Afghan Paradise Garden in Santa Fe, NM

Shalizi, Afghan Garden

THE SHALIZI GARDEN

SANTA FE, NM
JUNE 2010
Shortened 7-22-10

In the dry desert of Santa New Mexico, I discover an Afghan Garden of Paradise.

 On a hot summer morning, I approach a high adobe wall. Russian olive trees and rose bushes topple over the top edges of the wall. I walk up to a strong fortress-like double gate where I am greeted by some mysterious large dogs barking furiously inside the heavy door. Then the gate latch creaks, one side of the gate swings open, and out walks Baro Shalizi. He pleasantly greets me and invites me in and introduces me to his guard dogs.

Inside, the 90 degree air turns 10 degrees cooler with overhanging trees and water falling into a pool. The garden appears endless as I walk past the most fragrant Rose of Isphahan. Along the path, herbs spill out their essence. Suddenly, I see an even larger 11,000 gallon pool surrounded by tall grasses, cattails and long-stemmed iris. Sounds of splashing white water enter two waterfalls. Koi swim lazily past a wooden snake, a ceramic Chita and a mermaid.   

Baro’s brother, Zalmai Shalizi, enters the garden. He is the expert on hydraulic systems, making this efficient flow of water in the desert possible. He has constructed waterlines throughout 2,000 plants. The secret is to recycle water circulating from pond to a giant sprinkler system. He explains: “I put water in the pool, the koi fish use it, and then when I need to change their water, I siphon the pool water out through  hoses that connect sprinklers among all the flowers,” explains Zalmai.

Photo detail of mermaid.

I can’t believe my good luck to have found an Afghan garden in the middle of the Southwest desert. Thanks to Anne Hillerman and Don Strel, long-time friends from the days I lived in Santa Fe. They have just published a lovely picture book, Gardens of Santa Fe ( http://www.annehillerman.com/). I was immediately captivated by Don Strel’s photographs of the garden and I ask Anne if she can introduce me to Baro Shalizi. Graciously, he invites me to his garden. And Zalmai tells me the garden secrets taught to him by Abdussattar Shalizi, his father.

 “Our gardens in Kabul and southern Afghanistan are filled with fragrant flowers and herbs,” he continues. “I have returned many times to reclaim and improve those properties.  I call them Gardens of Paradise.”

Watercolor, Shalizi Mermaid, 4" x 6".

Zalmai is so interesting that I forget my mission for painting. The success of this garden is his expertise on hydraulics, the high wall, and the architecture of the garden. But Baro and their mother love flowers which they collect from friends and germinate in their sunroom and living room. I am greeted warmly as Zalmai and I sit under a shading Russian olive tree and talk. Then I realize my mission her is to paint. The morning shade disappears as the sun reaches high in the sky. I finally tell Zalmai that I want to do watercolors and he leaves me to find my favorite views.

Soon I sit on my camp stool before a waterfall, open up a folding metal palette filled with tubes of watercolors and dip out pool water into a glass jar. I am exhausted by the heat but I cannot stop. So, I set a pad of watercolor paper on my folding easel and quickly draw with pencil the outlines of the waterfall and nearby plants. Then I brush up blues, reds, greens and yellow, swishing the color thinly with the pool water.   I work fast in order to beat off heat exhaustion. I work so fast that I hardly recognize the subject when I look at my painting. Then I realize that color and water are not giving me the defined shapes I am used to painting in Italian classical gardens.

Watercolor, Shalizi Waterfall, 6" x 4".

Oh, well, I try to capture something of this beautiful garden, anyway. But the sun is too intense and my skin is burning. So, I ask Zalmai if I might return the next morning to do more paintings.

The following morning, I find the walled-in garden with jewels of nature locked into a desert oasis. Again I enter behind these adobe walls, and look for a shady tree, but the best views are beside the large pool. So, this time I have a folding red umbrella which I tape on top of my easel. Still, the heat wafts up from stepping stones as I persist and do three more small watercolors of the clay Chita, the mermaid, and the other waterfall.

Again, I have trouble capturing such a complex scene onto small watercolor paper. My time is brief, but at last, I have my own visual memories of an Afghan garden. I feel this is the beginning, a new challenge. I want to go to faraway Middle Eastern gardens to paint.

“Do you think I would ever be able to go to your area of the world and paint in gardens,” I ask Zalmai. “Would I be in great danger?”

“Oh no,” he replies, “as long as you know someone there. My brother lives there and he will look after you. You just have to be with people who will keep you safe. No one will bother you.”

How wonderful, I think. And then the plan crystallizes when his mother Prita K. Shalizi appears. Author Anne Hillerman earlier tells me what a remarkable and intelligent women she is. Her charm and beauty wraps around her Santa Fe garden. Prita, a hardy 85 years old, has just published Transitions: Silk Road of Central Asia (Shalizi@aol.com) about her trip along the ancient trade route linking the Caspian Sea to China. Along the route through Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan, she revels in the importance of transporting silk, spices, floral essences, and social customs by camel and horse through the mountainous region.  In the 3rd century BC, Alexander the Great of Greece marched his armies across Central Asia. Later, Genghis Kahn, a Chinese conqueror, put guards along the road.

Oh, Samarkand! How my imagination fills with visions of snow-capped mountains, green valleys, and gardens teeming with nomadic merchants dressed in rich brocade robes. I want to go there, too, one day. So, I beg Prita to sell me a copy of Transitions, a rare adventure. Sadly, the road is no longer teeming with rich merchants leading camels packed with exotic merchandise. Still, I want to follow in Prita’s steps.

Already, her garden leads me to envision ancient Babylonian, Assyrian, and Persian gardens, all built as visions of earthly Paradise. I have my paints and brushes and I am ready to go, see, and paint. The Shalizi garden begins a different Travel Tales from the Easel.