The Arboretum of Rowendrey

When I was young, my parents took me to a conservatory — I believe it was in Winnipeg. I was amazed by the warmth and humidity, the vast variety of plants, and the well-placed benches where people could just sit and breathe in the scents. It always offered a warmth beyond the temperatures outside — whether blistering heat or biting cold. As an adult, I seldom pass a butterfly conservatory, botanical garden, or simple greenhouse without spending at least a few minutes, or an hour, there. The calming effect, even if you’ve nothing particular on your mind, is always welcome and appreciated. If I had the means, my office would be in an arboretum.

Among all the places in Rowendrey, few are as welcoming as the Arboretum. Its glass roof gathers the sun and spills it inward, warming stone, soil, and spirit alike.

In winter especially, when the wind turns sharp and daylight is scarce, the Arboretum becomes the heart of the village. Those who have finished their day’s work often drift there to rest a while. Some bring small repairs or quiet conversation—others simply sit and let the warmth work its way back into their hands. The scent of green things and the gentle creak of branches offer a kind of comfort no hearth alone can give.

Linnea tends the place with a steady hand. She keeps it neat and lived-in, though rarely claims credit for the peace it provides. Visitors might find her counter set for brewing tea or sorting cuttings, a faint trace of earth across the wood. Her baking is always on hand — a tray of shortbread, seedcakes, or something new cooling by the window — and enjoyed by all, though none dare take more than one. Linnea has eyes in the back of her head and has clouted more than one who pressed their luck.

The door to the Arboretum is never closed. Even the Council has been known to meet there on the colder mornings, when the glass holds the light and the air smells faintly of rosemary and warmth.

The Arboretum reminds us that not all records are written. Some are grown, tended, and shared quietly among those who need a moment’s rest before returning to the day.

For those who aspire to be authors, or simply seek a pause between thoughts, the Arboretum offers an anchor when the creative seas grow rough. Imagining its stillness has a way of steadying the mind — as though the slow rhythm of leaves and light can remind one to breathe again, and in doing so, find their way back to the page and the wonder that waits there. Many in Rowendrey find the same comfort — a shared refuge amid the green. Chroniclers, villagers, and writers alike all leave a little lighter than when they entered.

— W.O. Rowen