Some weeks ago, Brett had casually asked me if I'd like to see the famed 'Mayfield Gardens' in Oberon. Now imagine your dogs face when you're holding his favourite stick, -just about to throw it...Dog=Cath! Whoohoo! Not just any old outing, certainly not the bog-standard "I get to go and buy groceries on saturdays which is peachy and lovely because it means I get out of the goddammned house", but a genuine NEW thing. A real, proper adventure to a stately garden complete with picnic and visit to Farmer's markets.
As is quite usual with amassed Lockley-adventures, I offer to put together the picnic side of things. This is because (a) my mother is famous for stating that she has 'tonnes of food', when in fact, she has a jar of pickles and a mandarin and (b) If this was going to be a proper outing, it required a proper picnic, i.e. one that I would look forward to eating. So Friday saw me at Woolies buying enough ingredients to feed your average army regiment and Saturday morning saw me whistling in my kitchen assembling sammiches, coleslaw, seasoned vine tomatoes, fruit salad etc. Rule of thumb being; if you're feeding four, cater for 89 people at least.
The only thing that worried me was that it was suddenly BLOODY cold, and that the skies loomed threateningly...
Worry #1: Would it actually dare to rain? On my outing day? Really???????
Worry #2: I was packing a summery-picnic. A wintery-picnic is quite a different animal and requires thermoses of steaming hot soup/crusty bread etc...
But of course, now that I am a MUM, I am awfully philosphical about such things, and take all obstacles in my firm but nurturing stride, all the while ensuring that my family is happy and content....I certainly don't have mini-meltdowns or anything like that........
Anyway anyway, 8.30am saw us in the car with a summery picnic heading down the picturesque Diamond Swamp Road to Oberon in convoy. Mum and Dad took the lead, which meant I had a grumbly husband (for whom 60km/hr is rarely an acceptable rate of progress) and ensured a few wrong turns with us chasing them, beeping the horn, flashing the lights and making frantic phone-calls...
"Mum, you're going down the wrong road.."
"Nonsense catherine, I've been to Oberon this way TONNES of times!"
erm, no you haven't..
"The left turn through Tarana is a bit quicker though Mum.."
"Oh well,...I suppose we'll turn around then...."
Miraculously, we arrived in Oberon at about 9.30am and trotted into the grounds of St.Barnabas for the monthly Farmer's market...at which we managed to purchase eggs and asparagus. Not quite the haul I was hoping for, but I comforted myself with the fact that at least none of the stallholders were pretending they had any fresh produce this early in the season...unlike Bathurst FM...with Bananas and Tomatoes "picked this morning"...(in a pig's eye!).
It was bloomin' FREEZING too. Dad started making grumpy noises about it not being a pleasant enough kind of day to visit the gardens, -maybe he'd just stay in the car etc...WHAT?? NO! My perfect outing will NOT unravel!!!...No, you will NOT be heading home, yes you WILL get your bony bum out of the car and into Mayfield...and NO, I will NOT be brooking any arguments in this regard....here, hold the baby...
20 minutes later we were on the way to the gardens. I didn't actually hear the rest of the grumping (being in a seperate car) but I know it happened, not least because the entry price at Mayfield is $25 per adult, and no-one wants to pay that to be cold, wet and miserable, especially not pensioners on a pretty tight financial leash...
After driving quite a long way out of Oberon (at one point I sincerely questioned the property address...surely 'outskirts-of-Goulburn' would have been more accurate?), we ARRIVE. Oddly, in this field in the middle of nowhere there are literally hundreds of cars and people! and although I would have sworn there were no other cars on that back road, here they come behind us in a festive convoy! I start to get that bubbly-excited-tummy thing...this must be some kinda special garden!
In we trot through stone walls and mass plantings of rhododendrons. We are 10 metres into our 100 acre romp and already my mind is reeling with just how ridonkulously wealthy these people must be. the entrance passage alone must have cost about the equal of 10 normal residential properties...at a conservative estimate.
First stop, -coffee shop. Anyone who knows my Mum will appreciate that this was inevitable. It is still cold and overcast though, so a big Earl Grey and a plate of scones was quite appropriate. It also gave us a chance to feed the monkey. Vittles complete, we follow follow follow follow the yellow-brick road (which was neither yellow nor brick, but I was getting the distinct feeling that we were most definitely NOT in kansas anymore) to the first installment of "Oooohs and Aaaahs!"...The Obelisk.
Around another immaculately designed corner and you come to the WATER GARDEN.
This little 'folly' is about the size of the Japanese gardens at Darling Harbour. And it's just the entree.
Gardener: "Excuse me Lord and Master, how many Lilies would you like in the water garden?"
Owner: (loftily and with a slightly distracted air) "Oh, I don't know...every kind? how many would that be, do you think?"
Gardener: "About 2 million m'lud"
Owner: "Golly. How much will that cost?"
Gardener: " The GDP of a small nation?"
Owner: "Proceed underling".
I can only imagine the conversation that must have happened around the hundreds of azaleas, rhododendrons, blueberries, silver birches, stone bridges and bloody waterfalls...the SOIL...the MULCH...as you can probably surmise, my poor little low-income brain was already starting to seize.
At intervals, there are expensive signs informing one of the inspirations behind each 'folly'. No, not signs. Zoo's have signs...these were more than signs...Apparently the Lady-Of-the-House has been rather inspired by the Royal gardens of Europe. Y'know little ol' Versailles and Sandringham and such. So she's pretty much set about recreating the bang lot. I know I keep harping on about the money but when someone has enough to merrily recreate gardens that Kings and Queens would be OK with...we're talking mind-blowing wealth.
Further we trot, mouths agape, much like the kiddies in Willy Wonka's factory. Incredibly the water-garden section turns out to be a bit 'tame' compared to the next bit. Gently sloping forests of Birch, japanese maple and chestnut, underplanted with rare azaleas, solomon's seal, water-lilies nestled in artistic rivulets, lawns of emerald, columbines, rare iris varietals...it's the kind of garden you kind of thought might be possible when you were 7. The kind of garden that I sincerely doubt any spider or creepy-thing would even DARE to think about residing in.
Then, winking through the trees, you get your first glimpse of the house...residence...palace....whatever. And yes, I felt rather like Elizabeth Bennett seeing Pemberly...exceptin' that I don't even know, let alone yearn for it's son and heir, but I digress.
At this point, after 2 and a half hours of walking, or tummies were starting to scream 'picnic', so we headed back past the 'aviary' (iron and gilt palace for birds), private family chapel (think Sacre Couer) and the amphitheatre...yes, amphitheatre.
Oops, I almost neglected to note the (ahem) 'Greenhouse' the size of a 6 bedroom dwelling, with only 12 varieties of lemon tree, limes, tomatoes, ponds etc and the quaint walled pottager and vegetable garden complete with espaliered apples and pears.
By this stage, I was so impressed I was nearly dead. Truly. And I looked at the gradient of the path leading up to the family chapel and decided to see that another day. Final stop at the toilets and we're off to our picnic! It's 2.20pm...but as luck would have it, just near the dunnies there is a courtesy-bus to take lazy sods up to the chapel, so Brett and I wait in the carpark-field while Mum and Dad whiz off to the chapel...where Mum (shockingly) decides to delight fellow visitors with an impromptu performance of Gavin's 'Pie Jesu'...I guess 2013 won't technically be a Lockley premiere at Mayfield after all....Does anyone else (I mean like, in the universe) have a mother that randomly sings in public places? Or am I just lucky?....:-)
So, we pick-a-nicked in a far humbler Oberon park, and headed home...and oh how HUMBLE appeared my paltry gardening efforts that day.
My gorgeous 5 month old son slept through the whole thing :-)
(1) You can't take in a picnic.
(2) Allow 3hrs + to walk about...this isn't a 'garden' (despite the tricksy name) it's an estate grande.
(3) I am not very wealthy at all.
(4) I know where I'm headed if there's a Zombie apocolypse ('cos they're rich people, it's probably just a country-house, therefore they probably won't be home, and quite frankly, even if I couldn't find the keys, I could live in a chook-house very comfortably)
(5) Despite their reasonably ostentatious display of mind-boggling wealth, there's something very admirable in a person who pours their fortune into a garden.
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