The world is momentarily plunged into shadows as we wind our way through a narrow, twisting road. The dense walnut trees that border both sides of the street reach out their braided branches for each other across the way, the deep green foliage creating a wild archway. Slivers of sunlight shine through the leaves, making the ground look like it’s mottled and moving as the wind rustles the trees.
When I’m in Mount Wilson it feels as if I’ve ventured into another world, full of fantasy and essence. It’s easy to forget that I’m only a mere two hours from the flurry and commotion of Sydney city living. It’s even easier to melt away from the urgency of life when I check my phone and realise I have been cut off from the rest of the world- there’s no reception!
Locals here rely on landline phones (remember those?) to stay in touch with others, and you might get a dial up connection if you’re lucky. This disconnection is a welcome one; a chance to unplug and notice the small miracles of nature surrounding me.
Glancing up at the blanket of green engulfing the sky, it’s not hard to see why Mount Wilson is a popular tourist destination for those who chase ‘the fall’. One could imagine what those twisting roads could look like coated in bright orange and red foliage, with bare twisted branches reaching towards the Heavens. We burst out into bright sunlight as we reach another road which will lead us to our destination: Windyridge Garden.
As I walk up the crunching gravel trail the smell of pine needles and freshly mowed grass carry through the crisp, chilled breeze. I can hear the sound of running water somewhere in the distance, the gentle roar and woosh of the stream flowing fiercely. Bumble bees buzz around me, eagerly searching for pollen, and in a nearby branch a hummingbird chirps. This garden is an Eden; breathing and dynamic with which one could get lost in for hours.
In summer, the garden is filled with magnificent hues of pinks, purples, oranges and yellows as hydrangeas and azaleas bloom. In the winter it’s just as magnificent with stunning waterfalls, proud-standing daffodils, water lilies and roses.
As I sweep through the garden I am in awe of the vast arrangement of grand and towering trees that are flowered throughout the garden. From Christmas trees, beech, pines, maples and dogwoods. It’s even more impressive when I learn that the first tree was planted in 1945.
Around every corner or turn is an elegant and poised statue; an antelope running gracefully across a meadow, a thoughtful man glancing over his newspaper on a bench, swans paddling through the air motionlessly, a sundial casting shadows over bronzed roman numerals. These suspended animations encapsulate this wonderland of the deafeningly loud and yet beautifully silent aspects of life.
My time at the garden is coming to an end as the sun begins to dip beneath the amber leaves of the copper beech tree. As we drive back into the lush passageway, I ponder this quiet and quaint town and its flourishing gardens. Far away are the echoes of car horns and pedestrian lights, coffee house chatter and the cacophony of engines revving past. As the canopy of silence of the walnut trees encompasses me, I feel grateful for a little peace and quiet.
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