The large Victorian-type garden surrounding my family home in the Cambridgeshire Fens of England consisted mainly of thousands of spring flowering bulbs, one long row of Madonna lilies, grass and evergreen shrubs and trees more suitable for a cemetery. Adjoining was an ancient orchard, which, although neglected (except for lime-washing the tree trunks each year) gave an abundance of fruit and nuts.

When I was ten my mother gave me a space about fifteen feet square. There I grew vegetables, sweet peas and cosmos. In my late teens the rest of the garden came under my control and over the years extensive planting was done. By the time I sold the place in 1980 (being the last of the line) it was beautiful and had been opened to the public twice for charity.

I was persuaded by friends to come and live in America — a move I have never regretted. So from N.Y.C. I became an Egremont weekender where I wasted a small fortune in an attempt to recreate my English garden! Then about eighteen years ago I found the Berkshire Botanical Garden (yes, I know it had a different name back then) where I learned a lot about zones, terrains, altitude, rocks appearing every spring, heat and sub-zero temperature, animals, pests and diseases; about most of these things I knew almost nothing. I at once became a member and volunteer at the Garden and consider it a privilege to be involved in even a small way with this important horticultural institution which, because of the dedication and hard work done by the staff and volunteers and the generosity of its members, every year becomes more interesting and more beautiful.

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