Friday, September 19, 2008
Yesterday was clear, cool and sunny, an almost perfect almost autumn day, and I had taken time off from work.
I decided to visit Chanticleer, a well known garden near Philadelphia. (A recent article on Chanticleer in Gardens Illustrated magazine had awakened my interest.) It's only about 40 miles from my house on Federal Twist, and I'd been meaning to visit for several years. But having only weekends to attend to my own garden, I had never gotten there.
Chanticleer far surpassed my expectations, and it brought me to the realization that I have a serious ailment common to many gardeners. Once I entered the garden, I was overcome by a nervous frenzy, a feeling of being out of control, without enough time to see, enjoy and remember the sheer variety of plants, the amazing use of color, the intricate plantings around the houses (Chanticleer is on the grounds of a former private estate), the use of exotic, tender plants in astonishing combinations - all this in the enclosed courtyards around the residences - then the open landscape offering more surprises and pleasures. By the end of the visit, I felt as if I'd eaten three large cakes with butter cream frosting, almost sickened with the sensory bombardment. I am a plantaholic.
I'm glad to be back home, in my own much smaller, much simpler garden. In recovery.
Is there a cure for this condition?
(I'll put up some pictures after I've had time to sort through them.)