish was in the back corner of the gardens. Though the sun was getting quite warm we continued on.


Luckily I spotted a break from the heat in the form of a large drainage pipe surrounded by shrubs and trees. We lingered here until we cooled off a bit.


Next was a square space which had a small entryway to discard footwear in order to properly explore the texture of soft woven ropes arranged over several mound shapes. The warm thread of the ropes was soft yet rough underfoot.



I exited the rope garden to find Pri wandering around an oyster shell carpeted area with several striking birch trees. I immediately imagined the other possible permutations of this garden involving the dark variant of birch trees and black sand. The artist's intent was to create some sort of playground-like area, hence the strange balls on the ground, but I thought the monochromaticity was sufficiently enthralling.


Several other gardens were interspersed though not all were photographed. There was an array of small plastic sunflowers that spun in the wind, a garden of nothing but different grasses, and a wedge-shaped hole in the ground with a small fish pond hidden behind a chunk of golden wheat.


They were all a worthy way to spend the morning before departing for the lighthouse. But we still had time to spend so we set off to check out the shops.

Two garden-themed stores were full of everything from gloves and shovels to fine art sculptures. Another shop was reminiscent of the MoMA store. The were a few hermetically sealed framed beetles by the artist, and author of Pheromone, Christopher Marley, but they were slightly outside of my price range.

The last store was an eclectic collection of objects. Containers full of metal skulls, buckets of watch mechanisms, an old wooden horse from a merry-go-round, beautiful worn wooden doors, and other strange authentic antique treasures littered the tables and bell jars throughout the place. I got the impression that vendors like Anthropologie purchased from whoever owned this store.

My suspicions arose when I saw several chunks of ice blue glass sitting on a shelf. At the counter, as Pri winnowed through the jar of watch parts, I asked the woman behind the counter if the world of architectural salvage was small. She looked at me kind of funny as she said yes, most people in the field have at least heard of each other. I pressed on asking if she knew anyone in the business back east, perhaps a guy from New Jersey named Matt White. Her face instantly transformed from a look of hesitant confusion to a smile.

(I should pause to explain that Matt is a good friend of my family. He has an architectural salvage company based out of Barnegat approximately 2 minutes away from my house online at www.recylingthepast.org. I've probably known him for over ten years and my sister even worked for him during the summers in high school).

So Pri and I were introduced to the store's owner, Dave Allen, who was indeed a friend of Matt's. They had traveled to China about a year ago, which is where Matt had purchased the curious blue glass which I sometimes see gleaming in a giant pile outside his shop on Rt. 9 back home. We talked for a bit then parted ways laughing about the strange coincidence.

We made a quick stop at the cafe and feasted on really tasty mozzarella and tomato sandwiches with a side of even more delicious olives and chased with a refreshing glass of watermelon juice (the wonders of fresh produce). With our batteries charged we set back out to reach the lighthouse ferry boat by 4PM.

[adam]