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Everyone was nervous at Vancouver Island's Butchart Gardens when a dignitary from the British Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew toured the entire garden without saying a word. They knew they were often looked down on as, well, not Gertrude Jekyll enough. (For you non-garden aficionados that means, too many annuals--like marigolds, begonias, petunias and salvias and not enough artistic perennial gardens with foreign and difficult plants which shift through various shades and hues, often of the same color.)

"Gobsmacked!" exclaimed the man from Kew--he meant he was utterly astonished, Butchart was terrific! Later, he admitted he hadn't looked forward to this "floral Disneyland" of less-than-serious gardening. Mr. Ian Ross, the Butcharts' grandson and restorer of the gardens after the forced neglect of WWII was adamant that the gardens be for pleasure. And so they are: exuberant, colorful, lavish, and even theatrical.

In 1904, Mrs. Butchart's backyard was a pit of rubble, dust and stagnant puddles. For the past 15 years it had supplied limestone and clay for Mr. Butchart's cement business. Jenny was determined to convert it to a beautiful garden.

She wasn't much of a gardener, Jenny admitted. However, she had an artist's eye (good enough to win a Parisian art scholarship) and plenty of pluck (flying with one of the early aviators) and dug right in. Actually, she had to bring in tons of topsoil to have something to dig into.

The rock debris was piled up for the raised flower beds, a large boulder was left in place for a rock garden, and the deepest part of the quarry was filled for a small lake. Thousands of trees, shrubs and flowers were planted. Legend has it, Jenny dangled over the side of the quarry walls in a bos'un chair to tuck ivy into its cracks and crevices. Trips abroad provided the gardens with more plants, statuary and the garden's Italian name--Benvenuto--Welcome.

Today's welcome still includes the cherry trees from Japan which line the entrance. Grab a flower guide from the information room--it's across from Tacca, the much loved bronzed boar, a replica of the one beside Florence's straw market.

Start on the path leading past the begonia tower, go down the winding steps to the old quarry, today's sunken garden. It's an explosion of hot colors tamed by expanses of cool grass. Pines, azaleas, small trees and blossoms of red, gold and yellow cover Jenny's boulder. Climb to the top and take in the view.

The path continues to Jenny's lake. Overhung with weeping willows and fruit trees, its calm surface reflects a row of dazzling red begonias. Around the next bend another wilder lake laps against the bare quarry walls. A fountain sprays a progression of varied arcs of sparkling water.

Each bend of the path presents a new vista. Jenny's quiet lake follows the exuberant sunken garden then the formal English-style rose garden follows the wild lake. The roses (largely hybrid teas) commingle with pink, purple and white sweet peas, sky blue delphiniums, and red peonies plus a great deal more. Passing under the rose-covered bowers, through the ferns and towering redwoods you come to a red lacquer Torri gate which leads to the Japanese garden. This non-traditional design by Isaburo Kisheda is quietly and timelessly inhabited by Japanese maples, bamboo and rhododendron.

Finally, the classically-styled Italian garden has a central lily pond in the form of a cross surrounded by 12 beds, one for each apostle. Pink and white tree roses and climbing lace hydrangeas in white complete this noble courtyard.

Jenny Butchart always served tea to her visitors. The Butchart descendants, who still own and manage the gardens wouldn't think of nixing this tradition. Tea is served in the Butchart home surrounded by prodigious specimens from the greenhouse.

I, of course, had to indulge. My choice of tea, Earl Grey, was served in the proper British manner--fine china, loose tea, warmed tea pot and boiling water. Fresh fruit with citrus yogurt cream complemented the savory selections of individual quiches and those divine little tea sandwiches with fillings like curried chicken mousse and egg salad with watercress--all quite good and quite fresh. A two-tiered plate offered homemade sweets. I am not capable of saying if the chocolate flower pot mousse is superior to the candied ginger scone with whipped Devon cream, but I can tell you it was with great effort that I avoided, I trust, making a pig of myself.

High tea, which we all know is rather like a supper, is also available. It's a heartier version of the afternoon tea including Cornish pastry, cheese and a three-tiered plate of the sweet and savory tidbits.

Thus fortified, the gift shop beckoned. Butchart Gardens produces its own line of flower seeds. Currently, multitudes of Butchart Nemesia are cascading from a container on my porch. I acquired both the idea and the seed at the gift shop. I have high hopes, too, for my Tibetan blue poppies.

Captain Bailey, a British Army officer and sometime spy, discovered the blue poppy (Meconopsis Betonicifolia Baileyii) in the Himalayas and shipped seed to the Edinburgh Botanical Garden. Unbeknownst to Bailey, they shipped Jenny some seed. Not too long after, Bailey was in Canada lunching with the Butcharts. Certain he'd win, Bailey bet Jenny there was a flower she didn't grow. I dare say he was "gobsmacked" when Jenny produced "his" blue poppy in bloom.

By Kate Crawford    July, 2000

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