A local author recently wrote a book in the garden over the course of two years. It's really a series of essays and observations she made during her weekly visits, which began on her 41st birthday. Seeking answers to angst-ridden questions, she would wander the garden, talk to people, think, and write. Personally, I found her claim that being 41 meant she was "middle-aged" rather offensive and bristled at the suggestion that such a term could be applied to me. Granted, if I live to be 84, I am currently at the midway point of my lifespan but I refuse to consider myself middle-aged in the accepted anthropological sense. Then I look in the mirror, notice a little more tinsel in my hair and think maybe it's just one of those inevitable things that I should just accept and get on with...
Anyway, reading the book did inspire me to visit Chanticleer on closing day. It was a gorgeous fall day, the color was glowing, the air was crisp and crystal and smelled like autumn. Armed with my camera, notebook, and steaming Earl Grey latte, I spent the afternoon wandering in bliss. Here's a look at the garden from spring through summer and fall as seen from my lens.
|Chairs are everywhere at Chanticleer, a constant invitation to sit and linger|
|It may not look it, but this stone couch is actually quite comfortable|
|No couch is complete without a remote. The buttons stick, but the shows are well worth watching.|
|The Ruin Garden|
|Yes, I've gotten to swim in this pool!|
|My design in the gravel. It was supposed to rain that day so I thought rain drops on water a fitting muse.|
|Summer's sunflowers are done. I'm not sure but I think the Sorghum may have been from last year.|
|Beneath the leaves is a statue of a girl frolicking with the guppies. Some call her 'the drowning girl', the gardeners at Chanticleer call her 'Teeny'.|