Stranica 447 [447]
BLOOMFIELD
ZS) go to the garden at Bloomfield, you leave the
GE hee main road five miles west of the University of
| Virginia, cross the crest of a hill and descend into
the chill, damp atmosphere of a little hollow, which
6 ) Ht rates seems to have a cool climate of its own, no
ES matter how hot the day elsewhere. 1hen the lane,
whose red clay banks are hung with honeysuckle vines, leads up
a steep incline, and you find yourself at the gates of Bloom¬
field. ‘The lawn, shaded by elm and gingko trees, slopes from the
big brick house on the summit down to the gates, where the road
separates, forming a huge circle up to the door.
The garden cannot be seen from the front, although you may
go into it through a small gate in the hedge; but the proper
entrance, and the one most used, is from the door at the east end
of the house. Descending the steps, one first emerges from a mass
of box-bushes and spiraea grown to the height of trees. Ihese are
probably the oldest plants in the garden, unless the veteran oak,
which towers above the tiny masonry of the bird’s bath, is more
ancient, and next, I am sure, is the gnarled old seckel pear tree in
a far corner, still bountifully bearing its reddish-gold fruit in the
fall. However, there are a number of shrubs, quantities of figs,
and some roses still living which were also residents of the orig- _
inal garden, planned and planted nearly a century ago by Paul
Goodloe, a native of Louisiana, who built the house.
When the box-trees are passed, there spreads before one a
level plateau, enclosed on three sides by a high hedge, at the foot
of which is a wide, well-kept border of flowers. In the center
of the plateau stands a summer-house, built of stone by the present
owner, with tiled floor, vine-covered, and cool even in the noon¬
day sun.
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