I have been to the Mountaintop

(Click on any image for a larger view.)


A cool green forest Eden awaits after the day long drive from the sweltering low country, a place of refuge from the heat and frantic pace of a burgeoning human world closer to the waters edge.















The final stretch of road is an ascending quiet country lane. Through the gate lies a garden where nature has an equal hand.















The lush green forest opens slightly to make room for the touch of a gardener's hand. A transition from shade to dappled light and then stronger sun.















Paths traverse a hilltop meadow, a tapestry that changes delicately each day and more boldly with each passing month and season.

I was way too late for the spring daffodils, crocus and mountain hyacinth and I was told I was two weeks too late for the iris and the particularly grand glory this year of the rhododendrons. It was too early for the hosta and daylilies that were readying themselves by pushing up hundreds of fat flower buds.















To me it did not seem too early or too late. I was here now to be with this place as it was today. I would have missed this if I had been here another day.

Flowers of all kinds speckled the mountaintop meadow every where the eye looked. Perhaps there were no current bold swaths of single colors and single species being dominant, but a sharing of many smaller blooms that spoke of a transition that engaged the eye and the mind to a greater degree led to new discoveries each day.

Native azaleas had waited their turn not wanting to clash with the reds and pinks of the rhododendrons. They could speak for themselves.















Siberian iris moved to their own rhythm, letting the bearded giants go first.

















Roses of many types were in full bloom or beginning to show.

















This mountain had been tended before. The forest always waiting had been given a chance and returned. Trees now grow inside the house.















A new pocket was cut in the trees for a small cottage to shelter the current caretakers of this mountaintop gap into the next valley. The spirit of the forest and the gardener began to merge once more.















Space was cleared around and between the tall trees and a carpet of colors nestled gently into the soil at their feet.















In this sharing with the forest a unique garden has emerged.















Guarded by the spirits of nature and created in the spirit of art a garden thrives.















The trees are given voices and Trunk Daddy smiles.















Some of the gifts that parents can give their children can not be measured in ordinary ways.