MGS-Blog-#1My last post, on the beginning of our 2002 European garden journey, made me take pause. Our starting out at the gardens of Sparoza now seems to have been both appropriate and auspicious. Our explorations were to be aided at so many points by members of the Mediterranean Garden society. And during this last year we came to realize that, while Sparoza was the fountainhead of the Society, the vast majority of members had never visited it – or even knew much about it. It was because of this that I was asked by the Society to travel to Greece this spring in order to produce a video documentary of the gardens for DVD release. With my trip there so large in my imagination today, I’ve decided to do this post on the Sparoza of 2010 before continuing on with our earlier journey. A brief heartfelt soliloquy on that lovely place seems to me the right candle by which to softly light the remembrances of our maiden voyage among the gardens of the Mediterranean.


Sparoza is a work in progress that retains the permanency of deep nature. The narrow beds of the terraces which Jacky Tyrwhitt laid out almost 50 years ago have, over time, been connected with other area, further and further from the  house, which are reminiscent of the informal, or even “wild”,  Greek landscape. For instance, a section of the phrygana (the local garigue) shows swaths of Phlomis fruticosa and Asphodelus that have been subtly augmented by agaves an  aloes. One might protest, “But this is not really wild, not truly natural!” But, then, what is wild, what natural? People have been walking and planting the land in Greece for at least 6,000 years. And were not these earlier inhabitants “natural”?



Perhaps Penelope Hobhouse put it best when she said that the Greeks have never been great horticulturists as such, but then all of Greece is a garden.


The seamless drift  from wildflower lawn to stately yuccas, from humble but beautiful flowering vetch to casually placed cypress, or from electric flowering, dancing masses of euphorbias to  slim-leaved, intensely colored South African Crocosmias – all of this draws one in to that intense place where are and nature meet.

Call it the human place. Call it a garden.



Now that I have lived, from dawn to dark, for 13 days in the world of Sparoza, I realize that its gardens were like a lens for us as we began our journey, helping us to focus on and see clearly the vast variation on that most ancient of themes called “the Mediterranean Garden”.



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