Late Winter at Butchart Gardens: Part Two

Visiting Butchart Gardens (see yesterday's post for more) in late winter means fewer people and more opportunity to wander about. I went alone and took every little pathway, finding nooks and crannies that I had not previously noticed. Normally, the paths lead people in one direction, keeping the flow of traffic going in one direction. In a moment of whimsy, I decided to trace the route backwards, beginning with the Japanese Garden, where the miniature irises glowed blue. 
 

Water features are a major part of the Japanese Garden. The sound of water trickling through bamboo, gurgling over small rocks, and flowing along pathways, is inescapable. On a hot summer's day, this is the coolest spot in the garden.
 

Stepping stones lead through a pool. Notice the red railings on the bridge in the distance. I'm imagining taking two little girls here in a few years - wouldn't they have fun on these stones? Wouldn't Nana be watching carefully? 
 

Rhododendrons just beginning to flower. I plan on returning in a couple of weeks when even more colour will be visible.

 Moss abounds here, along with ferns. 

In the Rose Garden, there are no roses now, but tiny English daisies smile sweetly.

 I noticed the structure of these rose bushes - masses of blooms in summer, now bare.

I took this photo from a pathway above the quarry. This is the area where Jenny Butchart began her garden - filling in the empty quarry with soil, plants and trees. 
 

Bright pansies top a trash container, beautifying even the mundane. 
 

 Blooms in a rock wall. We've had a lot of rain recently, but my time in the garden was dry, and as I left, there was even a bit of sunshine.

It takes an army of people working hard to keep this garden pristine and beautiful. Here's proof. Our daughter-in-law worked at the gardens during high school and university. She worked in the entrance and directing traffic.
 

One of our son-in-laws grew up on the grounds of the garden. His family lived in a house overlooking this cove. He tells a story of going down to the water one day, getting in a boat and setting off on his own - aged 4 or 5. His mother rushed down to see him in the middle of the cove, unable to navigate on his own.

 

One last bunch of crocuses! Have a wonderful day!