GARDEN OF EDEN OPENS ITS GATES
Our weekend of opening the country garden was schizophrenic. Saturday was a horror day. I woke at 6.30am and thought, "Ha! Ha! Weather bureau forecasters are wrong again!" The early morning sun was shining benignly on our garden. The blossom trees, the camellias, the early Rhododendrons and the Magnolias looked so beautiful in that soft light. Not to mention the wonderful new leaves on the ornamental Acers. This special light is favoured by professional garden photographers. "I must take some Suite101.com photos," I thought to myself as I dashed around arranging 50 cups and mugs in the verandah room and filling the urn so visitors could help themselves to a refreshing drink How the smug may fall!
Two hours later, the rain was pouring down, a gale was blowing and the garden was saturated. My youngest daughter had arrived the night before, leaving at home her 10 months old daughter for her father to look after. Her job was to sit at the gate and take the entrance fee and give handouts to folk as they came in. Over breakfast we debated if she could go home. I suggested that no one would be foolish enough to venture out on such a horrible day and my services would not be needed in identifying plants, suffering amnesia and conversing with the garden lovers. Again, I was wrong.
Our numbers were way down but a steady trickle of people battled the elements all day. Visitors from "the mainland", gardeners who told me that they had missed the garden on other Open days and were determined to see it this time and many who had come to previous openings but not at this time of the year, they all stayed for two hours+ in that foul weather. Tragedy struck early afternoon. I decided to go inside the house to check the milk jug as many stoics had sheltered, waiting in vain for the squalls to pass. To my horror, the first sight I saw was a lady with her foot up and my other daughter [a medical doctor] who had arrived to relieve Francesca, in attendance.
She had slipped on wet paths, not a garden hazard [our paths were all newly gravelled and quite safe] but a weather hazard. She had taken a short cut across slippery grass to see a rare plant and fallen in a very awkward manner. As I said to her, next day on the phone when I learned that a small break in the fibia was the result of the accident, "This is very Irish but it couldn't have happened to a nicer person!" She was so uncomplaining and bright. Her only moan was that as she would be in plaster for six weeks and she was going to miss seeing all the Spring gardens and that she was only half way through seeing the gardens of "Kibbenjelok"
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