I’m a bit distracted by the election this week but manage to fit in a fair few garden visits for the Spring Plant Portfolio. Svend kindly drives Alex and I to the other side of the country to see Beth Chatto’s garden and also RHS Hyde Hall. Despite some cloudy weather, we’re snap happy until the sun goes down and we can’t physically or mentally take any more photos. We need to overshoot though as, for me at least, not all my photos come out OK and I can’t always identify the plants if there’s no label. We have a photography course next week and I’ve promised myself a stylish new camera like the rest of the class after my first commission.
Beth Chatto’s is great – my tastes are a bit more contemporary but you can’t dispute her influence on naturalistic planting. Her plants look happy and like they’ve been there forever – no bare soil, unlike many botanic gardens which often seem freshly planted. I even briefly spot the lady herself as well as Charlotte from class. We aren’t too sure about Hyde Hall at first, as we can’t see any gardens when we first arrive, just a shiny new visitors centre and a barren car park. The gardens are further up the hill and extend quite a ways back. I linger for a really long time in the Dry Garden, which although not totally having the same plants, brings back memories of Californian deserts and the mind-blowing cacti collection at The Huntington.
A few of us visit Waterperry after class. Not a whole lot to photograph in terms of nice plant groupings but the tea and cakes are better than at Beth Chatto’s so it’s a toss-up.
To end my gardeney week I go to Kew. The IGPOTY exhibit is on and, because I entered the competition, I get in free for one day only. I spend a really cold day walking around the gardens with some friends, defrosting now and again in the tea shops and conservatories. As we look round the bamboo plantings, my Japanese friend informs me that you can drink bamboo tea. How cool – who knew? Well, most of Asia probably. Plants are great, aren’t they?
I visit Waterperry Gardens on the weekend. It is a hot, sunny autumn day and I get spectacularly lost in the mile between the bus stop and the entrance gate. After an hour and a half of walking east, west, and south, I give up and buy a map at the not-so-nearest motorway service station. I go north through the track disguised as someone’s driveway.
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