I had not recovered from that trauma when I received a call from my friend Charlie Thigpin, senior writer from Southern Living. He asked how the Japanese maples looked and could he send down Gene Bussell, garden editor, and Ralph Anderson, senior photographer, the next week, maybe to prepare a story for next spring’s issue of Southern Living. I still had some hysteria left, so l said, “Come ahead.”

I got lucky and was able to obtain Angel DeLeon and Roell and Orlando for a day to weed eat and work on the creek. Gene and Ralph stayed for two days, and it was a thrill to watch a professional photographer at work.

They left, and as I lay writhing on the creek bank, I suddenly remembered that the garden tour was only 10 days away. Battered and bruised, I crawled to the phone and called Angel, who agreed to give me one more day with his two cohorts. They arrived five days later and finished the creek banks – the first time the creek had been totally cleared in 40 years.

Bless my sweet daughter Suzette’s heart, she came down for two days a week before the tour and helped paint the pump house and stain the pergola, then she came back for the tour to help wherever she was needed. The morning before the tour I cut all the grass again, did my final watering and went to bed knowing there was so much more that needed to be done.

Saturday morning, the morning of the tour, I popped up at daybreak, loaded all my tools, gas cans and cutters onto my tractor’s trailer and hid it up in the woods along with my three lawn mowers and finished cleaning the carport. Donna Young, my straw boss, along with Gale and Bob Langley showed up at nine and planned their final strategy.

Top: Ralph Anderson photographing Shell’s garden.
Bottom: A group of Shell Garden tour volunteers.

I fully expected about 50 to 75 to show for the tour; the number was closer to 300. I must have promised 50 people I would show them how to graft Japanese maples and another 25 how to build a water element like mine. That should keep me busy the rest of the millennium. Two days later I am able to take a little water and a bit of gruel as my strength slowly returns. I walk out to my greenhouse and pot a few native azalea seedlings (more like 50), and as I walk back to the house, I see a gentleman strolling through the trees. I call out, “Hi, how about a tour.” It is Pat Dye.

We spend a delightful two hours talking about his passion for Japanese maples and plans for his future Japanese maple garden as we sit at the pergola and listen to the music of the water. What a nice climax to all the insanity, and just think, I won’t have to clean the place again for another 40 years!