Dear Mrs. Verey,
Dear Mrs. Verey,
In 1996, you gave me the opportunity of a lifetime. In hindsight, through my own choices and the inevitable discombobulation of life, I realize I squandered that chance.
I discovered horticulture and a love of cultivating plants, quite accidentally, applying for a job with a plant rental company out of sheer need for a job. What on earth was a plant rental company? In this situation, 1990 Atlanta, it was maintaining plants in corporate headquarters, shopping malls, hospitals...
This was right out of college. I knew what I wanted to do in life as far as a mission - help out, be a positive for society if not change the world, the environmental situation was beginning to emerge. I had an appointment pending with the Peace Corps, providing clean water and sanitary solutions in the Dominican Republic. From there, I had a plan to eventually be in the foreign service.
But, needing to make a buck and support myself in the interim, I moved in with some friends in Tucker and took whatever I could get. A good friend worked at the Atlanta Botanic Garden, then the garden was only 10 years old. She suggested I apply for a job as gardener, I jumped at it, and my history began being built.
While still in college, I had started dating and fell in love with a young woman from Chapel Hill, NC. Her mother was an artist (which I also fancied myself as), and an avid gardener. They had been in their in town home for 20 years and the gardens were amazing. The father was a lover of plants as well, in a manner far more intellectual than immediately, visually stimulating. His niche was with the native plants - ephemerals, the woodsy palate of trees and shrubs.
Anyhow, I got bit. Groping for a path forward, a course which would satisfy my intellectual, financial, and creative needs, I sunk my teeth into horticulture.
My personal goal, should I embark on this voyage to a BS in Ornamental Horticulture and Landscape Design, from The University of Tennessee, was to work in a fine English garden to fulfill the internship requirement of the degree.
Having married the young woman from Chapel Hill, this was also the honeymoon to be- a summer in the Cotswolds. As we would both concede, I hounded you mercilessly by post and phone, lacking email or cell. You acquiesced to my "persistence and Southern charm" and gave me a shot. By the end of the summer, you graciously offered to help me in any way I needed, asked me to return to Barnsley House for a permanent job.
This was a stout endorsement to any job, any path I could imagine: books, television, any garden anywhere, grooming for whatever. But, I blew it. I thought I knew better at the time, what I wanted to do, where I wanted to be, what I was capable of...
While at Barnsley House, I realized the similarities to situations I could imagine, places, processes...and thought I could pull off similar projects, maybe without the results, but good enough to make a go of it. I settled on a garden design / maintenance business combined with a cut flower farm. It went well.
Until it didn't. I didn't navigate well. I wished I had consulted with you while you were with us. Such is life.
You left a door open for me, a door that could lead me wherever I wanted to go, and I never went through it. By the time I realized this, you were gone, I could no longer pester you for that next opportunity.
But I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for giving me the chance to operate my craft at the absolute highest level. I thank you for sending me all over the countryside to visit gardens and gardeners I never would have known about or had the opportunity to see.
I arrived in Barnsley unexpected as far as precise time, or having made the head gardener aware of the situation. I was to live with the said head gardener for the next month, unannounced. Eventually, he was gracious.
When I made it to the House, you were in a tissy, preparing for the arrival of the Queen of Norway or some such. You were courteous, but curt in your greeting, letting me know unequivocally that you were glad to have me, but I needed to vamoose as the Queen's helicopter was arriving. This was day one, first contact.
Nick, after recovering from the shock of an unannounced roommate, showed me to my quarters. I had no inkling of what the weeks ahead would hold - excursions to gardens all over the region, in her car (British cars / roads are another story), to see private gems and spend time with their caretakers was an enormous gift.
Note: Nick was eventually won over by the arrival of my bride, the departure of me, and the gift of a bottle of Maker's Mark Kentucky Bourbon.
One day, you told me of a field trip that was planned. Each Saturday, you sent me on marvelous adventures to explore gardens, public and private. This trip was special. Highgrove. HRH Prince Charles' duchy farm, guided by his head gardener, while my wife, cousin and his wife were in tow. This was long before Highgrove had open days and tours.
We spent quite a bit of time in the areas you had designed, with in depth conversations with the guide, who gently reminded us no cameras were allowed for security reasons. I will never forget your rather animated reaction to the post-Diana stumpery. Watching a 77 year old English garden designer lose it is priceless.
So, RV, thinking of you today, for whatever reason. Thank you for the experience of a lifetime, the memories which make for lore. I miss you.
In 1996, you gave me the opportunity of a lifetime. In hindsight, through my own choices and the inevitable discombobulation of life, I realize I squandered that chance.
I discovered horticulture and a love of cultivating plants, quite accidentally, applying for a job with a plant rental company out of sheer need for a job. What on earth was a plant rental company? In this situation, 1990 Atlanta, it was maintaining plants in corporate headquarters, shopping malls, hospitals...
This was right out of college. I knew what I wanted to do in life as far as a mission - help out, be a positive for society if not change the world, the environmental situation was beginning to emerge. I had an appointment pending with the Peace Corps, providing clean water and sanitary solutions in the Dominican Republic. From there, I had a plan to eventually be in the foreign service.
But, needing to make a buck and support myself in the interim, I moved in with some friends in Tucker and took whatever I could get. A good friend worked at the Atlanta Botanic Garden, then the garden was only 10 years old. She suggested I apply for a job as gardener, I jumped at it, and my history began being built.
While still in college, I had started dating and fell in love with a young woman from Chapel Hill, NC. Her mother was an artist (which I also fancied myself as), and an avid gardener. They had been in their in town home for 20 years and the gardens were amazing. The father was a lover of plants as well, in a manner far more intellectual than immediately, visually stimulating. His niche was with the native plants - ephemerals, the woodsy palate of trees and shrubs.
Anyhow, I got bit. Groping for a path forward, a course which would satisfy my intellectual, financial, and creative needs, I sunk my teeth into horticulture.
My personal goal, should I embark on this voyage to a BS in Ornamental Horticulture and Landscape Design, from The University of Tennessee, was to work in a fine English garden to fulfill the internship requirement of the degree.
Having married the young woman from Chapel Hill, this was also the honeymoon to be- a summer in the Cotswolds. As we would both concede, I hounded you mercilessly by post and phone, lacking email or cell. You acquiesced to my "persistence and Southern charm" and gave me a shot. By the end of the summer, you graciously offered to help me in any way I needed, asked me to return to Barnsley House for a permanent job.
This was a stout endorsement to any job, any path I could imagine: books, television, any garden anywhere, grooming for whatever. But, I blew it. I thought I knew better at the time, what I wanted to do, where I wanted to be, what I was capable of...
While at Barnsley House, I realized the similarities to situations I could imagine, places, processes...and thought I could pull off similar projects, maybe without the results, but good enough to make a go of it. I settled on a garden design / maintenance business combined with a cut flower farm. It went well.
Until it didn't. I didn't navigate well. I wished I had consulted with you while you were with us. Such is life.
You left a door open for me, a door that could lead me wherever I wanted to go, and I never went through it. By the time I realized this, you were gone, I could no longer pester you for that next opportunity.
But I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for giving me the chance to operate my craft at the absolute highest level. I thank you for sending me all over the countryside to visit gardens and gardeners I never would have known about or had the opportunity to see.
I arrived in Barnsley unexpected as far as precise time, or having made the head gardener aware of the situation. I was to live with the said head gardener for the next month, unannounced. Eventually, he was gracious.
When I made it to the House, you were in a tissy, preparing for the arrival of the Queen of Norway or some such. You were courteous, but curt in your greeting, letting me know unequivocally that you were glad to have me, but I needed to vamoose as the Queen's helicopter was arriving. This was day one, first contact.
Nick, after recovering from the shock of an unannounced roommate, showed me to my quarters. I had no inkling of what the weeks ahead would hold - excursions to gardens all over the region, in her car (British cars / roads are another story), to see private gems and spend time with their caretakers was an enormous gift.
Note: Nick was eventually won over by the arrival of my bride, the departure of me, and the gift of a bottle of Maker's Mark Kentucky Bourbon.
One day, you told me of a field trip that was planned. Each Saturday, you sent me on marvelous adventures to explore gardens, public and private. This trip was special. Highgrove. HRH Prince Charles' duchy farm, guided by his head gardener, while my wife, cousin and his wife were in tow. This was long before Highgrove had open days and tours.
We spent quite a bit of time in the areas you had designed, with in depth conversations with the guide, who gently reminded us no cameras were allowed for security reasons. I will never forget your rather animated reaction to the post-Diana stumpery. Watching a 77 year old English garden designer lose it is priceless.
So, RV, thinking of you today, for whatever reason. Thank you for the experience of a lifetime, the memories which make for lore. I miss you.
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