Margaret Chula

I’ve always been attuned to nature. Growing up on my grandparent’s eighty-acre tobacco farm in Massachusetts, I knew exactly when mayflowers, Indian paintbrushes, and jack-in-the-pulpits would bloom—and where to find them. I knew the flower’s color, texture, fragrance and whether it could be picked or left alone. When I was nine, my grandmother gave me my own small garden plot, which I planted with Johnny Jump Ups. I loved nurturing those cheerful flowers and watching them thrive. As I’ve grown older, my gardens have become more free-form (“Marriage”), less controlled than when my husband and I weeded grass out of our moss garden in Kyoto with tweezers. 

Whenever I travel, I am drawn to the local flora and fauna—the shapes of trees, fragrance of flowers, sounds of bird song. “April in the High Desert”, was written on a writing residency at the Helene Wurlitzer Foundation, where I became enchanted by the beauty of cottonwoods, chamiso, and Chinese elms.

In 1980, my husband and I moved to Japan—the country of Bashō, Buson, Issa, and Shiki. I eagerly learned the Japanese seasonal words necessary to write haiku. For twelve years, I also studied ikebana, the art of flower arrangement. Words like “botan” (peony) and “ajisai” (hydrangea) rolled off my tongue. Learning a language through something you’re passionate about is a great incentive. My writing and spiritual values were shaped by living in Kyoto and practicing both of these arts—ever-present reminders of the changing  seasons.