Royal Horticulturalist

Achariya and I took a snooze yesterday after a hard afternoon of gardening. Here we are beneath the giant willow tree at Lackeen Forge - my estate. Achariya has been such a huge help to me in sl. She's so generous with her time and always answers my calls. She's outfitted me on numerous occasions, helping me to look respectable. Yesterday she helped me settle in by giving me plants and grasses, as well as the lovely willow, and offered landscaping tips. Every time I see her she's wearing another fantastic outfit and her talents as a gardener continue to astound me. She's earned the title "Royal Horticulturalist". I meant to take a photograph of the gorgeous garden she's built in my old spot (now her spot) at Wellsian. I'm inspired by her creativity and am so happy she's my friend.

McCaledon

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I spent yesterday fiddling and fussing with landscaping, adjusting ferns, studying trees, constructing a tiny pier…I took some deep breaths of the fresh sea air. The pub sat squat across the inlet, cheery smoke pouring out the chimney. Beyond that I could see flickers of electricity crack within a tall brick mill. The trestle was outfitted with welcoming banners…all was industrious, exciting, friendly. I was happy with my tiny pier and the view out over the sea.

Homes in Second Life tend to be symbolic. There are few kitchens and I’ve not yet run across a toilet (except for an old abandoned privy). Homes are spaces to gather friends, perhaps change your clothes, and tinker with your builds. There are no limits to what you can design in sl. In fact, residents should let their freak flags fly. I bought land in Caledon to participate in a certain aesthetic – a steampunk aesthetic, which takes the best of Victorian curiosity, industry, and craftsmanship to produce a society that is well-mannered, adventurous and, let’s face it, well dressed.

As I tinkered, I noticed a wall going up along my property line. It was very white, in contrast to the beamed and stone structures that one typically sees in Caledon. Next to me, quite next to me actually, a woman in a bright purple gown twirled this way and that, rezzing plants, walls, curtains, fountains…every time I looked over there was some new structure. And it was growing larger, taller, wider, brighter - I felt myself tense up. I flew off the coast to get the lay of the land.

Now, I’ve spent all this energy, some money, and opened myself to ridicule to family and friends to enter this world of sl, for exploration yes, and, admittedly, a bit of imaginary breathing space. Once I was off the coast about 50 feet I could see what was going on.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I seem to have moved next to My Big Fat Greek McMansion. Is it a house? Ballroom? Setting for a hip hop video? 19th century Victorian Scotland it ain’t. At first I was horrified. Other residents began to gather mid-air to stare at the madness that was being forced upon the fine green fields. It was like watching your favorite neighborhood being torn down in a matter of minutes. I was afraid if I didn’t put a house up she’d keep building right on top of me so I rezzed a squat stone cottage in the middle of my plot. I thought of selling my land immediately. I laughed out loud over my keyboard. This kind of building is exactly what I reject in real life and here it was, invading even a virtual perfect world.

Immersion

My new home is Caledon Wellsian. The parcel to the right of the inlet is my plot. It’s a dynamic little site with majestic views all around. A mountain range carries the National Caledonian Railway across a grand trestle which towers behind. I spent some time documenting these early days, photographing the landscape before residents settle in. Presently, all resembles a barren Irish peninsula. I’m mulling over ideas for the land…a dolmen or a standing stone to start with. Should I plant birches or more authentic Scot pines? There are quite a few tempting prefab cottages (by Julia Hathor in particular) but I’m working on a cottage myself, textured with stones from Dingle (Ireland).

As I composed a few more photographs, a charming and tiny steamboat came chugging alongside the bank of the river. A lovely Victorian Bunneh invited me to see her plot right by the teleport, under the trestle, at the neck of the river. She toured me around her elegant mansion, with worn walls and warming fireplaces, with a view through every window, and then introduced me to my new neighbors, including Ms. Labrada. We talked about how excited we were to be part of this particularly dramatic landscape. Ms. Labrada is planning a pub at the site across the way which should make our area a bit of a social hub. As the site overlooks Middle Sea, and welcomes exploration through the inlet, it’s a natural haven for mariners (and pirates?) to take cover, so I intend to leave doors open to adventurers and pub crawlers.

I thought about joining Ms. Labrada for a ride through the mountains, but was embarrassed by my horse. I only have a demo, which is white with “demo” stamped all over her hide, and a hot pink mane. Ms. Labrada and her friend were so well turned out in their red coats I couldn’t embarrass them with my newbie ways. Luckily, an invitation appeared to view a dogfight over Middlesea. I tp’d myself over to where Virginia Tombola was handing out airships and directives. I promptly joined Team Blue and rezzed my airship into a plant on the pier. After a few false starts I figured out how to maneuver. The airship looked like a silver thermos with a fan stuck to one end but I had little time to examine details, for the battle started fast and furious and I didn’t want to miss any action. A total novice, I flew up, up and over the island, dove down onto a Red Team member and was promptly shot down and knocked out over my pantaloons into the ocean. I’m officially, and literally, immersed…