My sister is the fourth generation of our family to own this old garden. GrandmaD say’s she remembers when she was young in the early 1920’s and she would visit her Aunt Jen, she says the gardens then were magnificent; the old climbing roses all lusty and intertwining up the giant trellis’, the “elephant turd” {as my mother so lovely referred to the mound that used to sit in the back yard}with its blanket of snow on the mountain, now gone. So many of those elements have been taken down and the next generation gardener, with her own visions, has been brought to their knees.

First the Scilla blooms forth into a purple carpet in early, early spring, than one by one the narcissus, then the old crippled magnolia tree, despite the loss of the old main trunk.

Generation, after generation, fingernails have dug down into this sprucey soil; setting down their roots. It is a luxury and struggle, this garden. It ropes you in as you pull at it trying to mold it to your own vision. This is a garden of strength, endurance, and wild, sometimes untameable, beauty. You may wish it to do your will, but it will ALWAYS have a streak of that unbridled heart.

The following are some shots of it today, from above.

This post is in response to the Weekly Photo Challenge: From Above