Well, no. It’s not. But it works for an extravagant title, and I wanted to draw attention to the fact that I’m just about to head there in a couple of hours. Amongst several building projects, I’ll be looking at food plants that locals might propagate to sell in a road-side stand in a village
In the last 20 years, there’s been something like six gardens that I’ve visited in which I’ve come close to losing the plot altogether – that have made me nearly sick with joy – have made me want to set up camp and never, ever leave.
Now don’t get me wrong. Rosemary is an incredible plant. It grows happily in the toughest, poorest conditions, flowers in the dead of winter and instead of giving off airs of one that’s surviving with gritted teeth, has the grace to wrap itself in the rich fragrance of nana-roast.
On Tuesday I was with a client with a cream labrador named Lucy. On Wednesday I was with a client with an almost identical lab. At one point during the day, my Wednesday client told me she’d been discussing with Lucy where to put her Alliums. For just a moment the days crossed over, and I seriously thought she was telling me that she’d been asking her dog for planting advice. I was reluctant to give up the mental image as it emerged that her cream lab is named Daisy, and Lucy is her gardening friend from England.
Very nearly ten years ago we bought a tree with a house attached. That’s not quite how it was advertised, but that’s how we chose to see it. It was the old oak that I really wanted, and the house was, well, manageable.
I was just in the Netherlands at tulip time. It was, of course, mind boggling. I’m convinced that no flower beats the tulip for being just as compelling as an individual as it is en masse.
I can’t quite settle, having done Villa Gamberaia an injustice. Not that I didn’t talk it up, but that I only talked of one small element and ignored the rest.
I’m still not ready to leave Italy, and following a point made in my earlier Italian garden post, I want to indulge in some impressions of Villa Gamberaia, just out of Florence. There’s been so, so much written about it over the last couple of hundred years, that there surely can’t be anything original left to say.
No, of course it’s not. What sort of crazy author-generated question is that?
But I’ve often wondered about it, as in many of the cooler climates around Australia, vegetables don’t really grow over the winter
I’m fresh back from my first trip to Italy. I can’t remember ever being so infatuated with another country.. But I want to skip over the temptation to write a whole lot of gushing generalities, and go straight to one garden