as though I was hovering over our heads, Caroline and her flowery dress and green galoshes, and me in my black jeans and T-shirt and Sophie’s green galoshes, and the umbrella swaying above us like a giant bouquet. It was pretty surreal.
“Of course there won’t be many birds about in this weather,” said Caroline as she stepped onto the stone path, “but we have robins, blue tits, great tits, long-tailed tits, a great spotted woodpecker, jays, magpies, wood pigeons, starlings, wrens, green finches, dunnocks, black caps, blackbirds, red wings, coal tits – we even have parakeets and a sparrowhawk.”
“Wow, that’s really cool.” I tried to sound enthusiastic. “We mainly just have sparrows and pigeons at home. Pancho Villa, that’s our cat, he’s always leaving dead bodies in the kitchen.”
Caroline hummed “Um…” and marched onward.
“That’s
Rosa Constance Spry
and over there is
Rosa Brother Cadfael
…” Caroline held the umbrella over us with one hand and pointed with the other.
“They’re nice.” The Alice in Wonderland experience was deepening. I wasn’t used to flowers having proper names like people. “They look like roses.”
Caroline laughed. “They are roses. English roses. And that’s
Laurus nobilis
…
Hedera helix
…”
I asked if they had English names.
“Oh, Cherry, I am sorry. I’m afraid I get carried away. Of course they have English names.” She stepped gingerly over a puddle. “That’s the bay and that’s ivy of course. And over there are the rhododendrons and the dwarf conifers.”
It was my turn to hum. “Um…” I stepped quickly over the puddle, trying to stay under the umbrella.
“And this is the pond.” She said it the way someone in LA showing you her house would say, “And here’s the Olympic-size pool.”
It wasn’t that much bigger than the puddle, but we stood side by side looking at the pond as though it was one of the wonders of the world.
Caroline pointed out the rocks and the ferns and the grass in case we didn’t have any of those things in Brooklyn.
I peered into the gloom. “Is there anything in there?”
“Oh, yes.” Caroline’s head bobbed, which made the umbrella bob, which made water drip down my back. “There are the frogs, of course. And water snails and the daphnia.”
Two out of the three were familiar, which was good enough for me. “Cool.”
“Those are the water lillies … and the water irises … and the water forget-me-nots…” With every plant she named Caroline tilted the umbrella and water dripped down my back. “And there’s the holly … the lavender … the jasmine…” She gave a little gasp of what I can only describe as dismay. “Oh, dear. The wild geraniums are looking rather poorly aren’t they?”
I wouldn’t recognize a wild geranium unless it was labelled. But I tried to console her. “Maybe it’s just because of the rain. I mean, nothing looks that great in the rain, does it?”
“I suppose not.” She started walking again, determined that I was going to see every inch of the garden, monsoon or no monsoon. “Foxgloves … azaleas … willow … lilac…”
“I’ve never seen a garden like this. You know, not in real life.” If this garden were to take on human form it would be an army on parade, everybody where they were supposed to be and at attention. It was so neat and orderly that the only thing that looked real was the rain.
“Oh, I am sorry.” Caroline looked like an Aleut trying to imagine a world without snow. “Don’t you have a garden at home?”
“We have a backyard.”
“Oh, I am sorry…”
I was starting to feel like I brought her nothing but misery. I pointed to the tiny house against the end wall. “We’ve got a shed though.” I decided not to mention that it was made of old doors.
“Oh, that isn’t a shed.” Now Caroline’s smile looked like it was trying to keep up its spirits. “I use it for my studio.” She gave a little laugh. “For
“Of course there won’t be many birds about in this weather,” said Caroline as she stepped onto the stone path, “but we have robins, blue tits, great tits, long-tailed tits, a great spotted woodpecker, jays, magpies, wood pigeons, starlings, wrens, green finches, dunnocks, black caps, blackbirds, red wings, coal tits – we even have parakeets and a sparrowhawk.”
“Wow, that’s really cool.” I tried to sound enthusiastic. “We mainly just have sparrows and pigeons at home. Pancho Villa, that’s our cat, he’s always leaving dead bodies in the kitchen.”
Caroline hummed “Um…” and marched onward.
“That’s
Rosa Constance Spry
and over there is
Rosa Brother Cadfael
…” Caroline held the umbrella over us with one hand and pointed with the other.
“They’re nice.” The Alice in Wonderland experience was deepening. I wasn’t used to flowers having proper names like people. “They look like roses.”
Caroline laughed. “They are roses. English roses. And that’s
Laurus nobilis
…
Hedera helix
…”
I asked if they had English names.
“Oh, Cherry, I am sorry. I’m afraid I get carried away. Of course they have English names.” She stepped gingerly over a puddle. “That’s the bay and that’s ivy of course. And over there are the rhododendrons and the dwarf conifers.”
It was my turn to hum. “Um…” I stepped quickly over the puddle, trying to stay under the umbrella.
“And this is the pond.” She said it the way someone in LA showing you her house would say, “And here’s the Olympic-size pool.”
It wasn’t that much bigger than the puddle, but we stood side by side looking at the pond as though it was one of the wonders of the world.
Caroline pointed out the rocks and the ferns and the grass in case we didn’t have any of those things in Brooklyn.
I peered into the gloom. “Is there anything in there?”
“Oh, yes.” Caroline’s head bobbed, which made the umbrella bob, which made water drip down my back. “There are the frogs, of course. And water snails and the daphnia.”
Two out of the three were familiar, which was good enough for me. “Cool.”
“Those are the water lillies … and the water irises … and the water forget-me-nots…” With every plant she named Caroline tilted the umbrella and water dripped down my back. “And there’s the holly … the lavender … the jasmine…” She gave a little gasp of what I can only describe as dismay. “Oh, dear. The wild geraniums are looking rather poorly aren’t they?”
I wouldn’t recognize a wild geranium unless it was labelled. But I tried to console her. “Maybe it’s just because of the rain. I mean, nothing looks that great in the rain, does it?”
“I suppose not.” She started walking again, determined that I was going to see every inch of the garden, monsoon or no monsoon. “Foxgloves … azaleas … willow … lilac…”
“I’ve never seen a garden like this. You know, not in real life.” If this garden were to take on human form it would be an army on parade, everybody where they were supposed to be and at attention. It was so neat and orderly that the only thing that looked real was the rain.
“Oh, I am sorry.” Caroline looked like an Aleut trying to imagine a world without snow. “Don’t you have a garden at home?”
“We have a backyard.”
“Oh, I am sorry…”
I was starting to feel like I brought her nothing but misery. I pointed to the tiny house against the end wall. “We’ve got a shed though.” I decided not to mention that it was made of old doors.
“Oh, that isn’t a shed.” Now Caroline’s smile looked like it was trying to keep up its spirits. “I use it for my studio.” She gave a little laugh. “For
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