Thursday, August 25, 2011


As a schoolchild in rural New Hampshire, one of the biggest deals of my relatively uneventful little life were the field trips we took to what I remember as the Peabody Museum but was apparently the Harvard Museum of Natural History.

A trip to Cambridge was akin in my mind to a trip to Paris, or Istanbul, or the lost city of Atlantis. A trip to Harvard was a foray into unimaginable sophistication. A trip to the Museum of Natural History meant that we got to look at The Glass Flowers.

The flowers were created by the father and son team of Leopold and Rudolph Blaschka "from 1887 through 1936 at their studio in Hosterwitz, Germany, near Dresden. They were commissioned by Professor George Lincoln Goodale, founder of Harvard's Botanical Museum, for the purpose of teaching botany, and financed by Goodale's former student, Mary Lee Ware and her mother, Elizabeth Ware. Over 3000 models, of 847 different plant species, were made." [courtesy widipedia]

But I didn't know any of that then, or wasn't much interested. What interested me were the creaking wood floors, the gleaming glass cases, the dire warnings that the slightest movement could shatter the flowers, or separate a head from a stem, or a petal from a bloom, and my instinctive understanding that that would have been a kind of sacrilege.

What interested me was that there were grown-ups who lived in cities and spent their days among books and glass-blowing pipes instead of laying bricks as my father did, or doing dishes, laundry, and scrubbing as my mother did. What interested me was that the way the flowers were made was a secret.

My height at that age would have put me eye-to-eye with the flowers. I could have marveled over them for hours. Someone had spent a ton of time and effort making them. Someone had been really, really patient. I wondered what happened when the lights were turned off and everyone went home for the night. I wondered whether, cloaked with dust, slumbering amidst their carefully-lettered labels, the flowers slowly came to life...

Now I see that what struck me most about the glass flowers was that they were beautiful, and a ton of work had gone into them, but they had no apparent use.

When so much that was "useful" is long dead and forgotten, all these years later the glass flowers live on.


  1. They are gorgeous! (Written having seen them myself.)

    So true that there is more to the world than sheer utility and usefulness.

  2. I hadn't thought about those flowers for 45 years, but I remember as a little California kid visiting relatives in Boston, I was taken to that very museum. Don't remember a single thing about anything else I saw there, but the glass flowers still sparkle and shine in my memory as if it were yesterday. I thought they must have been made by some kind of magic. Maybe that's why I love wildflowers so much. Heaven knows there were not a lot of them on the streets of Los Angeles!

  3. What a tribute to God!
    Leopold and Rudolph Blaschka,
    so absorbed in beauty.
    Things like this remind us of God's creative spark in humanity.


  4. Jason, maybe you will hop over from your library and see them one of these days--apparently they've undergone or are undergoing restoration and I'm pretty sure would be incredible to an adult's eyes as well...

    Kathy, you remember them, too! I find if I keep my eyes peeled, or open in a certain way, I see wildflowers even around the streets of L.A...

    And Maire, as always, thank you--


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