Imagine a quiet Sunday morning with nothing to do.
Brainstorm. Why don't we take a trip to the NJ Botanical Gardens in Ringwood, NJ? A beautiful day is forecast with a slight chance of showers. The Gardens are part of Ringwood State Park, dedicated in 1984--a 96 acre wonderland of plants, shrubs, evergreen and deciduous trees, terraced gardens and woodland paths.
"You can spend the entire day outside," I tell my rascal cat. "Spend the entire day . . . sniffing."
Chucky's on board. Dan likes to be active. Spending the day outside taking photos is up his alley.
If you've ever been to Longwood Gardens in Kennett Square, PA, this is a smaller and less glitzier version of having gardens upon gardens on exhibit, but the gardens are still quite impressive. We sign up for a walking tour (scheduled for later in the day), but off we go to explore the landscape on our own.
I love the fact that you walk under a trellis that leads you into a kind of magical landscape.
Imagine lush grasses and meadows that seem to go on forever.
Dan is a particular fan of anything purple.
He's more than happy to sit on a nearby bench and stare at the very purple bush. I sit down, too . . .
We spot beautiful angel statues and fountains, scattered throughout the gardens.
The gardens are breathtaking. Wherever you look, you see a tree or a bush or a landscape you want to capture.
For Chucky, he feels much the same way. But for him, wherever he looks, he sees something he wants to sniff. There's barely a complaining meow out of him.
Still, from long experience, I've learned to keep one eye on him. Just in case.
Before we know it, it's time for the tour. An elderly gentleman, who is an ex-schoolteacher, tree expert, and volunteer at the Botanical Gardens for centuries begins to lead us around the part of the Gardens we haven't yet explored. This guy knows everything about the trees that are here. He can spot and label, recite the history and birth place of every tree that now sits proudly in the landscape.
It's still a beautiful day even though the sun has gone in, the sky has turned a bit gray and there's that dense feeling in the air portending that something is brewing. I push that thought out of my brain and concentrate on the trees that we pass.
But . . . a drop falls. Then another raindrop. We push on.
I forgot to mention that Chucky loves to be outside. He's been known to go out in the coldest of weather. He'll traipse through snow, muddy trails, puddles, wet grass, sticky sand, and a host of other unpleasant surfaces to get to where he wants to go.
But he doesn't like rain. He doesn't like to get his fur wet. He insists on being dried off with paper towels if he happens to get rained on when we're home. And, if I have to be honest, he hates the stuff.
We are about four fifths of the way through our tour when it becomes apparent to everyone that it is about to rain. Or it is raining. Big time. Dan and I both have rain jackets with hoods. No umbrellas. Of course.
Chucky has nothing but a sour look on his face as he continually gazes up at the now rain soaked sky.
The tour continues. Our tour guide is not bothered by rain splashing all around him. He is too busy talking about the magnificent trees.
I pull Dan aside. "What should we do?"
We turn to look at Chuck. He has this distressed look on his face. He doesn't really care about the trees. Hearing about them. He's sniffed quite a few.
I, on the other hand, would like to stay for the rest of the tour. I like trees.
"I think we should go. He's going to look like a drowned rat in another five minutes," Dan says.
Of course, he's right.
"I'll pick him up. Keep him under my jacket, and we'll head for the car."
Chuck is no light weight. He likes his snacks. So this is a generous offer.
"That's a plan."
Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans . . . we turn to pick up Chuck. Rescue him from the rain and he's gone.
Why do I feel like I've seen this movie before? I barely have to say a word to Dan because we are so experienced at looking for this rascal.
Think like a cat. If he hates the rain, he'll run for cover.
We scan the perimeter. He's got to be under something.
Immediately, we spot an orange and white tail sticking out of a low hanging evergreen branch. Sure enough, he must have skedaddled across the wet grass to escape the wrath of Mother Nature.
In the car, on the way home, after Chucky is warm and dry, after he's had his snack and is resting oh so comfortably in the back seat of the car, I ask him my favorite question.
"What was the best part of your day today?"
He meows contentedly.
Chucky likes adventures, but in the world according to the rascal cat, there's nothing like a good snooze.
