You know what they say about buses… well here’s another thinkingardens piece before you’ve got over the last…..
I wonder what will happen to our home and garden after we’re dead? I am not ill, nor is Charles, so this is not actually about dying, just yet. But…
We have no children, by choice, and no dependents, so there is no compulsion for the house to be sold for other people’s benefit. We will not be humiliating ourselves by applying to any charity or organisations to take the garden on, but we don’t have a plan and we have no idea what may become of it. We do intend, somehow, to stay here until we do die, for all that that will be a costly business in every way. It’s about love.
Charles expects the garden to be bulldozed and even seems to relish the idea. I kind of hope for someone here not unlike me, but my thoughts about who they might be go no further than that. Even if we knew who will be here, it would be impossible to predict what they would do.
I know people will dislike this discussion. I mention The Stone when I introduce the garden to visiting groups and I notice how a certain – hmm, yes, – deadness will hit the group. This is not a welcome topic. No-one has ever spoken to me about such notions touching them. The Stone quotes T.S.Elliot:
“Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires,
Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth.”
(Here is more of the original, if you wish to be reminded)
And I don’t welcome it either – my nightmare is the end of this lucky, lovely, loving life (I do love a little alliteration, like the Anglo Saxons) when we don’t manage the unlikely feat of dying within a day of each other. But I do believe in facing things rather than running, so I do attempt to do that now and again: hence The Stone.
But other things go on spontaneously and unexpectedly. I find myself in the garden wondering what will outlive us and perhaps surprise someone new. It might be as little as a snowdrop, perhaps. Or an unexpected wood anemone:
Or a path suddenly revealed by an excavation of what has become a lawn? We have been touched by signs of our predecessors, so someone may respond to – what? – in some distant future. The shears which mysteriously vanished many years ago?
This kind of thing happens already, to ourselves. I recently turned up some old photographs from our very early days. There was the beginning of the nursery I built, to grow on the seedlings and cuttings which eventually populated the garden. I made a concrete base for the benches, and short of money and therefore of concrete for a long time, I littered the place with the bottles which somehow we were managing to afford. Here was a picture of them lying in wait for my concrete and now they are well buried, out of sight, and until I rediscovered the picture, out of mind.
Strangely I do know something of the current fate of a house and garden we left in London. It opens for the National Gardens Scheme and I understand the house itself is quite untouched; my Jocasta Innes inspired paint effects still there. And the garden, I am told, retains some of the plants, including the ‘Gloire de Dijon‘ rose on the house wall which I had been so sad to say goodbye to. It seems very strange. Should we visit and find out how that feels?
These seem appropriate thoughts for a drizzling winter day with the garden lying in wait for spring. It surely, hopefully, looks as if we will see another spring, which is always a delightful thought. But meanwhile I indulge a little sadness. There is a little Latin left from my schooldays: “sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt”
By the way, there are usually more comments on Facebook than ever get added here, particularly on the great group Dutch Dreams. Suggest you join if you’re interested, but I do love comments here best.
Anne Wareham. website
A lovely piece, which sent me back to the following:
“…the fact is, the alternatives to not eventually having an old man’s garden are two, neither of which are very attractive. Either you give up your garden or you die. I can think of five or six gardeners in their eighties and scores in their seventies who are still gardening. Only a few chose to leave their house and garden to live in a retirement home without a garden. The big question is whether to retreat gradually, purposefully and rationally, or whether to hold on to every activity, every inch of cultivated ground, every pot and plant until a muscle pops, a joint freezes, or a final catastrophe strikes one down.
“We all try to do slightly more than we have time for, we try to grow unsuitable plants, we are overwhelmed by the garden for at least one week every year.
“So here are a few resolutions I made on my seventieth birthday: 1. Give up one bed each year from now on. 2. Sow at least two hundred fewer pots of seed each year. 3. Stop trying to grow Dianthus alpinus, Eritrichium nanum, Physoplexis comosa. 4. Hire a landscape architect for an hour a year. Just for weeding. 5. Stop photographing every penstemon as it flowers. 6. Sit on a bench once a week. 7. Stop buying dwarf conifers and rhododendrons….
“Postscript: That year I made eight new beds. For the next three years I sowed even more packets of seed. I am moving away from dwarf conifers into more flowering shrubs on the theory that spring is more fun than winter. In 1993 I constructed four more crevice gardens, mostly to accommodate the unusually large number of seedlings I ended up with this year. In 1994, I sowed over 2,100 packets of seed. Oh, well.”
Geoffrey B. Charlesworth,
A Gardener Obsessed: Observations,
Reflections, and Advice for Other
Dedicated Gardeners, pp. 98-99
I think some people have to come to terms with their realities addicts…… Xxx
I remember Tintinhull garden when Penny Hobhouse and her husband were there, and I remember visiting a number of times after they had left. The plants were still there but it was like the garden had had its soul extracted. Many years on I occasionally revisit: I suppose maudlingly hoping to recapture my early experience of the garden, but like chasing a rainbow, it’s just not there any more. Yes, of course that is sad, but I do still have that special and enduring memory!
Veddw garden is the spirit of you and Charles. The three of you are inextricably bonded. Yes, the reality is that when you are gone the garden will at best change and at worst also ‘be gone’. I think that the deep joy, connection, pleasure, peace, inspiration and abiding memory experienced over so many years by most of the people who have visited and loved the garden – that’s the memorial you can be certain of in an otherwise increasingly uncertain world for people and plants alike.
I have ‘made’ some 10 gardens over the last 20 years or so. Yes a ridiculous number of house moves and all the gardens were modest but so loved. Few people saw them so most of the enjoyment was mine alone and although each abandonment was such a wrench a bit of my heart was left nestling in each of them, and they all remain in my memory bank of a life’s treasures….. sorry Anne this last paragraph is a bit irrelevant but a bit of an indulgence!!
You’re allowed! Amazing, isn’t it – my experience of Tintinhull was exactly the same – as you’ll find if you read this: https://veddw.com/general/institutional-gardens-are-they-all-awful/
And people like to dismiss the idea of reviewing gardens, saying ‘it’s just a matter of taste’ as if taste has no reality.
Thank you for the kind words about Veddw and, of course, you are right about what dies with a dead maker. But we have a carpet of vinca in the Coppice and that is so evocative – planted by who? when? And so I imagine my blue wood anemone having resonance… or perhaps it will be a geranium.. or….?
Xxxxx
I’m reminded of the true story of an elderly neighbor in the series of row houses where I now live. Long after her children had grown and moved far from home, Mrs. Haslim embarked upon a degree in botany and began planting a rather curious garden filled with uncommon plants. The garden was only around 6M wide but over 30M long and over time it was reported to have become quite lush and magical. Beyond tending her own garden, she had begun advocating the joys of gardening to all the neighbors. And each time a new neighbor appeared in the community she would load up a basket with potted seedlings and plant divisions, knock on the door, and pass them her welcoming gift. When told “we aren’t gardeners and wouldn’t know what to do or where to plant them,” Mrs. Haslim would say “It’s not hard, just put them in the ground and they’ll tell you who they are and where they want to be. You’ll just move them if they tell you to.”
Sadly, when the Dawn Redwood tree she propagated in her yard began to tower over the whole group of similarly narrow gardens, she passed away at nearly 95 years of age, gardening daily until her death. Within weeks, her adult children came home to take care of her affairs. And supposedly upon the advice of a Realtor, they had their mother’s garden completely demolished since “that jungle would frighten off any reasonable buyer.” As no public funeral or memorial was planned, the neighbors got together to share all their stories of Mrs. Haslim, the twinkle in her eye as she shared her plants and her garden passion. They neighbors grieved not so much for the lost garden but for how little it seemed Mrs. Haslim’s children had understood the essential spirit of their own mother.
Today, I am reminded each year about this legend because the one thing too bothersome to have been cleared from Mrs. Haslim’s yard was that Dawn Redwood. It soars freakishly tall and scatters its needles everywhere each autumn, much to my delight.
Wonderful! A tree revenge.
It’s her version of your legacy stone. Her flag on the moon.
You’re right.
I am very envious of anyone who can remain in their home and garden until they die. As they don’t know what will happen to their garden after their death they can develop a relatively sanguine, relaxed view of the whole matter. We sold our much-loved large house and garden two years ago. We did not want to move but the house needed some expensive repairs that we could not really afford, and we knew that soon the garden would be too much for us to maintain. Of course we accepted that the new owner would want to make changes, but the estate agent reported to us that the garden was a big hit with all the viewers (one man said it was so beautiful that he felt he ought to be paying for the privilege of being allowed to look round it!) so we were hopeful that the new owner would at least appreciate it, even if they wanted to make alterations.
The buyer was a wealthy London business man. He pretended to us that he was thrilled with our garden. Perhaps he guessed (correctly) that we might refuse to sell to him if he revealed his plans for it. We had received several firm offers for the property so we could have sold to someone else. Within days his gang of workmen had dug out all the numerous shrubs. The yew hedges had been destroyed. Many of the trees had been cut down (the house is in a conservation area so permission is required to fell trees but he just ignored this). Flower borders, two wildflower meadows, a herb garden etc. were all obliterated. The sunken garden was turned into a hard tennis court and the rest of the garden was bulldozed flat and turfed. The beautiful Victorian greenhouse was demolished. Unfortunately we still live nearby so we could not avoid witnessing the devastation.
I consider myself a reasonably mentally robust person, pragmatic and not particularly sentimental, but to see the complete destruction of our beautiful garden in less than two months was deeply distressing. It felt as if someone close to me had been murdered. Two years later I still feel grief and much sadness about what happened. So if anyone is dithering about whether to leave a beloved garden I would say don’t do it unless it is absolutely unavoidable!
Susan, that is just awful. It IS as bad a losing a beloved pet or person and your experience is definitely like a murder. I take your warning to heart. Xx
I am so sorry Susan. It hurts just to read your account. The bit about how the buyer misrepresented his love for your efforts is similar to many such stories I have heard. By the speed with which you bore witness to the destruction seems especially cruel.
Is the lesson that we should hug our botanical loved ones every time we see them, just to let them know we appreciate them and what they do for our psyche? Afterward, we should hug ourselves for building and sustaining that family for as long as we are able.
A few years ago, I experienced this vicariously. A dear friend left her Connecticut garden to go live in Santa Fe, New Mexico. We had spent so many hours ambling about, discussing the merits of this or that variety of holly or sedum. Her choices were always grounded in extensive research. She loved the science of it all as well as the beautiful combinations she could achieve. I learned a lot in her garden and some it has followed me home – a nifty allium, some aesculus parva. The new owners are not gardeners and I have not gone back to see what havoc they may have wrought. I have promised myself a trip out West to visit her new desert garden. But I’ll never be able to make that ten minute drive to her back porch again. So I miss both the garden and my friend.
I have a close friend who keeps threatening me with this (I love her house too – she has such style!) – here’s her garden: https://veddw.com/general/best-garden-in-monmouthshire-hill-house-glascoed/ She’s not threatening me intentionally but because a large garden is such a demand. Yep – I think you have to give that place a wide berth now. These losses do matter.
Dear Anne,
A lovely piece.
I think the garden will grieve, as people do after those who care and love them die.
I see a lot of grieving gardens. Often the owners still live in the house but can no longer care for their plot as they once did, for financial and or physical reasons.
Even if they’re just “ordinary gardens” the love and loss is keenly felt, and visible.
Perhaps there is a grief model for gardens something like the well known DABDA (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) – which isn’t linear, and maybe it will get stuck in one or the other of these stages, and maybe …
just musing
Love this!
I live in a newly built house (2 1/2 years old) and so started with the bare bones of a small garden and to be honest I don’t have much more now.
The trees and screens I have planted, I know I will probably never get to see them in their full glory (not due to death, although a possibility, but more likely a move for work) and yet I still continue to plan, to plant, and to nurture. Why? Because at this stage of my life I value the journey more than the destination. The joy it brings me today, will bring me comfort when I have to leave it.
That is why I continue to garden.
Arrival is good too, but is only a temporary blip at best in a garden!
A lovely, poignant and thought-provoking piece: thank you, Anne. As someone who spends a lot of time prowling around archives, I’d suggest you lodge the Veddw ‘archive’ (in whatever form it takes) with an appropriate library or record office at some point; you might have this in mind already. An archive is not the same as the real thing, of course, but it will give pleasure to someone one day. And if – climate change permitting – someone decided to recreate the Veddw in centuries to come (impossible to achieve exactly the same thing, I know, but …), it might avert some horrors/avoid some misunderstandings. Meanwhile, all this reminds me that I really must revisit the Veddw again soon, which I shall enjoy and will at least contribute a tiny bit to its upkeep.
Thank you, Pat – some good thoughts. And many thanks for your contribution to Veddw upkeep past and hopefully, future! So important. Xxx
Last year Mum moved in with us and moved away from her rented garden of 25 years. She had lived in a house in the middle of the garden where I work as Head Gardener and so from the Potting Shed window I have watched the Garden I dearly loved go to ruin, the house is sadly uninhabitable now and so lies empty and the Garden’s ultimate fate will be to levelled by a machine and turfed.
This will be a relief for once the maker leaves, the space becomes fossilised social history in the hands of a charity or a community of the toughest plants and weeds if left to nature, either way it’s best days are behind it.
Your garden is a reflection of you and after you the space will hopefully inspire someone new to instinctively follow your example.
You remind me that, unlike you and your mother, I ought to manage to escape witnessing that process and I’m sorry you have had to. We’ll be working hard to keep it alive in our time – and hope to see you here again some day. XX
Not one to watch for sure. You could reimagine your garden to such an extent that it becomes so impersonal and weird that a ploughed field would be preferable – works for some.
Noooo…..
Such a thought provoking article and comments. Gardens are always harder to let go off than houses, I think because they are alive and full of soul. One can only hope whoever follows you buys it for the garden and nurtures it in their own way. Are there Estate Agents who sell Gardens with houses??! A new avenue for them to go. Love the idea of retreating to a compost heap with a fine wine!
I hope so – re the future of the garden. I still have sadnesses being out there and thinking of it..but sadness is OK. Thank you for your comment.
I read this a couple of days ago, i reread it, I walked round my garden, I went into town, I reread it today and …. OK, I ‘m going to tell you what I think.
You talk about your sense of responsibility to a garden which, like much of the rest of the world, if not all, will be a howling wilderness, where things can’t grow, people can’t live and millions of years will be necessary to reboot our unique turning earth. Your climate change denialism will be kicking in right now I expect.. You gave me ample evidence of that some years ago when I pointed out that climate change is a concern, and you sent back a contemptuous, or maybe more gently, a complacent link to some nonsense in The Telegraph about how world temperatures were dropping. I stopped engaging with thinkingardens properly at that point, I don’t expect you to alter the course of history, I do expect you to stop pretending it’s not happening and that it’s not anthropogenic and that it will affect the future. It follows that we could do something about it, even now, something, if we were able to think right and work together. Everything is happening more quickly than the scientists expected but is closely following the worst case predictions. Feedback systems are clanking into place.
Denialism is understandable, I’d love nothing more than to believe it wasn’t happening and that it wasn’t a real and present threat to everything we hold dear on this earth. Read some proper books about it Anne. Maybe it would put your worries about your garden into a different perspective.
Thank you for putting me right, Jane. But I would also appreciate it if you’d read my piece, which is not actually about ‘worries’. It’s about sadnesses which I might have thought you would share – about loss, about change, about death. Sadness and reflection on change are bad?
Fair enough. There’s a lot to be sad about. Of course I read your piece. Worries was mischosen. You mentioned responsibility in reply to someone else.
I think we should still make wills, despite predictions – don’t you?
Well, you can at least thank Anne for giving you a forum to put your views forward about climate change even though it has precious little to do with the piece. Some might consider it highjacking.
Barely. But it’s what we do, and I am just as likely to need to cling to an imaginary future as anyone else. Not for myself, I certainly understand about wanting an easy way to put an end to it. I would love to believe there could still be a recognisable world in the future, which is what your piece takes as read, and what I responded to. But unless big changes are made, I don’t believe that’s possible.
I’m sorry if you feel this alienates you from thinkingardens, Jane. Part of my point is that I don’t know what the future holds. But if you do, then I could see you might think differently about how we would will the garden – though I’m not sure just how. Might take us back to the estate agent’s valuation o £000.00 but for a different reason. I think we still have choices we must make and a garden to grow in the meantime. But yes – sorry to see you go. Xxx
You imply I’ve taken some kind of advantage. I don’t think that’s true but I count myself dismissed. Of course Thank you Anne, but not for the forum comment. I represent only myself.
I’d been intending sending in a piece along these lines. What happens when the garden owner is unable to carry on with the upkeep? Some people can afford to have help, others may have to move. It’s on my mind constantly as I get older. I suspect that when the time comes and it has to be sold then it will be turned back to its previous state, a paddock. Have you read Michael Pollan on the dilemma of how to replace/regenerate a forest which had burned down?
Please do send the piece – this touches on that problem but that’s all and it haunts me too. It’s party why I work on publicity for the garden all the time – the visitors we get contribute critically to our funding and I don’t think we could keep the garden going without it. And that’s not an answer for everyone – especially when our culture is so geared to gardens opening for charity. (charity not being the maintenance of the garden in question, of course.)
I haven’t read the Michael Pollan – I will search it out. I do think it’s ok to mind about all this!
There’s a scruffy field near us where there must once have been a cottage and garden. Now it has snowdrops all over it, later there are phlox and asters. There are some huge box trees down one side, which I expect were once clipped into shapes along a path. Whenever I see it I think of all the people who lived and gardened there. It’s not sad at all, just layers of time and living and dying.
Well, it’s not you who used to live there……..
What a thought provoking post. The stone is such a lovely idea. I love my little patch but, if I’m no longer tending it, I won’t worry about its future.
Dear Anne, I sense true sadness in your post but for me Paddy Tobin has found just the right words. Nothing lasts forever…all we have is the moment and let’s make the most of it. I’m currently in my third garden and love it dearly (much more humble of course than yours), so I left already two behind. The first has been taken over by nature as the owners aren’t gardeners and the other one follows a similar fate. I’ve since learnt to accept that this is the way it is. It’s tough but I think it helps if you don’t take yourself too seriously. In the end we’re not more than a grain of sand and honestly, who cares what happens when we’re gone – as my friend said the other day: the graveyard is full of people that were irreplaceable 😉 . Feed me to the vultures for I do not want to leave a trace (sadly not allowed here though!)…carpe diem :), best wishes and lots of snowdrops to lift your mood
Thank you for your thought and good wishes.
I think what several people are missing is not that I resist or deny change or death (see our Stone) but that we do have responsibility for what happens next to Veddw, serious or unserious.
We have considered taking ourselves off some suitable day to the compost heap, several bottles of wine in hand, settling ourselves down, and drifting away from this life pleasurably in each others company. Notice I have not said that we expect or plan to go to a “next life” for I do not expect to experience one. Nor do I expect our garden to have a second life, certainly not as it is now. It will change, all will change, as we changed it when we arrived. We made it, we enjoyed it and have no further claim, nor expectation, nor demand upon it after our death.
I’m surprised if you read that I believe I have a claim or expectation in relation to Veddw after our deaths, except in so far as we will be responsible for how we dispose of it. Death is, as you suggest, change. And one thing is for certain,we will no longer be witnessing what happens then.
But if you find a tidy way to die together do let me know. I increasingly feel appalled that there is no easy way out – why on earth isn’t there?
Being of a certain age, I do think about this quite a bit. But I have no illusions about the garden remaining. The forest is always trying to retake the garden, and once it’s not cared for continuously, trees will seed in and in a few years it will be woodland. I live for today, plan for the year to come, enjoy each day, and don’t focus too much on what happens after my death. I think I have to add that I take some pleasure in these feelings of nostalgia and loss.
I know that pleasure and there is some of that in this piece. I hope I made clear that I don’t imagine the garden remaining the same – it won’t be the same next year, under my care – but it is kind of tantalising wondering just what may touch some future garden maker here. The woods, though eager to take over, will have no chance in Britain! A housing estate would be more likely.
Hi Anne,
We are in the same position as you and Charles. No children and no heirs. It is something we think about, but not very often. Twenty four acres of gardens (both ornamental and vegetable) and nature trails is a mighty large property for only 2 people to maintain. We developed the gardens from grassland, growing thousands of plants to create the gardens. I keep myself amused growing more plants and redesigning more gardens. We enjoy every moment because nothing lasts forever. Live in the now. What will be, will be.
My now does include these reflections. Sadness is part of life. Good luck and hope you can keep ploughing on.Xx
Wow, that’s a huge garden. I was left intrigued about your thoughts about who to leave such a valuable property to? Does the garden come into your consideration?
While not a fun thought process, I do think this is quite worth contemplating. Most of the passionate gardeners I know (who consider themselves at or beyond “middle-age”) are sadly resigned to that fact that when they are separated from their garden it will be gone within a few years time. It’s the personality and sensibilities of home gardeners along with their devoted time and effort that sustain and define the garden.
However, if you want to maintain the hope and dream that you find someone who would at least be excited to take on your garden – knowing they will transform it to suit their own agenda – there may be some things you could do. Your Estate Plans could stipulate that the sale of your home actually be handled by someone who would advertise and promote the offering as “noteworthy garden property”, perhaps with listings in publications that might attract those who might appreciate it. You can stipulate that your Executor establishes the value of the property at or above comparable listings BECAUSE of your garden – not in spite of it, and you might have to explicitly instruct him/her to allow the necessary funds to meticulously maintain the garden so it is in full glory until the sale is completed.
Alternatively, you might consider and investigate in advance the ways you might disseminate the plants, garden furnishings and objects. Is there a plant society or arboretum with active volunteers aboard that might be willing to administer a dig of the plants that are desired by others rather than have them be discarded with a back hoe? This could become a fundraiser or simply open to membership to help great plants find new homes.
Since there may be a time we cannot physically manage the gardens, can we afford to pay others to keep it in a way that is satisfying and not heart-breaking for us? If not, we need to be accepting of the reality early rather than allow our gardens to crumble, offering us more pain than pleasure. We can take solace in offering pleasure to others through this dismantling process, bittersweet though it may be.
Some really interesting possibilities here, thank you. Though I perhaps should say that when we recently had to have a valuation of the house for insurances the guy who came suggested that the property was probably worth £000.00. Whoever would want to take the garden on, he thought? But maybe someone would. And stipulations such as you suggest in our wills are an interesting possibility if we never find the right garden maker to leave it to.
The garden isn’t a plant collection though, so the idea of anyone digging them up is perhaps the worst of all possible worlds.
Finally – we do open the garden to a generous public who thereby help us maintain it. And we hope this may continue. We manage at present on one day’s help a week, so there’s room for a little extra help one day…..
For me, watching or envisioning all the great plants I’ve gathered over 20 years being plowed under is more heartbreaking than seeing the garden go. There are community parks and underserved neighborhoods with no budget to buy plants, so even the more common plants could improve someone else’s life by enriching their gardens.
I’ve personally been involved in orchestrating fund-raising plant sales, relying on the generosity of donors and volunteers to provide a rather impressive collection of plants to sell well below retail cost to the community in support of a public park in Philadelphia, PA that we have developed into a handsome botanical oasis. I often imagine how all the plants we’ve sold over the past 12 years have multiplied and enriched the neighborhood while raising funds for the park.
Ah, the perennial division – the plant lovers and garden lovers! xx
Beyond perennials, before more formal gardens being demolished to satisfy a Real Estate Agent’s desire to optimize marketability, might some admired public garden not be willing to come and carefully extract some splendid topiary or immaculate hedges to help sustain or improve their own?
I don’t think old topiary and hedges move – but who knows? It’s just that I will not ever preside over the unplanting of the garden. I have no idea what anyone else will do. Xxx
I think that the valuation of £0 was made tongue in cheek. But of course the garden will put off many potential buyers who might want a couple of fields for their horses. I don’t actually want the garden bulldozed. That would at the very least be a great waste of valuable habitat and a great many plants.
Phew!
Oh Anne. You have voiced the concerns that regularly race around my brain. It’s unlikely that we will stay here for the remainder of our lives due to the size of both house and garden, but I often wonder what will become of the garden on which I have lavished love, time, and treasure. Recently, our neighbors told us they’d be interested in purchasing our quarter-acre back lot, which is half of our upper garden. I replied that it would not work for us because we would have to alter the garden before we move to make it clear to the buyer of our house where the property line lies. Could you imagine having to witness and participate in that? I couldn’t either.
Thank you for your thoughtful post.
No – you mustn’t destroy your garden yourselves, truly truly NOT. Bad enough if you have to leave, but you should leave it unsullied in your memory. (Part of the reason I don’t go back to see our London garden). Thanks for writing. xx
jumps up and down…me me me me…I’ll have it….goes down the back of the sofa in hope of finding money…
Huh – you’ll probably be popping off about the same time we do!
It’s your next book. The history of Veddw. The garden will then be preserved in print.
Nice idea. No-one wanted it.
How about finding a videographer, preferably one with a drone, to do a virtual tour of Veddw as skillfully as the Monty Don American Gardens series that you led us to in your previous post. Post that on line and your garden might live in perpetuity. And it would be a hell of an aid of finding that “needle in the haystack” buyer after you are gone.
We already have such a thing, Eric (thank you for all your thoughtfulness) – https://veddw.com/gallery/#video.
Xxxx
I have just spent a pleasant hour watching your video above and website. Being familiar with Charles’ photographs of individual parts of the garden, it was fascinating to see it from the air and how it all fits together. Thanks.
Yes – drones add a whole new dimension to our understanding of a plot, don’t they? The first time I saw an aerial photograph of the garden (similar effect, not as good but years ago) I felt a great relief in seeing how well the design works.
Not strictly true cos that wasn’t exactly our pitch. But I reckon we’ll manage to get a book out there before we’re done.