Stourhead: Fairytale Landscape

A lovely start to this week: a visit to Stourhead, one of the National Trust estates. We arrived on a slightly misty, wet, and gloomy morning—the kind of weather that doesn’t just threaten rain, it makes promises of it. Forewarned by modern sorcery (my phone’s Weather App), we came armed with ancient technology to ensure dryness: the mighty umbrella.

Map in hand, we set off. First stop: the walled garden, where a long greenhouse housed a vast collection of beautiful Pelargoniums. Leaving through the old stableyard, we could already tell we were in for a treat.

Beyond the stableyard gates, we took the main path up to the magnificent house. A pleasant peek inside, though since it’s not related to gardens or nature, I’ll leave it more or less there. I’ll just say, it had the sort of opulence that makes you stand up straight. From the house we chose to follow the original 2.2-mile garden path once used by the Hoare family (former inhabitants). I remember thinking: if I walked 2.2 miles in my own garden, I’d probably end up with a circle—or worse, a shallow hole in the lawn.

Off we went, along the first path surrounded by blips of autumn colour, then arriving at an elevated viewpoint overlooking part of the lake and its Palladian bridge, perfectly framed by trees. From there, we descended in a short gentle zigzag down a tree-covered hillside, the canopy dripping from all the recent rain. At least one rhododendron was in flower, much to the delight of the busy bees. The wet, glossy leaves looked at their very best, and the smell of damp woodland hung in the air—a reminder not to let rain become a barrier. It wasn’t a warm and sunny day but it was another kind of experience altogether. A wonderful one, at that.

At the lake, the show truly began and right on cue, the heavens opened. Umbrellas deployed, we walked through the downpour, which only heightened the dramatic scenes of autumn we were enjoying so much. Theatrical undulations up and down, intertwined with open light areas and deep shaded parts, monster trees, and stone-lined tunnels leading to points of interest like the mystical Grotto. Even the soundscape changed as we walked through the different sections—rain on the tree canopy and lake, trickling water, and moments of muffled quiet or echoing as we passed through tunnels. A metaphorical stream of sensory tonic—stirring, immersive, unforgettable.

The grounds are a landscaping masterpiece. The lake is a stage, and temples, grottos, and bridges all play their parts. You don’t so much walk around Stourhead—you float. Each bend reveals a new scene, like the panning of a camera capturing a panorama. The planting is restrained but evocative. Mature trees anchor the drama, while rhododendrons and azaleas offer seasonal interest.

Among the lakeside structures, the Pantheon stands out—perched above the water with a fantastic view. A place to contemplate eternity or, failing that, enjoy a coffee (as we did).

The Grotto deserves its own paragraph. Damp, echoing, and mythical, it’s the sort of place where nymphs might clock in for work. I half imagined the voice of a mystical creature whispering, “Pssst, follow me!” Or perhaps it was the path itself reminding me I don’t live here and do, eventually, have a home to return to.

Stourhead isn’t a showy plant garden—it’s a cultivated, tree-heavy experience. Confident and expertly shaped by human hands. There is a great variety of trees, but it’s not an extravagant botanical collection, nor an arboretum either. Stourhead is a beautiful naturalistic landscape, just as intended. Maintenance is immaculate without being sterile. Even the fallen leaves seem purposefully arranged.

Wiltshire’s soul is present in every view. Stourhead is a state of mind that surely speaks of love for the outdoors. It clings to you. You leave feeling slightly more grounded, slightly more contemplative, and slightly more inclined to write a blog about trees—for no particular reason at all.

Here is said blog, complete with photos!!!

Back home, the first winter frost arrived this week—calm, white, and unannounced. Not as dramatic as Stourhead—but then, I don’t have a country estate to play around with. The garden had frost in patches. It won’t be long before the last remaining plants lose their leaves or quietly bow out until next year. There are plenty of positives to take from the seasonal changes, as I’ve mentioned before, but even so, it’s proving a bitter pill to swallow.

Some Pelargoniums from the collection: