Frequent visitors to Sunnybank Gardens gradually become aware of strategically placed, often subtle, delights. For example: lions, or parts of same, have traditionally graced European homes and gardens for centuries. A big heraldic lion, an S (for Sunnybank) prominently featured on the shield he bears, announces the garden's entrance. Two lions support a bench; one ponders the fountain. Another large, elegantly maned beast (once a fountainhead) announces the folly.
How about pussycats? Real ones furtively stalk (and dine on) foolish rabbits constantly sneaking into the garden from Hannah Park across the street. Inspired, I've placed two soft (rabbit-furred!) felines in a strategic spot, because, well, libraries and cats go together. A library? Outside? I won't explain. You'll have to see for yourself.
Only the most observant visitor will notice another small (musically inclined) cat, by the final gate.
A little brown stone rabbit sits quietly near an ancient-looking door, immune to cat fright.
Then there are the four classic rams supporting a huge urn, boasting gorgeous, sturdy front legs, finished with elegant toenailed hooves. The fifth, a weighty bust formed from turn-of-the-century brass long since aged to green, is plaqued on a wall, surrounded by ivy.
People people it, too. Let's see. Not counting the illusive fairies, whose numbers vary, there are 14, mostly the (empty) heads of English and Welsh kings and queens, including two ladies with shoulders attached. One small boy musician is wholly there.
One plaque shows a child's hand holding a single rose in bud; this treasure, a copy of a stone carving from an 800-year-old tomb of an infant, was discovered in an English church. I think it's simply beautiful.
And then there is my hooved, horned, handsome faun, Pan, rarely glimpsed by humans, especially in America. I found him moldering in England many years ago. Algae decorates his body, and every manly inch of him is displayed to best advantage as he sits confidently on a tree stump holding his pipes in his lap, listening to nature's music. I fell instantly in love with that gorgeous face and chest. Years later, his half-smile still has the power to bewitch me.
One other faun is not nearly so obvious.
Two weird Green Men lurk. These strange, sprouting heads, favored by carvers for a thousand years, fascinate and intrigue me. Half-hidden on many ancient British garden or church walls, suggesting someone -- something -- alive amid the foliage, they project menace, humor, fear or tranquility. Thick vines emerge from open, toothy mouths; oak or acanthus leaves sprout from rough cheeks, and lushly surround the entire head. These faces, nearly buried by beautifully chiseled vegetation, have cold, penetrating eyes. They remind me that forests in medieval times were unsafe places; a face glimpsed among the leaves might be a demon, an evil fairy, robber, or worse. Misbehaving children were threatened with The Man in the Oak by chiding parents as late as the 17th century.
The smaller Green Man is easy to find, but if you manage to locate the other much bigger, grotesque, almost life-sized face, I'll be impressed.
Finally, there are four owls, one eagle, three arch-necked, elegant black swans in water, and four songbirds (three with families).
You may think I've hopelessly cluttered the landscape: you'd be wrong. Mostly small, discreetly placed, and often partially obscured by foliage, these European charmers cement the bond between this human, history, folklore, and the animal kingdom, right here in my little Eden. All have interesting stories of how, and why, they came to be here.
More importantly, they always lift my heart.
Dee Blair's Sunnybank Gardens are at 325 Sixth St. in Traverse City. Visit her Web site, www.deeblair.com for more information. Find more of her columns online at record-eagle.com/deeblair.
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