Celia and I went to two gardens today. The first, Ickworth House, could be used for one of those BBC dramas where everyone sweeps about in gowns or brocade footman’s outfits, and there’s lots of intrigue but they don’t actually do much.

It was fascinating to see, but I wouldn’t have wanted to live here, whether I was royalty or a servant.

Then we went to Wyken Vineyards.

This is the house. I’m told it’s a “gentleman farmer’s house” and not a grand estate. Really? (By the way, although the grounds are open to the public, this is a private home.)

The garden designer is a master of color and composition. I’ve never seen a garden with these hues of reds, oranges, maroons, yellows and greens. With sharp blue for punctuation. It worked! Every bit of it. Here’s the back of the house.

Better yet, hens live here.

And showy peafowl.

There’s also sheep and llamas, turkeys and guinea fowl. Vegetable gardens, a nuttery, and a maze. And a meadow planted with wildflowers.

I didn’t see any ponies or goats. But that could be easily remedied. And then it’d be perfect.

I’m on vacation, so this will be brief and incomplete!

Wendy took me to a charming, very old British town. There are many of these villages, but we went to Rye to shop for vintage things. Here’s a view of from the church steeple.

We parked next to a feed store, so of course we had to pop in there first. I found these boots in a dusty sale bin!

After buying an egg cup and a marvelous tin bucket, and eating fish and chips on a pier, we went to Marle Place. Sweeping lawns, layers and layers of flower and plant beds leading into woodlands, a greenhouse with orchids, a large vegetable garden, and statues fill the grounds. This is only a hint of what is there.

But Wendy hurried me through. Why? She wanted to get home to see how Babs was doing. Eggs were due to be hatched by this very reliable, very good hen.

And they were.

Today we visited a private garden in Kent. It is more fantastical than this photo shows. Every view, every corner was an artistic composition. There was beauty, whimsy and superb plantsmanship (that’s not a word, but it should be.)

It’s off to London tomorrow!

I am staying here.

When Wendy moved in four years ago, what surrounded this 1830’s cottage was lawn.

Okay… moving on from extreme garden envy…..

We visited her friend, Jane, who raises champion Sussex chickens.

I’m told that proper Sussex don’t tear up lawns. It must be true. Jane’s birds are raised outside on grass. Look at this pen.

I’m also told that proper Speckled Sussex look like these hens. Don’t tell Lulu!

I’m flying to England tomorrow!

I’ll be met at the airport by Wendy. You know a person is a good friend when they’re willing to brave the traffic to Heathrow, and then wait in the craziness outside of security for you. Wendy is a gardener, chicken keeper, artist, rose pruner, tortoise maid and blogger. No surprise what we’ll be doing – visiting gardens and chickens, and vintage shops and stopping for tea. This is one of the properties we’ll see.

After four days, Wendy will hand me off to Celia at a rendezvous in London. The city will provide Turkish food and galleries, and then I’ll be off to Celia’s beloved Suffolk. Celia is also a gardener, artist, chicken keeper and blogger. She doesn’t have a tortoise, but she does have a couple of studio assistants who might get off their beds to greet me. Or not. Celia is going to take me to galleries and ancient British towns. I only have two days with her before she and her husband drive me back to London (are these good friends, or what?!)

Both Wendy and Celia drink gin and tonics. I never have. They each have a favorite gin and a favorite tonic. I will be doing a taste comparison.

If all goes right with my electronic gear, I’ll be able to blog and post photos. Then again, I might just relax with those gin and tonics and catch up with you when I get home.

My goats are short and tubby. Depending on the time of day their bellies will be round or rounder. If they’ve just eaten, their left sides (where the first of their four stomachs is) will stick out further than the right. My goats, being Nigerian Dwarf Dairy Goats, are beautiful, but not exactly svelte and agile. See what I mean?

We all know that superheroes have have meek daytime selves. Who’d have thought that geeky Clark Kent could fly and have x-ray vision?

My goats have superpowers. They can squeeze through anything. Of course, like any good superhero, you never actually see them doing it. You never see Clark Kent in his undies while he’s changing, do you?

On Saturday Steve noticed that Caper was grazing on the lawn. Pip was still in the paddock.

Notice that the gate is closed.

Look closely, though, and you’ll see that Caper had lifted the chain on the bottom off it’s hook. That’s not a superpower act – that’s simply being a clever goat.

Still, it takes superpowers to squeeze through that gap. Caper, the main superhero goat, had gone first. His sidekick, Pip was all set to follow.

But, Steve was now watching. So, Pip looked all innocent and bleated to be let out. A superhero never gives up his secret.