By Nabooko
Pittsboro, NC – In the 197Os and 80s l knew a lady in Chatham county that was into gardening and flower gardens. Her place was atop a very steep hill. House visible from the highway only if you knew where to look. She dubbed it Hollyberry Hill. Supposedly because of the vast amounts of holly growing there. It was off the main highway. A road that went straight up. It was a breathtaking location. Her yard abounded with plants and flowers. Dramatically large trees surrounded the property. I don’t know how many acres. Always something to see, to gasp about. Good conversation.
I visited there many times in the 1970 and ’80s. Of course, I was a lot younger and energetic. One plant in particular that she grew was a white-flowered bluebell. A rare albino form. She shared a small root cutting with me. It grew well for me and became an established star in my garden. Not many white bluebells around in those days.
© Brian Robert Marshall and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.
As always, time and changes made my visits less frequent. That lady and her husband died, I believe.
In the late 1990s. Although I pass that driveway a hundred times a year, I never drove up there to see what was going on with the gardens. I just assumed one of her children was occupying the house. And knowing they weren’t gardening enthusiasts, I didn’t want to know what had happened to all the plants and gardens.
That was years ago. As I pass that driveway, I still think about Hollyberry Hill and all the wonderful plants that once grew there. But recently, with all the leaves off the trees, I noticed the house on the hill was no longer there; totally disappeared.
A few weeks went by, and I saw no activity. Curosity got the best of me. I decided I was gonna visit and see what had become of the gardens. The holly and everything else. There were no “NO TRESSING” signs.
I parked in that driveway, just off the highway. I would walk up that steep hill. Which appeared to be a mile high. I’m ninety years old. I never realized it would be so difficult. It was straight up. All the way. Weeds and vines covered most of the driveway. Deep ruts made footing uneasy. I was exhausted by the time I reached a plateau where I was positive the house and gardens had been.
So disappointing. There was nothing left of what I remembered. No Hollyberry Hill! Huge tall trees were cut down and just left. There is no sign of the house or the gardens. My search for the original white bluebell patch ended. Exhausted and disappointed, I headed down the driveway. That steep hill. I was more worn out than I had expected. Frequent stops to untangle the vines and briars that trapped my feet. It was a painful and torturous trip down to the car. Who would ever have guessed? How something so wonderful could just vanish?
Where did Hollyberry Hill and the memories go? My surviving rare white bluebell probably knows. But it is closely guarding the secret.
Could the same happen to me and my beloved gardens? White Bluebells may ring, but they don’t talk.
