Magical Times I Had a Public Garden (Practically) to Myself
There is something slightly thrilling about standing in a world-famous garden and realizing that, for the moment, nobody else seems to be there.
Public gardens are meant to be public. I love seeing people enjoying them, especially children encountering a garden for the first time. The more people who experience gardens and nature, the better.
But every once in a while, through luck, timing or a little audacity, I have found myself practically alone in one.
Those quiet hours remain among my most magical travel memories

Èze, France — 2011
My first experience happened almost accidentally.
Shortly after I was widowed, I joined a mastermind group that would meet by phone for a year, with gatherings in Aspen, Middleton Place and Monaco.
Monaco! I never would have guessed that would be my first European destination.
Then Kris, my best friend, decided to gather a few girlfriends in Provence at the same time. She would rent a car in Nice, we would all stop for a few days in Èze, and then she would deliver me to my hotel in Monaco before continuing to their country house.
Kris was exactly the confident—Drive into Monaco? Of course we can!—friend I needed.
Èze is a medieval village clinging to a cliff between Nice and Monaco. Its narrow stone streets climb toward the Jardin Exotique d'Èze, where cacti and succulents grow among sculptures high above the Mediterranean.
We had explored the garden the day before. The next morning, Kris and I carried coffee and croissants onto a balcony at Château Eza, a hotel within a centuries-old castle, and pulled out our sketchbooks.
It was the first trip on which I had ever kept a travel sketchbook.
Kris faced the Mediterranean far below us. I faced one of Jean-Philippe Richard's serene female sculptures rising from the garden well above our balcony.
Technically, I wasn't inside the garden. But from our balcony I could see no one else in it. There was only the rugged hillside, the sea, my coffee and this strong, graceful stone woman watching over the coast.
I kept sketching after that trip.
Staying overnight gave us another gift. Early in the morning, before the tour buses arrived, Èze itself was nearly empty. We could wander its medieval passageways, notice the old stones and, for a little while, pretend we lived there.
That was probably when I first learned the travel trick I have used ever since:
Stay close. Get up early. See the place before the crowd arrives.
Middleton Place, South Carolina — 2011
Middleton Place is one of America's great historic landscapes, with sweeping terraces, geometric vistas and a remarkable collection of camellias.
Its beauty also carries a complicated history. Generations of enslaved Africans and African Americans created and maintained the landscape visitors admire today. The garden was also connected to the international world of plant exploration. French botanist André Michaux was a friend of the Middleton family and brought camellias there in 1786. President James Monroe was hosted at Middleton Place during his Southern tour in 1819.
I happened to visit during camellia season.
Even better, I was staying at the Inn at Middleton Place and discovered that guests could walk from the inn into the gardens.
I set my alarm for sunrise, pulled on a jacket, grabbed my camera and went.
For years I had seen photographs of Middleton Place in landscape-history books. Suddenly those long vistas, clipped forms and sweeping greens were real.
And that morning they seemed to belong entirely to me.
The camellias were blooming.
I saw only one staff member in the distance before eventually heading back to the inn for breakfast.
Later I returned during normal visiting hours and took a tour. That gave me history and context.
But the early walk gave me something else.
It allowed me to encounter the landscape quietly, before anyone told me where to look.

Sissinghurst Castle Garden, England — 2012
Then came the phone call.
“The National Trust has just opened the Priest's House at Sissinghurst for rentals, and we're going. Sissinghurst! You don't have time to think about it. Just say yes.”
Kris had added the detail guaranteed to weaken my resistance:
Late June. The longest days of the year. Peak rose season.
If ever there were a Mastercard moment, this was it.
Say yes now. Figure out how to make it work later.
The three-bedroom Priest's House sits within Sissinghurst Castle Garden, the celebrated garden created by Vita Sackville-West and Harold Nicolson.
We each brought our guys and made the cottage our home for a week.
During the day we explored other English gardens, stopping at roadside stands for cherries. But the real luxury came when Sissinghurst's visitors went home.
Then we stepped outside.
No tour bus. No schedule. No need to hurry.
Late-June daylight seemed almost endless. In the morning I could walk out with coffee. In the evening we wandered through the garden rooms long after the public had departed.
One evening I danced beneath the rose-covered arbor in the White Garden, just Mike and me.
Another day we deliberately stayed “home” to watch visitors experience our garden. We mingled with the crowds and listened to conversations while curious faces peered through the windows of our cottage.
I was traveling with two horticulturists, so I invited the head gardener over for a drink.
She said yes.
We spent the evening talking about gardens.
Mastercard promises priceless moments.
That week it delivered.
Miller House and Garden, Indiana — 2025
Years later, another garden surprised me in an entirely different way.
A 2025 New York Times Style Magazine feature listed 25 gardens its panel believed travelers should see.
Sissinghurst was number one.
Number ten was in Indiana.
Indiana?
One day's drive from home?
I needed to see this.
The Miller House and Garden is in Columbus, Indiana, an extraordinary small city filled with architecture by Eero Saarinen, I.M. Pei, Kevin Roche, Robert Venturi and others.
At the Miller House, landscape architect Dan Kiley created a garden to complement Saarinen's architecture and Alexander Girard's interiors.
I packed several architectural tours into a very short visit. The Columbus Area Visitors Center called the Miller House staff, who let me join a second bus group—but instead of touring the house again, I was allowed to spend that time outside.
So everyone disappeared indoors.
And I wandered off alone.
I walked beneath the allées, studied Saarinen's house from different angles and moved through a landscape of mature trees, geometry, rhythm and intense green to the river.
There were no great floral borders demanding attention.
That wasn't the point.
The quiet made the structure of the garden more apparent. I could see how Kiley's landscape responded to the architecture.
Again, being alone changed what I noticed.

State Botanical Garden of Georgia, Athens — 2004–2020
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