“Tree power. It’s a thing. Stopped me in my tracks, literally. We experience plants in waves of recognition. Each year, brings a new one to the fore, and into the mind. Horse Chestnut? Okay, now I know! I’m on my way back from a visit to a garden, which routes me through a village filled with this tree. For memorial day weekend, traffic is decidedly light. A few out-of-state plates, but nothing dramatic. The nursery is all but deserted. But reverberating in me, is the property I’ve just walked, and wandered, with the owner. Not that anything dire was afoot. I’m still enthralled by what I’ve seen. She needs help, that’s clear, but only because one gardener with a vision cannot always keep up with her vision, alone. And life, goes on. Marriage, divorce, adult children circling back; it ticks all the boxes I am most familiar with. What an amazing display of fortitude, against the odds. Somehow gardens end up expressing things, & history, that mere conversation, cannot. Well-established viburnum, shaggy, un-managed boxwood, native dogwoods, mature ginko and a host of other fabulous survivors, hang on my throat. What was intended to be a french-styled Bocci court, is still waiting to be claimed. She seems not to be aware of her trove. It’s rare to find these owner built gardens, anymore. What has become the norm, is to rip up these archaic relics of truly inspirational, original plantings. My eye soaks up the treasure of what she’d begun, so many years ago. I’ve grown used to seeing older plantings repurposed, into boring, institutional plots. But this home gardener, she’s soldiered on, in her bubble, thinking what she has is now “a mess”. Thank goodness, no contemporary landscaper has been tasked to remodel, or audacious enough to tinker with the things, already well founded in art. I’ve seen gardens, at all points of renewal, as well as removal. And so informed, I feel quiet, as she tours me, her ferns banks, and quiet glades, part wild, part intentional. Even twenty years of uninterrupted growth, can a kingdom make. What we think of as a perennial garden now, is so far from what is actually possible, in terms of gracious collaboration between a plot, and a homestead. A dying art, perhaps. During a recent trip to the Northshire Bookstore, in Manchester, VT, I bought two books, that serve to remind myself of what’s at risk of being lost. “Spirit of Place” by Bill Noble, and “The English Gardener’s Garden”. I remember visiting Bill’s garden in Norwich, VT, back when I was working on my first crew. We had jobs nearby. It was a cursory walk through, at the end of a long day. But I remember key things. And those keys, have stayed with me. I have long drives, on both ends of my work day. I’ve always lived this way, as far back as I can date myself in these parts. I use drive time, to integrate. And space out, think, and rest. I really don’t mind traveling across half the state to get to a job. It’s who I work for, and the opportunities for partnership, that motivate. I could write a whole book on it. But, most likely, that’s a book that won’t get wrote.”
