A private garden in the Hudson Valley, followed through every season since 2021. The film about it is still being made; these are the stills.
The sun clears the ridge and sets the fog alight.A single kousa dogwood fruit hangs like an ornament.
Morning sun backlights the garden gate, silver-leaved plants at its feet.The woodshed stacked for winter, pine needles gathered on its roof.
Morning glories climb over the stacked firewood.
Sunbeams fan out through the canopy.A fallen leaf rides the dark water of the pond.
Kousa dogwood fruit hangs heavy in October.
Yellow maple leaves frame the willows across the pond.An old willow and its reflection meet at the water line.
Beautyberry lets down clusters of violet fruit against the stone.
October color, pulled by a moving camera into streaks of gold.Looking straight up into a canopy gone red.
Snow on the lower meadow, the stream cutting a black curve through it.
Straight down from above, bare trees throw their shadows across fresh snow.Frost ferns on the barn window, dried hydrangea heads in the foreground.
A garden obelisk stands alone in the snow, the fence and pines behind it.
A lone tree in the winter meadow, the snow thin on the grass.Reed stubble pokes through the ice at the pond's edge.
A stream runs dark between snow-covered rocks, the sun low in the gap.
Ice coats every twig after a winter storm.A stone culvert carries the stream under a drift of snow.
Ice has grown in spines along the pine needles.
Snow on the roof, firewood stacked behind red lattice.Bare vines grip a dry stone wall under fresh snow.
Bittersweet berries wear small caps of snow.
Daffodils and a single red tulip catch the low morning sun.The stream bends through the lower lawn in early May, daffodils along its banks.
The red barn looks out through a curtain of new willow, its reflection laid across the pond.
A bumblebee closes in on crabapple buds just breaking pink.A grass path runs between beds of phlox to the garden gate.
Primroses crowd the streambank in magenta and pink, the stone footbridge just upstream.
Snow-in-summer spills over a dry stone wall above a sea of phlox.Under the willow, the pond goes quiet and green.
Willows the size of houses crowd the far shore of the pond in June.
A mown path follows the stream up toward the willows.Black-eyed Susans turn their faces to the June sun.
A lone tree holds its ground in a field of seeding grass.
Deep red roses climb the garden fence in June.Stakes stand in rows around a weathered obelisk as the kitchen garden fills in.
Pale yellow foxgloves lean into the evening light.
The sun sits on the ridgeline while mist drifts up out of the forest below.Sunlight breaks through the fog and falls across the meadow in long rays.
Wood sorrel finds a foothold where moss meets stone.
A sprinkler throws its spray into the late sun, every drop lit.Cattails stand in the shallows at the edge of the pond.
The sun touches the horizon, the pond a dark mirror among the treetops.
From above, the stream loops around a lone tree in the lower meadow.The red barn sits at the bottom of its meadow, forest on every side and the hills beyond.
From above the lawn in early May, the meadow runs out to the stream and the hills still wear their first green.
Willows lean over the pond in new leaf. Here the garden does the shaping, and the mind follows.Flowering trees break out in white and magenta along the drive, the hillside behind them only beginning to leaf out.
A jack-in-the-pulpit lifts its striped hood out of the May understory.
Painted fern catches the light in silver and plum, deep in the shade garden.Woodland phlox floods the bed around a young lupine, still weeks from its bloom.
Bleeding heart hangs its row of pink lanterns over the path.
A flagstone path winds between old trees, moss and ferns taking back the edges.The kitchen garden in early May, beds raked and waiting, the wooden obelisks already standing guard.
Crabapple blossom spills across a lichen-spotted boulder.
