To make up for bone-chilling breezes blowing in from the lake during January, Chicago goes all in on outdoor festivals during the summer.

Concerts, featuring all different genres of music, take place in Millennium Park June through August and smaller street festivals take place in different neighborhoods every weekend.

Many events are excuses to drink over-priced beer from plastic cups and consume local food favorites that can be eaten without utensils, like pizza or Italian beef sandwiches.

There’s also a tradition of garden walks, reflecting one of our town’s lesser known nick names, “Urbs in Horto,” city in a garden.

Organized by local garden clubs or chambers or other community organizations, it seems like every neighborhood has their own “walk” these days. They are chances to meet families from down the street and celebrate local pride.

I imagine these kinds of informal summer gatherings take place in residential areas around Philly or Cleveland or Dallas just as they do in Bowmanville and Bucktown.

Saturday, I completed some errands early in the morning in hopes of visiting gardens close to home for one such walk before it got too hot.

Besides the beauty of flowers and the creativity of homeowners displaying how they transformed their small patch of yard into an urban oasis, I enjoy seeing the entrepreneurship of eight year-olds operating lemonade stands.

I wasn’t prepared to make a whole day out of a walking tour of lawns, blooms, manmade  waterfalls and winding brick walkways. I wanted to foray into planned green spaces and breathe in earthy scents in between doing other things.

I must have gotten the idea that the route for one such walk began at a certain location after I checked out a garden club’s Facebook page. I drove there. Not seeing any activity, I left.

I drove to another street close to the river where I knew a bunch of houses were surrounded by beautiful arrangements of plants and trees and inviting benches for taking everything in, but I didn’t see any homeowners standing outside prepared to explain why they planted what they  planted and when he decided to make “heading cuts.”

It dawned on me that I probably should have planned this excursion better and headed for home a bit disappointed.

As I was driving home, as I crossed a busy street, I saw a cluster of sunflowers. They were not in a garden or planted along a reddish brown brick wall.

I parked my car as soon as possible.

The grouping of sunflowers sprung up from a small area of earth between a NO PARKING sign and a small store that sold high-end Roman shades and Hunter Douglas ceiling fans.

Each blossom, like a smiley face emoji, was round and full, but not so heavy it couldn’t hold up its own weight.

A few narrow and thin yellow petals fell casually over the front of the flower like wisps of hair might fall over a young girl’s face. Inside the ring of petals, what looked like knots of fine brown and gold threads were scattered in concentric circles. The pattern became more dense towards the heart of the flower.

Arrangements of short, light threads, like a kitten’s whiskers, seemed to outline a dark star. Within that star, I could see the shape of another star, and within that another star, velvety and mysterious. 

Every garden, all of nature, seemed to be in this one flower. I didn’t have to go to a street festival. I understood that the garden was all around me.

Knowing that all the world is a garden, blossoming when we notice its beauty, responding to the call to show our appreciation by treating every living thing with care and respect, is no small thing.

Re-printed with permission.

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