“Traveling becomes a strategy for accumulating photographs.” —– Susan Sontag
Our camera nearly blew up today in Claude Monet’s garden in Giverney. Mike hit a new all-time high for one day —- 100 photos.
I can hear our family groaning now. “Please, dear God, don’t make us look at all of them!” Breathe easy; you’re off the hook, I promise.
We could hardly help ourselves, though. Since it’s mid-September, we thought the garden might be past its prime. We imagined crunchy leaves and droopy, shriveled petals hanging on for dear life as colder weather waits in the wings.
We were mistaken. Today, under bright blue skies, the temperature hit eighty degrees. All the flowers of Giverney were in mid-summer mode, their colors rich and vibrant. Along the paths, we stopped as each blossom posed for the camera. Mike zoomed in and snapped them all: jaunty sunflowers , pink dahlias, purply asters with yellow centers, climbing roses of buttery yellow, blue hydrangeas, spicy orange marigolds, and rosy hollyhocks like the ones my grandmother grew.
The trees around the pond were just as lush, the weeping willows draped over the sun-dappled water, the water lilies still floating around with no inkling that seasons were changing. Had we seen Claude and his easel off on a path, it wouldn’t have jarred us.
One hundred pictures? At one place? Really, I’m proud of our restraint.