I’ve Looked At Clouds From Both Sides

This reference to “looking at clouds from both sides now” is from Joni Mitchell’s famous song “Both Sides Now”, which was first recorded in 1968. The song uses clouds as a metaphor for the different perspectives we gain as we experience life.. This song has become one of her most recognizable works, with its poetic reflections on how our perspectives change as we gain life experience.

I’m sitting in the dining room on our hilltop on a day with storm clouds in all directions and patches of sunlight here and there. There was a magnificent huge rainbow this morning at one point. It’s nice that these natural wonders don’t go unnoticed and I’m happy to be able to pay attention to them without the distractions of every day life. At my back window, I’m looking at my back hillside from a slightly different perspective than I usually do. I’m pleased with how this hillside has taken shape over the last five years. Obviously, it starts with the natural wonder of the many boulders that were strewn here many millennia ago, and from there many of the plantings have grown and matured to a magnificent grandeur. The big oak tree on the northwest corner has grown now to about the height of the house and is set just far enough away so that it doesn’t interfere by overhanging the roof. There are two very fullsome upright, yucca trees, one larger than the other, but neither as big as the oak. There’s a Manzanita tree that I have kept trimmed to create a lovely artistic highlight in between the boulders. I can see two large stands of Prickly Pear cactus, one that bloomed with its reddish knobs earlier in the spring and one that is in full bloom with its yellow knobs at this moment, I see the bright orange flowers on too large Fan Aloe plants, bright Bluebell bushes, and yellow and orange flowers scattered here and there. Just below me, I can see the blue Chalkstick Ice Plants in plentiful supply all across the upper part of the hillside. There are also occasional bursts of Aeoniums and, of course, many Blue Century Plant agaves whose pups have been planted throughout the lower hillside, and are now a prominent part of the landscape in every nook and cranny imaginable.

I can also see the three Palo Verde trees that I planted, one in the middle of the ridgeline, another at the very end of the ridge that marks the end of my property, and the largest of them down in the valley that has been transformed from a barren scrap of dirt to a lush garden of succulents. I can also see five or six of the benches that I’ve placed throughout the garden, at least one trellis and a whole array of metal sculptures and metal wind spinners ranging from the large 10 foot Joshua tree at the far northwest corner to the red tailpipe sculpture titled “Exhausted”. Last, but not least, there are the touches of color that I’ve added with the cobalt blue pots sprinkled here and there around the backyard just to remind anyone who happens to be walking through that while this garden is designed to be random and without pattern, none of it is accidental.

I really must remember to make a point to observe my lovely hillside from different perspectives because every view holds different impressions and secrets that are all worth pondering at least for a moment or two. I am pleased with the approach that I took of accepting the natural topography of the hilltop, then forcing my garden plan to comply with all the hills and valleys in a more or less natural manner. The oak trees grew where they stand as did the Manzanita. I suspect that my predecessor planted the Yucca’s, the Prickly Pears, the Fan Aloes, and the Chalksticks. I transplanted most of the Blue Agave’s, most of the Euphorbias and the Aeoniums and put in all the paths, all the metal sculptures, all the benches, and all the pots. This back hillside is a true collaboration of man and nature for the benefit of whoever cares to sit and enjoy it. I think of this as my garden and my creation, but in truth, it is mostly the work of nature and this wonderful environment we enjoy in San Diego. It feels pleasantly creative and it makes me happy in that it’s one of the few things that I have done in life that is unquestionably in partnership with nature.

For many years, I’ve taken note of the fact that I am drawn to paintings and pictures of clouds. There is something about a piece of art that is 2/3 or more consumed by the sky with the most notable elements being the billowing multifaceted clouds that occupy our airspace. One of the things that I’ve always liked about the West is it’s big sky. I continue to wonder why the sky should be any bigger here than it is anywhere to the East, but once again, that seems to be a matter of perspective. I’m not inclined to question that too much because I’ve always felt that where the Eastern Sky looks very stable and secure, the Western Sky is all about the possibilities of the future. That alone seems to justify the sky being bigger for that purpose. I imagine that as I get older, I will spend less and less time, modifying and improving my garden and more and more time staring at it in contemplation. It’s sort of what we do in life. We spend our robust years doing all that we can. We spend our midlife years maintaining what we have and improving upon it when we can. And we spend our older age thinking about it all not so much about regrets or wondering why it is behind us, but rather appreciating it for its inherent beauty and wonder. I think it’s fair to say that while this may be cognitive dissonance speaking (or at least rationalized validation) this contemplative last act seems like it may be my favorite.

I have noticed that perhaps because of the hilltop setting of our home, and then the same way that our garden looks very different when standing at different places on the hillside, this house looks very different from its different angles. I like the fact that when you drive up, you don’t feel intimidated by the house, but you are welcomed to come to the front door with its Caliente red door, it’s etched beveled framing and it’s colorful California-shaped mosaic. From that side, the house menders to the north along the path and feels very intimate and soothing as it leads you to our patio with its impressive and unique bottle tree and all of the surrounding Zen landscaping. By contrast, to the south, you get an abundance of whimsy with our Otomi wall mural, our basalt fountain, 0and our small grove of citrus trees. But owing to the downhill slope on which the house is perched, the western side is really one and a half stories tall and covers a series of utility rooms and crawlspaces that hide beneath the residence. With the big rebuilt and commanding deck that sits in the middle of the arch of the house, the house looks very impressive and far more stately than it otherwise pretends to be. Not too many people see the house from the downhill side. From the highway 2 miles away, this does make the house look a bit like the Getty museum in Los Angeles, perched on it as hillside, but otherwise, this is a somewhat private view reserved for us and friends that we bring down to our lower garden. In some ways, this alternate perspective is just right. For my benefit, this home looks to be an impressive castle, but for the benefit of those who come to our door it appears a far more modest and normal home and it does not overstate it’s importance in the world. Clouds are the same way from down here on earth. They are majestic, powerful and mysterious structures, but when approached up close, they are no more than wisps of air and water that may confuse our vision, but do little to impede us one way or the other.