Monet's Later Years & the Botanical Garden

We had an hour to kill before our timed entry to the DeYoung’s Monet exhibit, so we decided to walk over to the botanical gardens for a short visit. The sky was overcast, but it was warm and I was able to take my coat off in Golden Gate park for the first time in a while.

Admission to the gardens is free for San Francisco residents, so we showed our IDs at the kiosk and walked through the gates. Long paved pathways led in various directions from the entrance. We took the one that led us through a meadow, past a woman reading on a bench and a couple taking engagement photos, into a thicket of flowering trees.

The trees were varieties of camellias and magnolias, all blooming at the same time. They reminded me of the bright pink camellia that grows next to the purple front door of my grandmother’s house. I took some pictures while A chatted on the phone with his parents back home in France.

We wandered through the camellias past a miniature Japanese garden and all the way through a tiny patch of redwood forest with trees so large they blocked the sun. Next to the camellias, I enjoyed the California Natives section the most. The wildflowers reminded me of hiking through the chaparral back home. On our way out, we passed two women who worked for the Botanical Garden who were showing off a giant peony hybrid.

“Did you smell it?” one of the women enthusiastically asked. “You should smell it! But don’t hog it, make sure other people can smell it too.” At this point I was taking photos and A was holding a petal the other woman had given him. It was a spectacular flower, but I was still impressed by the level of enthusiasm it generated among the two women.

We thanked the volunteers and made our way back to the DeYoung. The Monet exhibit was swarming with people. I had set my expectations a bit low; A had explained that Monet’s failing eyesight changed his painting style in his later years. Nevertheless, I was charmed by the depictions of his elaborate garden. I loved the swirls of blues and greens and purples punctuated with bright pinks and reds. There were also photos of his house in Giverny, half hidden by wisteria and covered in tangles of ivy. I told A that I’d like to go there someday. “When we spend some time in Normandy,” he said, “we will stop there on the way.” I hope it is someday in the spring.