The sun continues to shine here at Charlotte, as I awoke yesterday to a flood of it.
Although hobbled by my accident (on the path to Balancing Rock, where I lost my balance and cut my toe), I felt well enough to attempt the mile walk to Benita Sander’s seaside garden. Then Adele mentioned she was going to the market, and would I like a lift?
A pretty good way to gauge one’s infirmity, I thought. Am I well enough to turn down a ride? (No, I was not.)
Benita Sanders is a long tall elegant woman with a trace English accent and a remarkable half-acre garden, much of it built from the shale up. The garden is in three distinct sections. A free-standing shed and greenhouse structure to the east, filled with grapes and tomatoes. Behind the house, on the north side, a walled-in vegetable garden, with an apple tree at centre. Then, curling west to south, a rock-and-path affair with, among other plantings, at least twenty different heathers and a monumental hebe.
The tour, which included a walk through her meticulously built, light-friendly house, took an hour, after which I purchased further provisions and returned to Adele’s to soak my toe.