Walks
I will try to describe, in my own words, my walks through the grounds; each day, a different direction, a different walk. Saarinen House was on the edge of the property; I could walk across the road to the Boys’ School or up Academy Way to Jonah Pool. Most mornings, I went the other way, out a side door, to woods and walkways. I walked a pathway around the reflecting pool; through an ornamental gate to steps that led to a small waterfall. In winter, water froze creating a winter wonderland with the frozen fall and glittering grotto below. Changing seasons dramatically changed the landscape: from winter white to golden glow of autumn. In spring, beauteous blossoms broke through; crocus and daffodils. Barren trees, stripped stark by frigid cold, brought forward buds and tender green leaves. By summer, full blossoming of flowers, bushes and trees, with succulent shades of green and colorful plants, brought rich and gorgeous growth to the grounds. In Michigan, fall is a special time with an abundance of changing colors and handsome hues: reds, yellow, orange, russet, brown, tan, sienna, gold; a full palette of autumnal riches.
Walking around the grounds was like being in a changing canvas with both mighty and delicate strokes of contrasting seasons. Light, color, mood and movement changed constantly. In late fall and winter, there would be week after week of grey sky; low clouds haplessly hanging over the Great Lakes. Overcast skies were dismal and dreary; the slightest shaft of sunlight was a rarity. Winds could howl; snows swirl; ice crackle; stark winter enveloped the grounds. Towering trees and bare branches stood black against the white snows and grey skies. The dull dreariness of endless winter had a bleakness that never seemed to end. Even so, wrapped up in layers of clothes, I continued to walk until I could slip and slide no more. I tried cross country skies and snow shoes but of no avail. Those born and bred in Michigan waited anxiously for cruel cold and snow storms so that they could ski; snow mobile; ice fish. I must admit that, after fresh snow and crisp ice, the landscape looked pure; as driven snow! To see the rare weak winter sun touch ice, sparkling on a branch, was nice; especially when viewed through a window from inside a warm home. I never liked winter.
On my walk, past the waterfall, I would go along a path up a gentle hill. In autumn, leaves changed color and fell as a crunchy carpet underfoot; overhead, canopy of ever changing sky. White clouds would be scurrying across blue sky; the sun sinking sooner and ever lower. At the top of a slight incline was the Greek Theatre; a stage set between open air amphitheater and large pool. In May, weather permitting, Commencement was held for graduates of the Academy. Always a stressful day, as weather was so unpredictable; forcing many a ceremony inside with rain and wind. Commencement outside was perfection; trees and foliage embracing audience and graduates in this moment of completion and celebration. Always I hoped, as did everyone, that the clouds would part and the sun shine. On my walk, often, I would stand on that stage, thinking of those graduates receiving their degrees. From different countries and cultures, students were dressed as never before, some in national costume; all immaculate. Graduates would take with them not only a diploma but the life changing experience of having been at Cranbrook.
I continued my walk through archways and past the pool; once the Booth family swimming pool, built shortly after they moved into their home. A sculpture was reflected in the still waters. I walked across a narrow iron bridge that traversed a vehicular road to the Booth house. In a small wooded knoll, overlooking their home was a tall column topped by the large sculptured head of a Greek deity; a loose flagstone below. Standing on that flagstone would cause water to cascade from an eye of the marble head on to the unwary visitor. Few knew of this watery trap; many were tricked. A few steps below was the entry courtyard to the family home; an English Tudor manor, designed by Albert Kahn in 1908. Many the times, I thought of the irony of me ending up in the most English of places! I came to America because of tall skyscrapers; Times Square; Broadway; Las Vegas; neon lights; jazz; movies; mountains; diners; deserts; freeways; helicopters; palm trees and pelicans. Here I was in Cranbrook, named after a village in England, and most English in architecture and appearance; even to formal gardens that surrounded Booth House. At times, on my daily walks, I thought that I was back in the old country? This feeling was never more so than when wandering around outside the manor with those ornamental gardens; beautifully maintained by volunteers. The House and Garden Auxiliary not only tendered for the gardens, they grew and planted flowers, colorful and changing. The greenhouse was rich with seedlings, plants and flowers; cared for by these volunteers. There were roses, gladiola, daisies, chrysanthemums, tulips and many flowers; even an herb garden. In spring and summer, the colors and scents were gorgeous. Again a full palette was seen with reds, purple, yellow, crimson, blue and orange. On the west side of the house, below formal gardens and brick wall, were steps that led down to hill; in the spring, the slopes were covered with daffodils. A seasonal delight, Daffodil Hill is no more; I am told that, over the years, the ground had become too compacted for further planting? At Booth House, from these gardens, were two of my favorite views; one was the ever popular view of flowers and fountain in an ornamental garden, then down the hill, looking up a ramp through woods to, away in the distance, the statue of the Chinese Dog that guarded the museum steps. A lesser known view from the house was by The Turtle Fountain, on a buttress overlooking Kingswood Lake; between trees, a glimpse of water and the girls’ school beyond. The work of architects, Albert Kahn and Eliel Saarinen, was visually linked by nature; through broad and undulating landscape, the grounds of Cranbrook.
The original land was for farming and apple orchards. Cranbrook started as a farm, became an estate and, eventually, a campus where landscape played an aesthetic and intrinsic role. Many hands and minds helped evolve and develop the grounds; initially, of course, an English landscaper and later the firm of the Olmstead Brothers; even Loja Saarinen played her part. Situated in Bloomfield Hills, the community is blessed with an undulating landscape; unlike the dull flatness that prevails in Michigan. Hills were enhanced; lakes and ponds formed; woods and gardens planted; vistas created; all to fulfill the founders’ vision. In this creative concept, architecture played a critical role; to be seen in every direction, at times hidden and at other times revealed, within the undulating landscape.
From the formal and ornamental gardens, I would walk down towards Brookside School, admiring a quaint bell tower, designed by Henry Booth. Son of the founder, Henry was to be found wandering the grounds, picking up trash, caring for his family estate; a perfect country gentleman. He had many a tale to tell; my favorite was the sinking of a gondola in the lake; fortunately in shallow waters. Years ago, the tale goes, ladies in their finery enjoyed an elegant party by the lake. Out they went in the gondola which promptly sank in shallow water; ladies with dresses wet and muddy scrambled ashore. The gondola was banished to the boat house on the edge of Kingswood Lake. Like other original and older outhouses, the boat house was in disrepair; crumbling concrete and rambling vines. I would walk up worn out steps and stand on a flat roof, across the lake, reflected in the still waters, was the girls’ school. Throughout the grounds, countless nooks and crannies existed; small sheds and structures that were crumbling ruins, no longer used. The boathouse was such a building; of no true architectural merit, merely an echo of yesteryear. Henry Booth remembered and represented that era; he was protective of his family legacy. Educated as an architect, he studied under Eliel Saarinen, Henry was an advocate for repair and restoration; he supported my efforts and commitment to the past. Henry Booth was part of that past; he kept traditions alive, his favorite being “Twelfth Night”.
I will interject a story here about Henry Booth; recalled by former assistant, Bob Yares:
One of my most vivid memories was the first time I attended "Twelfth Night" at Cranbrook House. It was a tradition to invite staff of two out of the three divisions of Cranbrook, rotating every year, to the house for a reception and a Pageant. People were asked to volunteer to participate and dress up as either: Mary, Joseph, Shepherds and the Three Kings. If there was an infant available, it would be the Christ Child. Everyone came down the main staircase in the main hall followed by the "Spirit of Christmas" which was Henry Booth. I was standing off to the side, next to John Booth, nephew of Henry. When I saw Henry Booth (very thin and shriveled), coming down the staircase, dressed in very loose tights, long flowing velvet cape, large puffy hat with ostrich plumes...and Mark Spitz Speedo Trunks (sagging)...my jaw dropped and I said "Incredible!" (and chuckled to myself). I looked at John Booth who shuddered and said "It's sooo humiliating..." And I chuckled to myself...
Henry Booth may have been considered eccentric but served as a community conscience for us all; his memories and tales gave insights into a bygone era. He was supportive of my efforts in restoration; always informative and kind. Henry and his wife lived in his large house across the road from the grounds and next to Brookside. ‘Thornlea’ had lovely lawns and gardens with a large studio; Henry liked to dabble with pencil and paint. That home is now part of Cranbrook Educational Community and used for meetings and guests; while the studio houses the Archives. I felt fortunate in knowing Henry Booth and his sister, Mrs. Beresford; living links to the past and kin of the founders. Florence Booth Beresford lived in a brick house and grounds near Christ Church on Lone Pine Road; on occasion, I visited with her. She was a quiet lady with the charm of an earlier era; she liked to weave in her studio. Cranbrook is all about people and place.
I would continue my walk by going through the Japanese Gardens; which were exactly that! With ponds, plants, rocks, bridges, benches, the gardens were of the Orient; the work of a dedicated volunteer. I would sit on a low bench and watch the stream with water trickling over pebbles; running under a small, red decorative bridge. The garden was located close to the girls’ school; architecture that was compared to that of Frank Lloyd Wright. What an odd coincidence to have this garden in juxtaposition with architecture, both reminiscent of the Orient? As the path went alongside Kingswood Lake; a favorite prospect came into sight. To my right was the girls’ school, architectural masterwork of Eliel Saarinen; while across the waters were hills, woods, lawns and distant buildings; a landscape ever changing with the seasons.
After going around the lake, I would either return to the Academy or scramble up a hill, through the woods, to the Institute of Science. Again, views and vistas of earth and sky that changed by the hour and season. On my walk, I was aware of architecture and art; sculpture was visible and evident throughout the community. The grounds are huge, over 300 acres; walks are endless, with paths and trails through woods and hills. I would explore and experience every corner: down Valley Way to Vaughan School; across the Athletic Fields to Lake Tamarack; in the woods behind St Dunstan’s Playhouse; up the hill above Kingswood; along the trails around Lake Jonah, down to the smaller pools and ponds. In the summer, I would swim in Lake Jonah; named after the Milles sculpture that was at the end of and a focal point for Academy Way.
My early morning walks were a time to return to nature; to enjoy art and architecture; to step on crunchy dead leaves; stroll along narrow trails and pine covered pathways; and admire babbling streams; glistening rocks; green lawns; meadows; colorful flowers; bushes; bramble; buds; plants; ivy; vines; towering trees; thin branches; rustling reeds; woods swaying; slopes; mounds; mud; ice; swirling clouds; blue skies; sun; shadows; morning mist; dawn; dusk; wind; rain; gentle breeze; geese; swans; corners; curves; crags; crevices; clearings; copse; ironwork; urns; statues; lamps; mosaics; murals; columns; courtyards; benches; bridges; glimpses; gullies; lake; pond; pools; water cascading; a falling leaf; a floating leaf; reflections; up a hill then down again. I have many moments and memories of this magical place, indeed “enchanted”: Cranbrook.
To share this sense of enchantment, I have selected a few images taken by Koichirio Tanaka, !985 graduate Architecture. Ko was from Japan; his insightful and poetic photographs give a sense of this enchanted place through the seasons.
