The last few days have blurred a bit – in the best, most exhausting ways.  

Driving is getting less scary, Scott is getting used to it, and today we finally figured how to do the following:
Turn up the volume on the navigation system so we weren’t always panicking and asking, WHAT? As we lap the roundabout for the third time.  

We learned how to turn on the AC so we didn’t have to drive at 60 miles an hour with the window open (although we rarely drove that fast…)

And, best of all, and to Scott’s great relief, we learned how to turn off the heater in his car seat which had been on high for three days. 

So we hopped in the car and headed out again – This time to Sissinghurst Gardens, on of England’s crown jewel gardens.

Within minutes of arriving, the plan for an orderly visit dissolved.  “Squirrel!!”  I kept seeing something and darting off to look at it, the hint of a white garden behind a hedge and I would exit one garden for another to go find it.  Behind me, Scott dutifully studied the map, keeping track and making sure we didn’t miss anything.  Although as soon as we walked in, Scott was.. “COOL!  A tower, let’s climb it.”  Every path seemed to lead that way,  and Scott would say, “Look!  There’s the tower, lets climb it!”  He was like a kid at the beach, “Lets dig a really deep hole.”

After nearly 80 windy spiraling stairs up, I had to admit we should have done it first… from up there we mapped out where we wanted to go, and prioritized what we wanted to see.

More than at Hever, Sissinghurst felt like the quintessential English Cottage Garden.  Winding paths, layers upon layers of plants and flowers.  Tumbling and spilling in a wildly intentional way.  Planned and planted for succession, one bloom season after another.  

While we were there, the sweetest spring flowers were in color- the next round was just budding and I knew if I came back in three weeks there would be peonies, iris and early hydrangea. I am glad I have some gardens planned later in the trip, although farther north, it will be interesting to see what is in season.

I know I have mentioned this before, but in February Scott and I attended a “Traveler’s Tea” with Svend and Sarah about English gardens.  One of the things discussed was “trough gardens.”  I sort of dismissed the idea because there are not a lot of old troughs in Ketchikan.  However, when I saw the first one in person, I was charmed!! Now I look for them and my phone is full of pictures of them.

Another thing the presenter described were naturalized meadows where groomed lawns once were.  She showed pictures of wild areas with paths mown through them.  Every single one of the gardens we have visited has had them, some have had a LOT of them.  They are soooo inviting.  (I might add here, that they embrace their buttercups, I have even seen dandelions – gasp!)

From one iconic garden to an afternoon at Scotney Castle.  

I believe I thoroughly researched this trip.  I lined up the five biggest/most famous national gardens and scheduled them in.  But when we ended up with an extra day, I simply consulted Chat GPT- “What National Trust sites am I missing? Wonder of wonders! It came up with a few, and one of them was REALLY close, Scotney Castle, and of course, we couldn’t resist a place with “Scott” in the title.  

It wasn’t JUST a Castle – it was a Castle and Garden. The rhododendrons were in full bloom—absolutely stunning. Coming from the Pacific Northwest, it’s easy to be blasé about them because they are so prolific. But here, the sheer variety of colors and shapes stopped us in our tracks. And of course the sheer number of them, and how they are intentionally placed was stunning.

The house itself was impressive, as all the houses have been.  And when I say house, I mean Manor.  Mansion.  Lodge.  This one, like several others we have toured, was once in horrible disrepair and a wealthy Author, Socialite or the like purchased it and dramatically refurbished it. 

At Scotney, as part of the refurbishing, they basically built a new house (mansion) on the top of a hill overlooking a steep valley down to a castle surrounded by a moat.  As if  that wasn’t enough, the owners demolished parts of the castle to create interest.

We ended that day tired… But dragged ourselves to see the play The Complete Works of Shakespeare..Abridged.  I smiled the entire time.  It was funny and irreverent and current (clearly abridged AND updated since we saw it last in Ketchikan.)

After seven days of going nonstop, I was feeling less like we were gently wandering and more like we were on a death march – albeit a very picturesque, flower-filled march, but a death march just the same. In fact,  I had actually packed a book to the gardens, thinking we would find a bucolic place to stop, picnic and relax.  But.  No.  It was off to the next place. 

We had a long discussion over dinner that night and  decided to monitor our pace and only do one thing a day.

So the next day we did two things.

Medieval Rye. 

As part of my research, I had seriously considered  home basing at Rye.  Social media was full of glowing reels and blogs about it’s quaintness.  So we decided to start our day there. Rye delivered peak “storybook England”—steep cobbled streets, I mean SERIOUSLY cobbled streets!  The medieval town had a castle, ancient old church and half timbered houses.  

It was crowded, but we kind of wandered off the beaten path.  When we got to the castle, we both looked at each other and decided, “Nah” we didn’t want to pay 20 lbs to enter.  We read the history plaques on the outside of the building and were good.  Apparently it spent over 400 years as a prison, so I knew there would be some “cells” set up like it was “back then.”   And maybe some torture devices.  We just moved on.

A lesson learned in Rye is the “where to eat lesson.” Which, at seven days, has become tedious.  I had been relying on tripadvisor, and we were finding the “travelers choice” featured restaurants were expensive and frou-frou. When the menus list dishes with fig jam, foam and halloumi (is it a fish?  A cheese?) it  is an indicator that the meal may be pretentious.  Today was no exception.  Scott ate weird food and I had a side piece of sourdough bread with four tablespoons of avocado “smash” on it for ten dollars.

We decided, going forward that we would use the Sherry Henrickson method of dining selection.  “I’m hungry.  There’s a restaurant.  Let’s eat.”

We closed out our Kent and Sussex garden tour with one last stop—Great Dixter Garden. 

If it’s possible, the designers of Great Dixter packed in more flowers per square inch than even Sissinghurst (which is saying something!). It was lush, layered, and a little bit wild! 

It may be the timing of our visit and what’s currently in bloom, but the color combinations at Great Dixter were especially striking. Unexpected pairings everywhere—I tried to capture some of it in photos, but as always… nothing quite compares to seeing it in person.

The house itself was brighter and less gloomy than some of the other HOWEVER it had the weirdest furnishings.   

“Here is bed from the 1600’s”

“This dutch tapestry on the wall is 300 years old and has a rare blue dye.”

“There is a door in hallway with beading that is medieval”

OH.  AND… “Here is the 1960’s midcentury modern table and light fixture.”  

At least it wasn’t brown furniture. 

In the span of two days, we climbed towers, toured gardens and visited a storybook English Village.  Along the way, we may have figured out own version of wandering well.