Five Acres of Inspiration: James Weldon Johnson’s Garden Sanctuary

June 17, 1871

On this day, dear readers, the world welcomed James Weldon Johnson—a man whose lyrical prowess would one day grace our society with "Lift Every Voice and Sing."

A composition that, I daresay, moves the soul in ways that even the most vibrant garden cannot. Though perhaps I speak too hastily, for Johnson himself understood the profound connection between creativity and natural splendor.

Let me divulge a delicious detail unknown to most garden enthusiasts: our esteemed Mr. Johnson possessed a summer retreat aptly named "Five Acres."

Is there not something wonderfully presumptuous about claiming precisely five acres for oneself?

Not four, not six—but five perfectly measured acres upon which to contemplate life's greater mysteries.

And what did Johnson do with this handsome parcel?

Why, he constructed a writing cabin—not in some mundane location—but perched dramatically on a hill above a brook! One can almost picture the scene: the babbling water below providing nature's soundtrack as Johnson's pen scratched across the page.

It was in this rustic sanctuary that Johnson, a founder and distinguished member of the Harlem Renaissance, composed his most celebrated works. The walls of that humble cabin witnessed the birth of God's Trombone and his illuminating autobiography Along This Way. One must wonder if the garden surrounding his hillside retreat influenced the rhythm of his sentences or the cadence of his verse.

Gardens, after all, have long inspired the literary mind. Johnson himself proved particularly susceptible to floral muses, as evidenced in his poem Venus in a Garden. Consider these lines:

But the fair Venus knew
The crimson roses had gained their hue
From the hearts that for love had bled;
And the goddess made a garland
Gathered from the roses red.

What gardener has not looked upon their crimson roses and felt a similar sentiment?

The blood of our pricked fingers, the labor of our aching backs—all sacrificed willingly for beauty's sake. Johnson understood this peculiar bargain perhaps better than most.

I find myself wondering what varieties graced Johnson's Five Acres.

Did climbing roses frame the view from his writing desk?

Were there herbs to scent the air as he contemplated his next stanza?

Or perhaps wildflowers scattered across the property, refusing domestication much like Johnson's own revolutionary ideas.

The next time you retreat to your own garden sanctuary—be it five acres or merely a humble window box—consider Johnson's example. A garden is not merely a collection of plants, but a space where creativity flourishes alongside the blooms.

A writing cabin may be beyond your means, but a simple bench might serve just as well for capturing moments of inspiration among your horticultural handiwork.

Now, dear gardeners, I must bid you adieu—there are seedlings requiring my attention and, like Johnson himself, I find my best thoughts often bloom while tending to them.