A Garden in the Mountains

The twenty ninth day

2009-04-30T01:40:00.000-07:00

I had been to the garden several times seeking to close the circle of the year and the seasons. It had never felt right though to write the last words about this place.

I instinctively felt that today was the right day though. Once again the garden taught me what it wanted. Today the garden was filled with the sounds of wattle birds, cockatoos and tiny wrens. Somehow though it was also very quiet. Work has obviously been undertaken there in recent weeks, since other than for wind dropped branches and leaf litter it is neat and trim and cleared and planted.

The owner wasn't there though. Neither was Tiny. Their absence was noticeable - no welcoming bark from Tiny, no quiet talk with the owner.

I reflected on the year as I wandered the familiar paths. This garden has provided me with a haven. Its beauty and tranquility have soothed me often. This year different plantings have been undertaken by its owner - so the year that was captured may not ever be seen in this garden again.

Thank you to Cherrydell's owner - Don LeQuesne - whose generosity in allowing me to freely wander through his garden has meant more to me than he will ever know.

The twenty eighth day

2009-01-26T18:40:00.000-08:00

I walked, in the hot silence, through the garden. It felt so very good to be back after such a long absence.

The garden is green. Green everywhere. Except for blue hydrangeas there seemed to very little of any other colour.

I walked in and out of dappled shade provided by the tall trees. It felt almost dream like. Perhaps that was the heat.

No sign yet of the tinge of autumn colour that will indicate that this year in the garden is done.

I am relieved - I missed the garden more than I had realised.

The twenty seventh day

2008-11-02T22:59:00.000-08:00

"Listen to me," said the garden quietly.

"People think that winter is a time for hibernation. That is true, but not for me. I am working so hard underneath the surface. I am nourishing and nurturing new growth. The intensity of my spring season would not have escaped your notice."

"No," I smiled. "No, it certainly did not."

"So," continued the garden in the same quiet tones, "so now it is time for me to sleep. Look around you. Whilst my trees are vividly green and my grass is the same, my flowers have lost their blooms and are returning to my earth. You should come back from time to time, but that brief shining spring is over for me and I need to rest. In a few months autumn will be here and the circle and the cycles and the seasons will be completed. Go now and let me sleep."

"OK" I said and turned and walked, softly, away.

The twenty sixth day

2008-10-24T14:20:00.000-07:00

A vibrant spring day in the garden today. The colours of new leaf and grass are intensely green, or in some cases, red and copper.

The tulip season is done. The time to dig up and preserve bulbs is here. Incredible to think back on the coloured frenzy that descended on the garden. Very little blossom remains. The rhododendrons though are coloured white, red, pink and pale yellow throughout the garden.

Tiny rolls blissfully in the grass or reclines gracefully contemplating her lot.

There is some sadness today. The garden's owner found two little currawong nestlings dead in the garden, killed by vicious hail a couple of nights ago. We are unsure what the mother is doing on the nest. Is there another nestling?

Or is she mourning?

The twenty fifth day

2008-10-07T21:36:00.000-07:00

I went to the garden today to take some photos that might better show the breadth of this place. Due to the recent bad weather the garden's owner was reopening the garden again and there were a few people arriving as I turned up.

It was just a quick visit on this holiday Monday. Although I wanted to capture wider angles, wider vistas, once more I was seduced by floral detail.

The brief frenzy of fantastically hued flowers is beginning, almost imperceptibly,to slow again, not this time for the winter season, but in readiness for the heat of long summer days.

The twenty fourth day

2008-10-07T21:07:00.000-07:00

It had been so glorious on the twenty third day, just the day before. In the night the rains came, thundering on our tin roof. I woke often, worrying about the garden.

I went to the garden with friends. Every year the garden's owner generously opens his garden and provides wine and as much time as people want to wander around the garden. As I thought ,the damage caused by the wind and rain was very obvious. However many of the people who were there were gardeners themselves and well aware of the pattern of the seasons and the weather.

It felt odd to be amongst people in this place that has provided such a refuge this year. The usual serenity of the garden was broken by the sound of voices and laughter. The garden of course was very happy to accommodate this, as was the garden's owner.

I slipped away and wandered on my own around the garden. The tulips which had survived the deluge glowed with their individual colours, all the colours of the rainbow.

Even with the unaccustomed noise, the garden found a way to provide me with peace.

The lady beetle moved placidly on its green leaf.

The twenty third day

2008-10-03T00:07:00.000-07:00

I am beginning to understand the 17th century Dutch phenomenon of tulip fever.

I took my daughter to the garden this morning. She played with Tiny and looked for fairies. She announced that this was the very best thing I had ever done with her.

The colours of the tulips are exquisite. One yellow tulip looked as though a Flemish master had taken a brush, dipped it in red paint, and delicately washed the petals with crimson. Others are like candy striped lollies. Still others are of the utmost simplicity - white petals with green stamens.

Some tulip beds are planted in single colour groupings - made even more beautiful by a random tulip in a completely different colour. Other beds are a riot of primary colours, joyful in the shine of the sun.

In amongst the vivid colours, the cloud stippled sky, the green leaved, large limbed trees I was struck by something.

Is there anything in the world more delicate than blossom caught in the shivery silver of a spider's web?

The twenty second day

2008-09-26T00:51:00.000-07:00

Another warm day in the garden today. The beauty of this place has the power to literally take your breath away.

I overheard the garden's owner saying "You look amazing" to one bed of tulips and when I emerged from where I had been taking photographs he said without embarrassment that he liked to talk to his garden.

His garden seems very grateful for the praise.

The scent! The delicate perfume of blossom.

The gentle drift of petals to the ground. The springtime equivalent to the fall of bronzed autumn leaves.

The twenty first day

2008-09-19T03:24:00.001-07:00

I had to go back there. Twice in one week. The sky was so blue though, the day warm again. The hum of the bees today was almost deafening!

Oh the in drawn breath at the colours.

The irridiscent petals of the daffodils.

The scents.

Today I thought long and quietly about the privilege of being able to document this garden.

And the heaven of it.

The twentieth day

2008-09-16T21:03:00.000-07:00

Although the day had been clear and bright when I left Sydney, by the time I got to the mountains the mist had glided in and everything was dripping. Still, I decided to go to the garden.

It was breathtaking. Tulips, daffodils, star flowers. Grape hyacinths, rhododendrons, camellias. Blooming. On this grey, dripping day the colours were glorious.

The extraordinary thing? There is still so much more of this glory to come........

The nineteenth day

2008-09-09T03:24:00.000-07:00

Another warm for the mountains spring day. Just a week since the last visit to the garden and I really thought I might have run out of things to photograph. Not a chance.

It is all a blossom and a buzz and a singalong of the birds. Everything budding and burgeoning with life.

The trees that have been bare all winter, casting their glorious shadows on frosty lawns, are coming into new green leaf.

Still the garden hugs so many more secrets to itself, despite sharing some of them with me today.

The eighteenth day

2008-09-02T01:22:00.001-07:00

Slowly, slowly Spring is seeping into the garden. The daffodils continue to bloom in yellow pops of colour. The camera allows me to capture them in an impressionistic way.

The garden's owner is kept very busy tending to it all as green and more green appears all over his property.

The red tulip is so vivid my eyes can scarcely take the colour in.

It is the bees again that capture my attention. The bee that was so laden with pollen it seemed impossible that it could fly.

Bee hum and bird song follow me wherever I walk.

The seventeenth day

2008-08-26T21:19:00.000-07:00

It was an intimation of spring in the garden. The sky was blue and the day warm.

The breeze stirred the blackboy fronds into an abstract painting.

A sprinkler was turned on. I remembered being a child, running through the water spray, laughing in delight.

The sixteenth day

2008-08-21T23:03:00.000-07:00

Everywhere I looked in the garden today there were patches of colour, largely provided by the daffodils. Drifts of them are blooming, with many of them still in bud. In my imagination, their golden trumpets played a tremulous, tentative melody. The kookaburras seemed to be listening to it intently.

Tiny rolled on the ground joyfully.

Time ebbed away as I leant on a sun warmed wall and watched the bees gathering their pollen.

Still the garden waits.

The fifteenth day

2008-08-11T00:02:00.000-07:00

I went to the garden very early this morning. There had been snow in the mountains and I was nervous that it might melt before I could get there.

As it turned out, the snow had settled only lightly on leaves and flowers and shrubs. Water in the bird bath had frozen solid. White ice glittered and sparkled everywhere I looked. One lilac coloured flower had frozen too, looking more like a cake decoration than a living part of a garden.

The sun traced its rising with golden fingers of light.

The fourteenth day

2008-07-31T14:22:00.000-07:00

As I was talking to the garden's owner this morning I was slightly distracted by the cheeping of the tiny birds I had been missing for a number of weeks. They were back, darting amongst the camellias, elusive as ever.

There is a powerful sense in the garden this week that it is gathering its strength. Although it is not completely quiet - birds singing, Tiny barking - there is a pervasive atmosphere of trees and plants breathing steadily in and out.

There are magical preparations underway, deep within the earth.

The thirteenth day

2008-07-22T00:16:00.000-07:00

I went to the garden on impulse today. The sky was too blue, the air too clear to resist. I noticed again the absence of birdsong there. I could hear dogs barking and the quiet murmur of the garden's owner and his helper, the occasional burst of laughter.

I moved even more slowly than usual around the garden. I didn't think about too much.

I did wonder whether there is a more beautiful name for a flower than "Winter Rose."

I wondered too at the delicate loveliness of a pure white feather caught in a branch, fluttering.

The twelfth day

2008-07-13T11:51:00.000-07:00

Today in the garden my attention was caught by the little things.
The leaf, the fern frond, the bark.
Drops of water on the tiniest leaves.
The bud, the green shoot.
The faintest, faintest perfume.
The delicate scrawl of a spider web.
The tracery of branch shadows on the trunk of a tree.
Palest of pink blossoms.

The garden owner and I talked of how I chose what to be photographed.

"The garden tells me what to do," I said.

The eleventh day

2008-07-08T03:25:00.000-07:00

I was in a hurry this morning. I thought I would race around the garden, take a few photos and get home as quickly as possible. When I got there though my footsteps slowed, my breath slowed. I watched a sprinkler spin and spin and slow, drops of water sparkling on ferns.

The garden's owner came to greet me and we wondered quietly as to why flowers and shrubs were blooming early. He reassured me that the geraniums had merely been cut back in order to save them from frost. Snow may come tomorrow.

A cockatoo performed acrobatics high up in the trees. It made me smile.

The tenth day

2008-06-19T17:40:00.000-07:00

Every branch, every blade of grass, every petal on the few flowers blooming in the garden seemed bejewelled with water droplets this morning in the garden. Mist had curled itself around the village like a friendly cat and left reminders of itself everywhere in this green and grey world.

I had to content myself with stone birds as nowhere were the usual magpies, cockatoos or tiny wrens to be seen. Only in the distance could I hear the faint laughter of a kookaburra.

The ninth day

2008-06-10T13:35:00.000-07:00

The morning was slate grey, the rain a constant companion as I walked gingerly around the garden, avoiding puddles and slippery pavers. Water dripped off every branch and leaf. I was briefly saddened to see the geraniums had been pulled out, but knew that I had to trust the gardener.

A sodden day. And yet - there were the snowdrops glowing in the grey. Tiny pink flowers like lamps in the gloom.

Everywhere I looked green bulbs were pushing through the wet earth, vibrant with life.

The eighth day

2008-05-22T14:38:00.000-07:00

I went to the garden early this morning. The grasses were bejewelled with dew and there was frost on the leaves. Although the garden is becoming more open it is becoming quieter, resting in the winter cold. The birds were silent today. White clouds drifted, drifted in the blue sky.

And yet, even before winter has properly set in, already there are new buds on bare branches.

The seventh day

2008-05-15T19:17:00.000-07:00

The garden's owner came around the corner, whistling cheerily and bearing wicker baskets of bulbs. The talk was gentle - of mulch and winter and bulbs and the exquisite shadows the bare trees are casting at this time of year.

Being here and taking photographs is like a walking meditation. Have I said that before?

As I left, Tiny was guarding her garden and the precious vessels of spring.

The sixth day

2008-05-05T15:06:00.000-07:00

I went to the garden seeking solace and solace is what I found. As the leaves drifted soundlessly to the ground a magpie sang. It gazed at me inquisitively until its attention was caught by a cockatoo flying overhead.

A fragile nest is now exposed. The garden has become more and more open as the trees are left bare by the approaching winter. A small wind caused the branches of the pine tree to bend and sigh.

The turned earth is rich and dark and smells of promises that will be kept.

The fifth day

2008-04-28T20:50:00.000-07:00

A blue, blue day in the garden today. Cold. The last of the leaves shivered precariously on their branches.

A moss covered flagstone caught the sun's attention. So did a tiny purple flower.

The trees cast long shadows. Tiny cast her own.

The fourth day

2008-04-22T20:56:00.000-07:00

I entered the garden - a dripping and wet world of deeply rain soaked earth and globes of water hanging off every leaf.

At first I thought how quiet it seemed, other than for the sound of the falling rain. Then I heard the peeping of a hundred tiny birds, playing in the red maples and amongst the fallen leaves.

The third day

2008-04-02T12:52:00.000-07:00

Going into the garden this morning felt exactly like going into the Secret Garden.

A small,chilly breeze stirred the leaves. The birds were everywhere and let me get very close. Tiny birds darted from branch to branch. Two of them were playing and the sun caught their wings, turning them brilliantly transparent.

The grass had only recently been mown and its fresh cut scent still lingered.

The second day

2008-03-27T22:28:00.000-07:00

Today I walked right around the garden. I patted Tiny for a while. It was so quiet you could hear the leaves falling from the trees to the ground. The gang gang cockatoos cracked pods in the trees. A neighbour's dog barked. The scent of blood and bone fertiliser was on the air.

The First Day

2008-03-18T23:21:00.000-07:00

My first slightly nervous visit to the garden. I didn't venture very far in. I tiptoed around the edges. I was wearing the wrong shoes.

It was very peaceful.