© 2010 Michelle Davidson/Uncharted

Photographs by Michelle Davidson

While America’s South combats kudzu gone amuck thanks to ideal growing conditions and a lack of insect enemies to keep it in check, southeastern Idaho has its own small problem. The saying is, there are a hundred zucchini (courgettes, for my European friends) for every zucchini plant. The other saying is, don’t ever leave your door unlocked during harvest season, or you’ll come home to a pile of them on your kitchen counter. Just as with the South and their kudzu dilemma, apparently this area must have the ideal climate for zucchini, and once again, not nearly enough insect enemies – or sweet little old white-haired ladies making zucchini bread – to combat the annual influx of giant zucchini.

Of course, both problems – zucchini and kudzu – could be easily remedied. The answer, my friends, is our best and most underused weapon: lousy gardeners. People who, rather than having green thumbs, are simply all thumbs when it comes to gardening. And that is where I begin to excel. For several years, I planted ten zucchini plants, in the earnest hopes that at least one of those green squashes would make it to maturity. Two zucchini in any one growing season was considered a bumper crop. If only all lousy gardeners of the world would unite and be sent to task planting as much kudzu and zucchini as possible, it’s almost a guarantee neither plant could possibly survive under our inept care.

Consequently, as a result of my own gardening misadventures, I have come to truly admire and appreciate anyone who can actually make something grow – and even more so when the result has the pleasing side effect of being rather nice to look at, as was my experience at the Portland Japanese Garden during our trip to Oregon earlier this summer.

Located in Washington Park, not far from the children’s museum and Oregon Zoo, and just across the way from the Hoyt Arboretum and the International Rose Test Garden, the Portland Japanese Garden is acclaimed as one of the most authentic Japanese gardens outside of Japan. And rightly so. Although we were never offered rice tea by someone in an ornate kimono during our visit, the whole feel of the gardens is that it could happen at any moment.

And while Oregon tends to be notoriously wet in early June, we are fortunate: the weather is gorgeous for our stroll through 5.5 acres of meticulously cultivated area comprising five distinct garden styles, including a flat garden, a stroll garden, a tea garden, a natural garden, and a sand and stone garden.

I do, of course, have to shed my Hollywood movie-influenced upbringing in order to see the subtle beauty offered by our garden surroundings. This is not a place of sensationalism, blossoms bursting at every turn or big signs to explain every twig and squiggle in the dirt. It is instead a place of shedding bright lights, busy traffic, and nonstop action, offering that opportunity to take deep, easy breaths and quietly place one’s watch in a convenient pocket while turning the cell phone and pager to the “off” position. It is not a place of having things spelled out, but rather taking careful contemplation of what is offered.

If I’d expected nothing but a thick layering of big and bold blossoms, it’s possible I would have been better off at the International Rose Test Garden. Instead, I find a garden of carefully trimmed and trained trees and shrubs, the soothing trickle of simple water flows, and meandering pathways taking me on a gentle journey meant to instill peace and imbue the absolute simpleness of real beauty.

Although the kids offer their fair share of resistance as we make our way up a hill to the main entrance, once inside, they begin to sense the unique tranquility of their surroundings. I don’t know that they understand much about sculpting plants, or sand and stone gardens, or the unique elegance of such things, but there is a myriad of footpaths and trails and unusual steps and bridges to keep them busy, as well as counting a considerable number of colorful fish along the way. Moreover, a thoughtful employee hands them a map just as they enter the gate, with drawings and a list of things to hunt for as they take their adventure through the garden. The boys aren’t as into the hunt, but my daughter becomes intent in her search for all the different objects and animals listed on her little map. The most challenging, we soon realize, is Buddha and the tiger cubs. Having discovered everything else on the map, one by one, the kids finally give up and sits down for a rest with their dad by a large Zen garden – more accurately known as a karesansui – discouraged in their search for Buddha.

At the same time, my first encounter with this strangely waterless garden – white sand with a few big rocks tossed in there for good measure and some raked lines in the sand – causes me to wonder what on Earth it is that transforms a bunch of rocks and sand into something important enough to be called a “karesansui.” It isn’t until Brian and I sit staring at the rocks for a while that something begins to change: somehow, it seems to transform before our eyes. “I’ve found Buddha,” Brian announces. And there he is, just as Brian claims. There, standing to the left in that large garden of sand and stone, is a big rock – Buddha – surrounded by smaller rocks – the hungry tiger cubs. The garden itself becomes a magical reminder of a story first told over 2000 years ago.

Admittedly, our daughter thinks that sounds kind of weird (the rocks didn’t look anything like tiger cubs!) but Brian eventually convinces her, thrilling her to realize she’d succeeded in finding the final item on her map.

Meanwhile, I thoroughly enjoy my visit to the Portland Japanese Garden, even if I am surprised to discover it is primarily greenery, and not nearly the blossoms everywhere I’d anticipated. Nevertheless, I quickly fall in love with the trees and bridges, the ponds and paths, the opportunity to experience a series of gardens that, unlike my own, feel like living perfection, caught in some kind of carefully detailed watercolor print.

Of the five gardens found at the Portland Japanese Garden – one flowing smoothly into the next – the strolling garden is perhaps my favorite. A long wooden bridge known as Moon Bridge stands over a pond edged with trees, shrubs, and grasses, the rocks covered in gentle, doily-like mosses, two ducks enjoying a most leisurely swim. Following the footpath, we find our way over one more unusual bridge, this one set flat along the surface of the pond in zig-zag fashion, large orange, black, and white koi just below the water’s surface. A breath-taking waterfall splashes down a series of large stones, past flowering trees, greenery, and mosses to the pond below.

Later in our explorations, I become immediately fond of the natural garden, perhaps because it reminds me most of why I go out into nature with my family on day trips and camping adventures. It’s a garden with deep greens, ample shade, and a stream which combine to conjure up that feeling of a wilder, less sculpted environment. It’s also the opposite of the flat garden, a rough-hewn stone stairway and wooden handrail meandering up a steep hill which will eventually lead us back to the entrance, and quite possibly all too soon.

Ultimately, all five gardens offer something unique – from the stone lanterns and weeping cherry tree in the flat garden to the stepping stones and tea house found in the tea garden. Simple fountains incorporating bamboo reeds and stone basins, primitive and pagoda-style archways, and even a tall stone pagoda-like statue add to the distinctness of this very special place, transporting us to an entirely different frame of thought and meditation, here in this living watercolor, a garden which will continue to grow and change, carefully sculpted and trained by a master gardener’s touch.

How to Get There: For those unfamiliar with Portland's sinuous streets, the simplest way to get to the gardens is to travel west from Portland on U.S. Highway 26. Just west of downtown, the highway goes through a short tunnel. Watch for the signs to Washington Park, the first exit after the tunnel ends. Follow the signs to the zoo and childrens' museum, then be on the lookout for signs to the Japanese gardens. You'll drive for about fifteen minutes through Washington Park on a narrow, twisty road, so take it nice and slow. Once at the park, parking is difficult, so don't be choosy about what parking spots you may find.

What to Take: The gateway into the gardens is located at the top of a hill, so plan on a climb up a well-maintained series of switchbacks. However, no special gear is required. Even in sandals you should make it just fine. Aside from a camera, a jacket if weather indicates the need for such, and possibly a bottle of water, you won’t need much to enjoy this low impact, tremendously beautiful experience.

Admission and Hours: To learn more about each of the five garden styles incorporated in the Portland Japanese Garden, as well as admission prices, hours, and special events, visit their website at http://www.japanesegarden.com