“Oh, what a beautiful sunset. Too bad I can’t see it,” Barbara says, peering from the west facing sunroom through Japanese maples, a stewartia, and variegated dogwood. Indeed, the view is obstructed, somewhat by intention, but mostly by the passage of decades of growth.

No doubt, my wife’s objections are pointed towards me, and I readily confess my guilt. I planned the garden and planted it, and while blocking the view was not the goal, I prefer the everyday vista of marvelous trees to the occasional lovely sunset.

Thirty-five years ago, this property was selected for its proximity to a small creek and sliver of forest, and with the expectation that as the low point between hills, the soil might be siltier than the surrounding clay. And, while houses on neighboring properties would stand back from the road, this one was closer, with a much shorter driveway that would demand less shoveling of snow but also with a much deeper rear section of the property where I could develop the garden.

I have minor regrets that we were unable to afford at the time a property with views of the nearby Blue Ridge Mountains, but this would have greatly complicated my obsessive planting of trees. I dream of planting in natural rock outcroppings, but instead, I’ve had to haul in many tons.

At the low point between hills, the trees now obscure views of houses on the far slope where cows once grazed, but also the occasional colorful skies as the sun sets on the horizon to the west. Instead, we view Japanese maples with leaves of varied textures and colors and flowers of the dogwood, stewartia, and a tree lilac. Moss covered stones border a two level pond where birds perch on the ice, sipping from the slowly moving water that remains unfrozen through the coldest nights of winter (below).

Squirrels frolic through the branches of the mature trees, and in the privacy of this wildlife sanctuary, deer and foxes are frequent visitors with many more unseen guests in the dark of night. Birds chirp and frogs ribbit. Not a bad tradeoff.