(top) Hanging Gardens- Assyrian interpretation
(bottom)
Hanging Gardens
©Briwn Brothers
The Greek geographer Strabo, described the gardens in 1 BCE as “consisting of vaulted terraces raised above one another and resting on cube-shaped pillars. These were hollow and filled with earth to allow trees of the largest sizes to be planted.” Diodorus Siculus, a Greek historian of the same era believed “ the garden was 100 feet square and built up in tiers so that it resembled a theatre. Vaults had been constructed under the ascending terraces which carried the entire weight of the planted garden… the highest gallery contained conduits for the water which was raised by pumps in great abundance from the Euphrates River.”2 Though historians question the existence of these roof gardens (although except in 1899 archeologist Robert Koldewey believed he had discovered the site at which it was created in southern Iraq near modern day Baghdad), one can conclude by the survival of this oral history that if the Hanging Gardens of Babylon were a myth, ancient civilizations still conceived of this concept and dreamed of creating this oasis.
Even today there is an innate feeling, an awareness that harkens from the same inner place and thoughts of the ancient Mesopotamians and Incan civilizations of creating a sanctuary at a higher elevation, rising above the rest of the world to a place closer to the sun and the heavens.
Many urban gardens can be inward looking, almost “cloister-ish”. A garden in the rear of an urban brownstone is no doubt a cherished piece of property. An oasis surrounded by fifty-foot high buildings is inward looking, reminiscent of the enclosed garden of the Middle Ages. But, look aloft, to the top of the buildings… the roof garden is outward looking, a sanctuary high up on top of a building, sometimes with an endless panorama, a bright, beautiful, and open sky above it. Most appropriately, it fits today’s city dweller with their overscheduled, time challenged lives. For many, traveling to a city park takes a 1/2 hour or longer to embrace nature; walking up a flight of stairs or out their side door to a shared or private roof garden is but seconds away and “immediately gratifying.” A place to look at and admire the blue skies at day and heavens at night. It is a place to relax and re-energize, a place to reflect and even to pray. We enjoy company and serve them meals below the heavens; we even light candles and torches for ambiance at dusk. How different is this than the Mesopotamian ziggurat, perhaps the first roof garden and cosmic axis?
Maybe the roof garden is a holy place. Maybe it hasn’t changed much--its essence is arguably the same as it was 6,000 years ago. People escalated themselves, or surrounded themselves on this (mostly) raised platform to reach another plateau, physically higher and spiritually greater. One could argue that there isn’t any difference between the priests of Ur in Mesopotamia ascending the ziggurat to its apexical temple and the urban dweller that uses his/her roof garden to unwind and meditate. Roof gardens can be intensely private spaces, essentially... sanctuaries.