Chandor Gardens (Photo Essay)

Oftentimes we miss greatness when it's in our own backyard. I'm as guilty of that as anybody. I think: "What are the odds anything great is here?" I'm continually stunned the Japanese Gardens in Fort Worth aren't closed and shuttered away, I feel so lucky to have them (and after talking to the head gardener there, he confirmed what a special place it is). But 25 miles west of Forth Worth is the city of Weatherford and it holds a gem of its own as well.

Chandor Gardens is named after Douglass Chandor and was the personal playground for him and his wife, Ina. Basically, it's a huge backyard for his house and artist's studio. The story is as follows:

What began as an artist's dream nearly 70 years ago stands today as a world renowned garden. Douglass Chandor, an Englishman who came to this country in 1926, established himself as one of the great artists of the 20th century. His portraits of President Herbert Hoover, President Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill are among five of his paintings exhibited in the Smithsonian's National Portrait Gallery.

Following their marriage in 1934, Douglass Chandor and Ina Kuteman settled in their hometown of Weatherford, Texas. The couple began their home and surrounding gardens, which they named White Shadows, on family ground in 1936. A cactus covered, caliche hillside evolved into a series of "garden rooms" featuring English and Chinese motifs. When questioned about his passion for gardening, Douglass would reply that he was given the skills to paint in order to build his garden.

White Shadows flourished under Douglass' care for 16 years until his death in 1953. As a tribute to her husband, Ina changed the name to Chandor gardens and kept it open to the public until 1978 when she passed away. For the next 16 years the garden fell into a state of neglect. Melody and Chuck Bradford purchased the garden in 1994 and lovingly restored the home and gardens. The City of Weatherford acquired Chandor gardens in 2002.

I have a travel book of every tourist spot in the state and I'd made this trek once before - only this time I had a camera. So take a stroll with me on a warm but pleasant summer day and explore both the garden and spirit of Douglass and Ina Chandor.

The main entrance. The road winds to the left from here.


The sense of excitement builds as you peek at the house and gardens on your way to the parking area. It just exudes good vibes - and does not disappoint.


Entrance to the garden area. I love the fairy tale arch. As you can guess, it's a popular place for marriage ceremonies.


This is "Ina's Walk" which was the initial feature of the garden in 1936. The brick inscription is a Latin message to Ina: "May this little garden flourish, consecrated to Ina, in the year of Our Lord Edward the Eighth, forevermore."


The walk leads to the Italiante pergola on the way to the main house. To the left is a cubbyhole where a shaded bench resides for a relaxing view and to absorb the garden. The Chandors put many such benches in the garden and I just imagined them sitting and gazing into one another's eyes and smiling at their creation, of both their marriage and estate.


This is the view from that bench where you can see through to the courtyard which has at its center an astrolabe fountain that's the hub of four walkways leading out from it.


The courtyard is the main place for receptions; guarded by a massive cedar elm tree.


Once in the house you can see miniature versions of Douglass's famous portraits. I purchased my ticket and asked for a tour of the rest of the house. I played my "I'm a blogger for Open Salon" card and she hastily obliged.


The kitchen had been modernized by the Bradfords in the 90's when they lived there. Not large, but very charming.


Here's your view from the breakfast nook as you have your coffee every morning. Magical.


Here's the sitting room where Douglass often asked his subjects to pose. The unfinished portrait was discovered during restoration and has yet to be identified.


These pictures were also unearthed during restoration and were quite a find. The brunette woman you see behind Douglass is the Queen of England. These were taken during the time he painted her portrait (which resides in the house).


This homey fireplace was lined with pictures on each side. One of a very famous painting:


The portrait with FDR standing is said to be the only one of its kind.


This was actually the master bedroom. The two doors you see at the back open out to an eastern facing porch where you can overlook the gardens. Since the entire property sits on a high point, I can just imagine the morning sunrises they shared.


Douglass's studio. The sense of space is so very conducive to creativity and one feels almost as if walking on holy ground as you enter. I got a very special feeling as I stepped in.


A nautical looking oval window gave light from the side. Next to it is a Chinese drawing, one of the motifs running throughout the house.


A photo of the artist at work back in the day.


These Chi-Ling statues were originally used in a garden fountain. Bronze replicas were made so these could be restored and preserved inside the house. They reside on a table in the front entryway.


A view of the eastern porch. One would have to imagine chairs were set out back when the house was occupied. From here we'll start our journey through the garden.


View from the porch. The Chandors liked water and fountains. Like the courtyard, the fountain is a hub for paths leading in different directions.


To the left we're taken to the Chinese bridge which leads to the front door. The water streams up around to the left and is filled with koi fish.


We go up the stream, cross over these lily pad steps and we're transported to a place of English whimsy, giving us the taste of a British manor.


This gnome-like fellow greets us, inspecting visitors with his monocle.


Next we find the Bowling Green where bocce ball and croquet was played. Now it's the site of most weddings.


The Pixie Pond is close by. Little characters like these are spread all through the garden. The Chandors put lovely details into the nooks and crannies, one need only look to find them.


As we cross back we come to the Mount Cox waterfall, providing a cooling cove of splashing water. Douglass Chandor's favorite dream was to build such a waterfall but it wasn't completed until after his death.


We cross the Trellis Pond, home to rock formations designed to look like various animals, and also a Chinese junk.


Funny.


Coming across we find the Stone of the Immortals, fashioned by Douglass after structures found in Chinese gardens. It is a symbol of luck and protection for the gardens.


The back edge of the garden holds the Moon Gate, with a Chinese lake diorama as its destination


A close-up of the diorama.


Leading out from the Moon Gate we are set on a direct line to the Cave Grotto back near the garden entrance.


A Chinese goddess greets us as we pass. Be sure to check my Flikr link at the end to see more of these statuettes, some no more than a couple of inches high.


The Chi-Ling fountain with its bronze replicas marks the halfway point.


The Cave Grotto, another place for cool shade and meditation.


Using a zoom lens, we can see all the way back to the Moon Gate. I thought it was a genius idea to link the two, as if two people could sit in each spot and still feel connected.


When I saw this I thought of 1Mom's wonderful photos and decided to try my hand at it.


Finally, I had to bid adieu.

Click here to see the full set.

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Note: much of the garden information came from the brochure handed out for the tour.

A Conversation Built For Two

"I was really hurt by what you said," declared Her Dreaminess as I passed by her desk for the first time that day. Her verbal bullet missed by the thinnest of margins, but the fact she was taking a shot rattled me. If her tone hadn't sounded so political in nature, I might have believed she was speaking honestly.

The offending remark in question I assumed to be my parting statement to her yesterday during our daily conversations at work. All last evening I kept running it through my head, afraid I'd gone too far. If she cut me off I'd die worse than anyone alive. She knew that and deliberately cut me slack. But did I go too far??

She was telling me of her "objectivity" which I thought was amusing but revealing. A truly objective person tells you she's biased. Regardless, she was opening up to me and I treasured that more than the crown jewels. And she went on to state she had problems with selfishness - like I didn't know that (and share that trait) - but I so dearly loved her speaking with her eyes down, trusting me not to judge her.

But she'd prefaced her remarks by taking a shot at me, saying objectivity was something I wouldn't know anything about. So I decided to return the volley and give her a taste of true objectivity and see how the hell she liked that.

"Well, look at it this way," I said in my most innocent voice, "If you weren't selfish you wouldn't be married!" - implying theirs was a love of selfishness and not a love of love.


Her eyes flashed me an expected anger, hoping I would wilt. But I knew I was someone who'd die for her and I felt no remorse. Instead, I smiled a seemingly knowing smile - even if I didn't know if I spoke more out of hope and self-interest than I did of her reality.

But with her need to lay down the gauntlet just now I had my answer.

Our chemistry had grown with every word, every lowering of the guard, every secret fluttering of the heart. Dare we believe each need never lie to the other? Did we have the strength to grab on to that freedom and truly live at last? Here was a bump on that road.

I feared both her and her wrath - when genuine. I played stupid, backpedaling instead of facing her directly. Problem was, I really didn't want to hurt her but if my observation had been correct, it was a shot straight through her heart.

"What did I ever say?" posed baffled me, pretending I hadn't noticed I'd ever spoken any sort of possible painful truth to her. I knew she wouldn't go for the innocent act and I was kinda hoping she would call me out on that because truth be told I wanted to have this conversation. I wanted her.

"You know what you said."

You know what you said? She's talking to me like we're in a relationship. Dear God, I wish we were! I'd never curse God again the rest of my life. If only... So is she saying that because she wishes we were in a relationship too? Is she wanting to see if I respond in kind and pick it up from there? I dare not do that! I can't take that sort of chance with a married woman. That and I'm a fucking coward who's more interested in protecting his belief system than taking what he wants. Otherwise, there'd be no doubt what I'd do.


"I say lots of things. Maybe you're referring to something I said last week?" I deferred, despising myself, riddled with guilt.

"You had no right to speak about my marriage like that."

She got it out and I could see she was relieved to have made her statement of fact. Clearly, she and her husband had discussed it and decided to put me in my place (which I thought was endlessly funny). The words were spoken as if a language agreed to in a political speech, staged for effect rather than felt. But she was speaking to me now and her facade was all too easy to see.

"What do I know? I'm not married, so who cares what I think?"

She gasped because I had stolen her next lines. Was she going to come clean and admit her feelings now? I knew what she was trying to infer: We have a treaty of vulnerability and I'm accusing you of breaking it. And it was true, we did have such a treaty, passions were boiling over and phrases such as "Anyone but you and I wouldn't say this" and open declarations of admiration were bandied about. Damn, I want to be with you, girl! You're all my dreams!

"I don't care," she lied in knee-jerk reaction. "Nobody does." She had to cover for her husband/god as well. "Maybe if you had someone of you're own you wouldn't be so interested in other people's affairs." That was the end of her script, I knew. A very clever comeback if she hadn't wanted me to be interested in her affairs.



But she had left me an invitation. Yes, I wanted to say: "I don't care about having someone of my own if it's not you." But would she commit back to me, risking her most prized possession? I decided to be "logical" and told myself she's too weak to choose her feelings over her pride. I decided to be "sensible" and not give her an opportunity to jump down my throat and deliciously propagate her moral commitment to her holy marriage. I decided to fuck up and lie.

"Then you've got it all worked out," I feinted. "You already confided you're leaving in a few weeks and after that we'll never see each other again. I'm just a co-worker, right? It's not like you have to live with anything I say." Translation: We've bonded and you're leaving and I want to keep it going but how can I when you're already tied down?

I saw her crumbling, realizing she had no answer for that either. She was conflicted and I winced at her dismay at having to remain in her prison of silence. We both hated that prison. And since I couldn't man up to offer to take care of her, she was left with no choice but to defend what she had.

"Thank God," she said, turning her head away from me as we both wished the conversation had never taken place.

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A Business Decision

I have a head for business. I understand it's all about the bottom line. I also understand it's about relationships, that if you get people to trust you that creates a positive momentum. And I also understand that chasing money at the expense of quality will leave you with neither (Hello, General Motors). So I don't need any lectures on capitalism from those who think they've been around the block and have such great insight into human nature - as long as their eyes are shut.

At 17 I was a daily subscriber to the Wall Street Journal, owned stock, read books on investing and bought Milton Friedman's "Free to choose". I like the mechanics and logistics of doing business and I also understood that, unlike war, there's no taking prisoners if you want to survive; generosity means death. But like I said, I keep my eye on the bottom line and the bottom line is either a system works for us or it does not.

If it does not, then you chunk it. Despite what we tell ourselves, thinking is not only allowed, but mandatory to survival. The Light Brigade chose not to question why and they ended up dead losers. Nobody gets a free ride to not question what they do. That's how the bad guys take over - like now where we don't question each other's greed but complain bitterly how the greediest rule and spread misery.


Truth is, it's everyone's fault things are like they are. But you knew that already.

Here's another story about another guy who understood the bottom line. He had to make a business decision and was forced to let some people go if his business was to survive. And mankind has deemed it a religious fact of life that business survival is mankind's survival, so how could anything be wrong if it serves the greater good?

It came to be known as the Zong Massacre, the Zong being a slaver ship sailing from Africa to Jamaica in 1781. Due to bad weather, overcrowding and poor navigation, 60 of the slaves had died with many others seriously ill. But the captain had a dilemma on his hands: if the remaining sick slaves died onshore the ship-owners were out the cost of the slaves. But if they drowned at sea they were insured for 30 quid a head.

So the answer was obvious!

Over the next three days, the captain and crew picked out 122 slaves to throw overboard and into the shark infested waters. Nothing personal, of course. It's just business, the cult of mad men and bad men. Another ten slaves, outraged by the crew's conduct, threw themselves overboard in the same way a samurai retainer attempts to shame his master by committing seppuku in protest. Not that it did much good to the cultists' minds.


To a mind uncontaminated with our principles and mores, to have watched the people being drowned it would have appeared murder had been committed on those three days. After all, what else is one to think when seeing a live body thrown overboard to die? But the brainwashed brain sees something else:

No officers or crew were charged or prosecuted for the deliberate killing of 133 slaves. Indeed, the Solicitor General, John Lee, declared that a master could drown slaves without "a surmise of impropriety". He stated:

"What is this claim that human people have been thrown overboard? This is a case of chattels or goods. Blacks are goods and property; it is madness to accuse these well-serving honourable men of murder. They acted out of necessity and in the most appropriate manner for the cause. The late Captain Collingwood acted in the interest of his ship to protect the safety of his crew. To question the judgement of an experienced well-travelled captain held in the highest regard is one of folly, especially when talking of slaves. The case is the same as if wood had been thrown overboard."



Of course, one court case was filed: the insurers wanted their money back. Can't have people cheating the holy system, now can we?

And we are brainwashed to this day. When people are thrown out into the street and denied the right to work, we think nothing of it. That's just a business decision, nothing personal. These things have to happen, sort of like a thousand years ago when a bad harvest meant no food. Now, no mythical profits means no food. We have equated the two in our minds, absolving ourselves of all guilt of who the profit axe casts adrift.

But I say it's murder. It was murder then and it's murder now. I know the lie you tell yourself, I lived it too. But I don't like being played for a sucker (unlike you, dear Light Brigaders). The bottom line is eliminating human misery, to build our house on the rock of truth - that's the true law of nature. Only question is: how many people have to die before we admit that?

In the meantime, all I have to say is: FUCK YOU! Fuck you to hell!

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So before you go making fun of ancient people who worshipped wooden idols to ensure their welfare...



think of the wooden idol we worship - and suffer and die for:



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Dance, sick voodoo children, dance for your god!

Unraveling: A Bullet For A Bad Man

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