Walking
through the garden complex at Château de Villandry, Michele’s attention fell on
the geometric patterns, the different colours, and the soft smell of the
flowers.
My eyes rested on the poor
schmuck hunched over the shrubs grooming them with a handheld trimmer.
Shaped
like a horseshoe, he looked like the bad example in an occupational safety
poster. I could not imagine how his
future would not hold crippling pain and surgery.
Days
before, we sat in a park outside another castle watching Millennial-age
groundskeepers scurrying around with strapped-on, gas-powered trimmers, ear
buds, and straight backs. In contrast,
the older staff at Villandry seemed more traditional, artisanal, and nuts.
Gardening
has always struck me as hard work, and the intricate, structured form it takes
in France seems especially so.
I
favour the English garden: wild, informal, and unkempt.
“It
became popular in the 18th century, right around the time they
started freeing the slaves,” I noted.
These
thoughts occupied my mind when Michele suggested that we try to recreate a
little bit of Villandry in our backyard in Ottawa. She visited the garden shop at the Chateau,
stole some ideas, and expanded on her plan the rest of our holiday.
My
contribution to the conversation was a bias for those English gardens and, if
necessary, planter boxes that were waist high.
I also argued for more, but smaller boxes that made it easy to reach the
plants or to weed. I did not want Villandry-style
bending and straining in my backyard.
So,
we approached the project from two interests. Her aesthetic one. My anesthetic one.
Within
this frame, we crafted plans for building our mini-Villandry and kept talking
about it after we came home from our holiday.
The first step meant weeding and prepping our existing garden.
“Doesn’t
it make you feel younger – the fresh air, the exercise.”
“Yes,”
I said, feeling a growing kinship with the younger French grounds crews, the
ones who favoured strap-on, gas-powered
equipment.
Then,
we visited Ottawa garden shops and home renovation stores. We measured our garden and measured things in
the stores. We bought seeds, and we nurtured
them in pots. We were ready to implement our fully developed plan. Then, I added
up the cost.
Ouch. It turns out my mix of ideas were a lot more
expensive than the straightforward, though labour intensive, Villandry-style
garden. Maybe back pain wouldn’t be all
that bad.
That
Sunday as we worked in the yard, I considered withdrawing or adjusting my demand
for waist-high planters and English garden elements. But, before I could raise
the question, Michele decided to move a heavy wheel barrow around the corner of
the house by hunching over in the shape of a horseshoe.
She
lies recuperating and looking at pictures of waist-high planters, electric
hedge pruners, and English gardens.
I’m looking
again at images of Villandry.
