Over the years I have loved reading about the great gardens and historic properties of England. Hidcote Manor and Sissinghurst are obvious examples. I also remember the prints of Monet's paintings my mother hung, decorating our bedrooms when my sister and I were young; the swirl of blues and pinks, flowers merging into the reflections on the pond. I promised myself that one day I would visit Monet's garden.
It had been a wet few days in France in the lead up to my visit to Monet's Garden in Giverny, in a small corner of Normandy. It was the first stop of the day as I travelled en route to Rouen and Hornfleur and then arriving for the night in the glamorous Deauville. Claude Monet had lived at Giverny for forty three years, first taking possession of the farmhouse and lands in 1883. He transformed the landscape with his artistic sensitivities into a flower and water garden that is unparalleled. Not only can one walk through the gardens but also visit the farm house and see how he lived. His fondness for colour is evident in his bright yellow dining room, blue kitchen and the building's pink exterior and traditional green shutters.
As a child I had a print of Monet's water garden hanging on my wall. It was a whirl of sapphire blue water with a jade green bridge, pale pink and white waterlilies dotted the water and violet wisteria reflected upon its surface. So today, here I am standing at the water's edge itself and seeing the green bridge and to be able to smell the sweet fragrance coming from the wisteria! I could feel my heart beat harder and warmth suffuse my skin as I drank in the scene. "I am here!" I thought - all I could do was stand still and take in the vista. It is easy to say something is beautiful, we say it for all sorts of things that are pretty or sweet, but here, standing at the edge of Claude's lake, I truly felt the landscapes' beauty.
The tulips are in season and they bloomed almost everywhere one looked around the garden. Near the water, the tulips were deep violet and purple, their petals softly frilled as they opened up to the sullen sky. Purple allums and iris mixed with them and lower to the ground, forget-me-knots filled the beds. To the edge, tall bamboo, weeping willows and maple trees were planted, shielding the delicate flowers with shade. At one end of the lake there straddles across the water, a jade green timber bridge, festooned with lilac coloured wisteria coming into bloom.
The wisteria formed both a canopy and a carpet to the bridge with the lower limbs trailing nearly into the water providing the most wonderful reflections. Monet's paintings show his fascination for the reflections of plants in water and he spent many years painting then repainting the same scene of the lilies floating and reflected in the pond here in Giverny. The wisteria blooms fell in large cone-shaped profusion, the petals at the top of the cascade open wide and pastel lilac and as they reached the drooping tip, tighter and darker in colour. The knobbly canes from which the blooms sprang, were twisted and arching across the frame of the bridge.
My prayers had been answered as today, the sun had come out and while not particularly warm, it was clear and I could walk around the garden enjoying its wonders. I stood on the bridge gazing around me in delight. Of course there were tourists taking interminable numbers of selfies but for me, I wanted to stand and soak in the scene, committing to memory the wisteria fragrance, the colours of the flowers and the reflections in the water and to be fully present in this place.
As I walked around the gardens, leaving the water garden behind and heading through to the roses and the location of the house, I noticed how the planting and colour schemes changed as one moved through from one section to another. Here in one corner, the purple tulips gave way to a brighter Schiaparelli pink and the shrubs echoed the brighter colour with their flowers. White bedding plants, like drifts of snow now mingled with the blue of the forget-me-knots. Underneath the red Acer trees foliage, yellow and orange tulips flowered and brightened a darker corner of the grounds. Lemon coloured tulips with pointed petals unfurled and added a lightness to the hot colours.
Creamy coloured soft gravel pathways wound their way through the plantings, and tall pyramid structures held up climbing roses that were not yet in flower. One pathway was some ten feet in width and overhead, a series of large archways spanned the path laden with climbing roses, verdant green and healthy I wondered what colour they would be but guessed/hoped that the planting of pink tulips, lavender violas, nasturtiums and tall spikes of purple flowers of some unknown (to me) plant was a clue! This path once was lined with a row of spruce trees which Claude's wife Alice was very fond however over the years he had them cut down and replaced with the metallic arches. Old apple trees were replaced with cherries and Japanese apricot trees.
I stood in a small corner of one pathway that had its full length closed off but from this spot I could survey what seemed to be the broadest expanse of the garden and I could also see through the trees to the house in the distance, its pink exterior paintwork and green shutters a beacon for where I would venture to next. Standing there my eyes filled with tears. "Why?" I thought, but I knew. I had waited years to be here, in this garden, and I knew how much my mother would have loved it. Just like I did. Great beauty can bring one to tears and this garden was that, a great and truly beautiful place. Monet created it just like a painting with his attention to colour, shade and form.
I wandered the farm house and enjoyed my peek at how Claude and his family lived here in Giverny. The whole house feels intimate in scale and personality and I, along with the throngs who moved through the property with me, stopped and gazed at the interiors which displayed the occupants sensibilities and preferences.
Briefly I stood at a bedroom window and gazed down upon the garden and was again spellbound by the view. I thought of Claude and his wife walking around, chatting as couples do. The house would have been filled with the noise of eight children playing and living here. What was the Artist's Studio over the years has became a comfortable sitting room. Today its' walls are decorated with reproductions of Monet's paintings. The dining room is a cheerful yellow and was considered very modern in its day. The kitchen is spacious and the collection of copper pans with the Rouen blue tiles behind the impressive cooker range and its multiple ovens still look as if it is ready to welcome dinner guests. The family photographs are there on the chest of drawers, and yes there is Claude with his family standing proudly on the front veranda!
Spring in Monet's garden was a delight but I am sure that each season provides a different vision of beauty. How wonderful it would be to be there when the roses are in bloom (though I am not sure I could cope with the crowds!) in Summer and Autumn must be a delight as the trees leaves turn to red and rust and the structure of the garden can clearly be seen and appreciated.
Apart from the memories,what have I brought home with me from my visit to Monet's Garden? There will be a small part of me that will forever be standing on the path, looking out over his garden, taking in the expansive views and I shall remember the range of flowers -not only their colours but also fragrance. Today, I planted a lilac tree in my front yard. I hope when it grows and flowers that it will bring back memories of walking down lane-ways in France breathing in deeply their fragrance. I have drawn up plans for a small timber arbour which will be built in the Spring, in a shaded corner of my small backyard - it shall form the framework for a wisteria to grow and flourish. My first English rose, David Austin's Mary Rose, arrived today too. I have loved for many years this rose's strong pink double petals and sweet fragrance. One grew in a garden for me, a long time ago. I shall plant the rose out and it shall be the start for my resurgence of growing roses which I shall pick and enjoy inside. What have I brought back from Monet's Garden? Memories but also inspiration. What could be better than that?
