Revelation: water is a far more powerful presence in a garden than I’ve ever recognised before.
Natives are having a hard time escaping from the bush. The best of the 1970’s bush gardens by Gordon Ford and Ellis Stones were magical – you know the kind of the thing – huge boulders swelling up through lacy groundcover beneath a dancing canopy held aloft by creamy-barked eucalypt trunks.
Even in these enlightened days in which your average home gardener can see the beauty and season-stretching power of foliage and textural seed-heads, there’s no denying that flowers make up about 95% of why we garden.
That said, I’m putting forth the case for some inorganic colour.
I was hunting for a pretext on which to show off some rare photos of Great Dixter (one of my favourite places in the world, and about which I tend to rant a little too often and at too great a length).
It didn’t take long.
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 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