MEETING MR. POTTS. . . . .

Friday morning, following a breakfast of cream tea, breads, cheeses, oats with yogurt or homemade museli, we were off to our first garden.  It was one of Debra's favorite gardens.  His name was Mr. Potts and his garden was breathtaking.  He came out to greet us at the gate before we entered and already the views were exciting and unbelievable.  I felt like a
kid in a candy shop that was going to be let loose . . . . . to wander and explore all of the goodies that awaited me!

                                                            

Mr. Potts, age 85, talking about his pride and his joy,

a cottage garden that started with just a vision, 35 years

ago.

Jennifer and Mary Anne personally meet Mr. Potts. .

The forever magical mixture of mossy stone, ivy and miniature

Cyclamen. ( We saw these at garden shops all over England.)

These Cyclamen are much smaller than the ones we are

use to.

Yews so proudly holding their shape without a leaf out

of place . . . . it was a lesson in precision.  The largest Yew..... a walk-

through to another garden.

A rose trellis still managing to bloom. . . fall was beginning

its magic in this garden.

Magical, romantic and restful.

Looking in . . . .

The home of Mr. Potts. . . . and I would say the epitome

of an English garden.  It was a feast for the eyes and in

every sense of the word, the soul.  There was color and beauty

everywhere the eyes could see.

Mr. Potts private home. . . . and he offered us a look!

Acanthus, so established and at home in the purple garden.

A refreshing bit of color amongst stone and moss.

More YEWS AND BOX. . . .the term yews and box, a Brit

sort of expression was used frequently to describe garden

contents of the same and every garden we visited had them.

The sounds of birds were everywhere and dear Mr. Potts

provided homes for them everywhere as well.

Jen and Terri. . . . in the back garden.

The green garden, all evergreens, yews and box. . . .

The shade garden that only afforded dappled sunlight, with trellis'

overhead filled with flowers.

In the shaded garden, I came across some steps that lead

to this door. . . . a little bit of magic and wonder.

. . . . . the steps

Out of the shaded garden and looking back. . .

Another window with another view . . . .

Can you even stand the touch of moss on his neighbors home? ? ?

The magic and quiet just continued on and so did

my love affair with stone and moss.

Could that be a wee bit of English Lavender?

Wooden trellis' were everywhere. . . vines followed and

behaved accordingly.

Stones that once stabilized a new shrub or tree were never

taken away.  Don't you just want to go out and find some old

mossy stones?  I asked about shipping. . . . . only kidding.

Little gifts stood quietly waiting for our eyes to see.

An invitation to enter his home....

Inside looking out. . . . . garden vistas everywhere

Mr. Potts' had carefully planned his walkways, his flowers

and the scheduling of blooming time for each specimen. . .

This little living area was cozy and quaint.  He was so proud of

his fireplace which dated back to the 1600's. 

Back outside, we headed to his nursery . . .

On a workbench in the little nursery, I spotted a little nest.

It had been found on the ground and he didn't quite know

the type of bird that would have called it HOME.  Maybe.

it was a Chiffchaff. . . . a bird found throughout Britain. 

If I would have been lucky enough to have a garden nearby,

I would have made a purchase. . . . . .maybe nextime.