Category Archives: Vancouver Island

Jennie’s Masterpiece… the story of Butchart Gardens

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I can picture Jennie Butchart, suspended high up in a bosun’s chair, carefully coaxing soil and vine roots into limestone crevices of the abandoned quarry. She had commandeered the vast gaping hole, and now her Sunken Garden was taking shape.

“You’re ruining the country, Bob, just to get your old cement,” Jennie had reportedly chided her husband. A 1952 article in Maclean’s Magazine described it as thus…

“One day in 1909, in a glade sloping to a salt-water bay on the Saanich Peninsula of Vancouver Island… a woman stood on the edge of an abandoned quarry and began to cry.

Jennie Butchart knew the quarry well. For more than three years she had lived beside it. As a chemist in the cement works of her husband, she had analysed its high-grade limestone. She watched it yield them wealth. She knew its moods in the moonlight and at the height of storm. But the tears came because she hated it more than anything else in the world; its very ugliness so fascinated her, she could not stay away. 

The perpendicular quarry walls, twisted from dynamite blasting, dropped sixty feet to a quagmire of two and a half acres of clay. Out of a subterranean spring percolated a muddy creek which fed a deep pond on the quarry floor. A hummock of grey rock, unfit for cement, rose like a spire from the centre… Jennie Butchart stood and cried.

It was then an inspiration came to her, ‘Like a flame’ she was to say, ‘for which I shall ever thank God.”

The Butchart Estate (pronounced Butch – Art) included both their home and the quarry. Now that Jennie’s creativity and determination had been sparked, debris and rocks were replaced or hauled out. Horses with wagonloads of soil trudged back and forth to the site. Douglas firs, cedars and Lombardy poplars were strategically placed – flowering trees, shrubs and annuals would follow. Jennie envisioned colour and vibrancy. To her, the eyesore was a canvas on which to blend a palette of nature’s rich hues and textures. After all, at heart Jennie was an artist… the world famous Butchart Gardens would become her living masterpiece.

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Born in Toronto, in 1866, Jenanette Foster Kennedy was orphaned at only fourteen. Sent to Owen Sound to live with an aunt and her seven cousins, Jennie thrived in her new family. Both intelligent and artistic, she also embraced outdoor life while attending the prestigious Brantford Young Ladies’ College. Yet when offered a scholarship to continue art training in France, the young graduate declined. Instead, she choose a life with her new beau. The eighteen-year-old married the tall, determined, twenty-seven-year-old Robert (Bob) Butchart.

The young businessman was an innovator and within four years had opened Portland Cement Mill in Owen Sound. Portland cement derives its name from England, where in 1824 bricklayer Joseph Aspdin, patented the blend of limestone and clay. He named it after the local Portland stone it resembled.

In 1902, Bob would hear of a large deposit of limestone at Tod Inlet on Vancouver Island, about 20 km north of Victoria. With two daughters in tow, Bob and Jennie moved across the country and soon established a quarry and processing plant. Vancouver Island Portland Cement Company was the only cement-producing company west of the Great Lakes. The company not only pioneered refinements, but was the first to ship cement in sacks, rather than heavy, cumbersome barrels. Fortunes soared dramatically as Bob began to supply cement to facilitate the rapid building in the burgeoning province and beyond.

Jennie did not sit on the sidelines; she earned a certificate in chemistry to work in the firm’s laboratory. Yet her surroundings awakened her artistic inclinations. Re-envisioning her quaint on-site home, she hosted tea, croquet and tennis parties. Jennie was always forging ahead. The magnificent Sunken Garden was completed in nine years and to this day, cradles Jennie’s breathtaking vision. Yet if the old quarry is Butchart Garden’s celebrated centrepiece, supporting works of ‘art’ accompany this National Historic Site of Canada.

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The rambling Rose Garden, blooms with some 280 varieties. The Japanese Garden, its authentic Torii gate, stepping stones, maple and beech trees evoking serenity. The Mediterranean Garden, a celebration of the island’s balmy, temperate climate. The Coast Salish totem poles, honouring the storied culture of the island’s indigenous peoples. And my personal favourite, The Italian Garden – once the family tennis court – anchored by a sensuous arched wall of green, exotic palms and plants flourishing from around the globe.

For indeed, the Butcharts were also avid travellers. A trip to Rome had inspired The Italian Garden, while travels to the Himalayas, the Pyrenees and the orient garnered yet more unusual plants as well as collectibles such as urns, statues and pagodas.

As Jennie’s gardens were designed, planted and flourished – with flowering plums, magnolia, dogwood, Siberian wallflowers, bachelor’s buttons, peony and so much more – her home flourished as well. After numerous expansions, a welcome sign in Italian hung over the door. The lady of the house epitomised the spirit of ‘Benvenuto‘.

Friends began to visit the gardens, they brought their friends, and their friends brought other friends. Soon the garden opened officially three days a week. By the First World War, sightseers were flocking to the garden in tallyhos, on horseback, aboard country trolleys. Now, Jennie flung her garden gates wide open… and left them open seven days a week.

When strangers peered in the windows of Benvenuto, friends would suggest to Jenny that she should charge admission. “Oh no” she’d reply, “the flowers are fleeting. Why shouldn’t people enjoy them? They’re free for all.” Only one sign asked for ‘privacy’, and still does today. Enclosed by white lattice, it was Jennie’s one retreat – her private garden.

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Bob contributed to the thrilling panoply with rare birds, peacocks, pearl breasted pigeons, English and Mexican canaries, water fowl and German bullfinches trained to whistle. He imported 565 Japanese cherry trees to lavishly line the public road to the estate. At the time, its ‘beauty second only to Potomac Drive’ in Washington DC.

The entrepreneur expanded into timber, steamships, shipbuilding, coal, hardware and trusts. He had one of the first automobiles on Vancouver Island and followed it up with imported European and luxury models. With his chauffeur often in the back seat, Bob was known to cruise at breakneck speeds. When he reached eighty, his concerned wife convinced the police to revoke his driver’s license.

It’s said that Bob had the bearing of a distinguished officer, but it seems the self-made millionaire enjoyed life with a wry sense of humour: games of rummy with his servants, given to piping melodies from his beloved pipe organ into The Italian Garden to serenade lovers on evening strolls, offering a doctor who had performed an operation part cash and part world travel for payment… the doctor took him up on it!

It’s reported that in contrast to her husband, Jennie was ‘as blunt as an Irish washerwoman’. Just over five feet, she was a force to be reckoned, one who cared more about the colour flow of her gardens than the cut and fashion of her dresses. Who can blame her that overalls and a straw hat were her preferred garb. She was an excellent storyteller, loved a good earthy joke… she was generous and kind. Each week, a gardener would don high rubber boots, wade into the wishing well to fish out the coins that visitors had cast in. Wheelbarrowed over to Jennie as she sat on her sun porch, she would help package the coins to donate to charity.

As the unpaid official welcomer for the city of Victoria, Jennie entertained dignitaries, conventions and whole army regiments. She hosted tea parties for the poor and the aged, and delighted in drawing word pictures of the flowers for the blind so they could envision them as they savoured their scents. Sharing the enchantment of her garden was Jennie’s gift. Even when, by 1915, some 18,000 people toured the gardens, she refused to charge admission.

During the ‘off season’, the Butcharts embarked on extensive world tours (today the gardens are open year round.) “It seems lonely when the crowds stop coming,” Jennie lamented and Bob agreed, “I can’t understand how some people shut themselves away from their fellow man. Why, I’m never lonely when I can see so many people enjoying themselves every day.”

In 1931 Jennie was recognised as Citizen of the Year by the City of Victoria. In 1938, the ownership of the gardens was transferred to their grandson, Ian Ross on his 21st birthday… it is still in the family today. In 2015, Jennie was inducted into the Business Laureates of British Columbia’s Hall of fame. Their motto – they built, we benefit – seems tailor-made for Jennie Butchart.

As I wandered the gardens, I mused that her spirit still graces the vistas; from the dramatic Sunken Garden to the whisper of maples gently rustling in the Japanese Garden from the dancing fountain to the riots of colour and the vivacious scents of the blooms. It’s recalled that during Jennie’s time, many visitors didn’t realise the property was a private garden. People plucked flowers and fruit from the trees – this meant fewer to give away to hospitals. A few were known to pilfer coins from the wishing well. A family dog and a garden peacock were carried off. When visitors carved their initials on various trees, Bob patiently designated a tree for that purpose alone.

Yet more often than not, their generous hospitality was repaid in kind. When the King of Siam visited, he invited the Butcharts to visit his palace in Bangkok. The following year, the travelling couple gladly took the King up on his offer, spending twelve days as his guests. The Butcharts lived well, both overseas and in their tucked-away haven on the Tod Inlet.

I vividly envisioned Jennie, weaving her way through her garden, luxuriating in the divine setting she had created. Perhaps this last anecdotal story, during the visit of an English explorer, portrays this inspiring lady at her finest.

“I know one flower you haven’t got,” the visitor piped up as Jennie showed off her 5000 varieties. “You don’t have the blue poppy of Tibet.”

Jennie slyly led the visitor to a bed of heavenly blue poppies. “Why that’s impossible,” the Englishman exclaimed. “I just discovered them myself in Tibet!”

And indeed he had, and had then sent one flower from Tibet to London’s Kew Gardens. But Jennie being Jennie, had wasted no time and had already garnered the seeds from the blue poppy. I like to imagine her re-offering the guest a seed or two from the very flower he had sourced.

If only, if only we could stroll through the gardens with Jennie by our side…

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If you go…

The Buchart Gardens are a short drive from Victoria, or hop on a bus

Visit in the afternoon and stay for the free summer evening concerts… Jennie would be pleased with that!

Enjoy dinner in the Dining Room overlooking the Italian Garden, or at the more informal Blue Poppy Garden

Do buy some seeds in the wonderfully stocked Gift Store

Adhere to the Garden’s Etiquette including no selfie-sticks and quiet conversation…

Read more about Vancouver Island’s other inspiring artist I’ve written of, Emily Carr, and of the island itself

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Snapshots on the road to Tofino…

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The Amphitrite Lighthouse, Ucluelet

“Would you like to take their photo,” the dog owner asked without hesitation, already reigning in her three large pets. We had stopped to take a photo of an ageing wooden boat on the main street of Ucluelet.

“That would be great, if you’re sure?” I asked. But the lady, who introduced herself as Janice, was already scooting her three dogs up on the bench that was positioned in front of the Evelyn May. Its once brilliant colours still brightened up the otherwise ordinary street. The fact that it had become an unintended focal point on main street in a small Canadian town, didn’t surprise me.

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Scooby, Honey and Keyna

Vancouver Island is that kind of place, comfortable in its unpretentiousness, resplendent in its natural beauty; an incomparable delight at the continents edge. It took ten minutes or so to get the dogs positioned just right, but Janice didn’t mind. She was more than pleased to display her three adorable hounds and they just happened to be wearing colours that complimented the faded hues of the Evelyn May.

It had been like this, the last 24 hours, chance encounters with many friendly folk. We had made our way from the structured elegance of Victoria and woven along the Pacific Rim Highway towards the ocean, to the wild margins of Canada’s most westerly point.

We had purposely taken our time, stopping frequently when our curiosity was piqued. And there’s been much of that. Sites that we were pleased to have stumbled upon; people with whom we were thankful we had stopped to share a moment.

For Canadians, visiting this part of the country is on most people’s wish list. The surfing, kayaking and whale watching, the seamless marriage of ocean and rainforest, the inviting harbours and superb seafood. The island is a living picture of ethereal beauty, but also home to thriving trade and industry. In the small harbours and hidden inlets are lumber mills and mining, fisheries and canneries, fishing trawlers nestled beside gleaming white yachts.

Cowichan Bay

Cowichan Bay

We chanced upon one such place; Cowichan Bay with its long history as a fishing destination. From the early 1900s, Cowichan Bay attracted sportsmen from all over the British Empire for superb salmon fishing, earning the name of Salmon Capital of the World. It also beckoned celebrities such as Bing Cosby and John Wayne in the 50’s to fish for sport. Tales abound at the renowned local hotel of legendary fishing conquests from those days. It’s a peaceful bay where whales are said to wait patiently for the salmon run; anticipating the feast that will come their way.

The drive took us onwards to the the small city of Duncan, home to more totem poles than anywhere on earth. This is the land of the Coastal First Nations who carve their legends and lore into towering cedar logs. I am transfixed by the vivid colours and enchanting stories that inspire this unique art. It’s here that we met Robert from the Cowichan tribe, one of the ‘people of the warm land’. Robert sat on a bench surrounded by the symbolism of his ancestors, backdropped by a bright red Canadian National railcar. He lamented wryly that despite being drawn to this spot for inspiration, ironically, because of an allergy to cedar, he could never linger long.

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The totems in Duncan

Robert told us that his great regret was never being able to give ancient stories life through wood carving. He took the time to relate his painful upbringing in a residential home, of the wayward ways of youth in his tribe and of better times now emerging in Duncan. I pointed out to him that Mr. Duncan himself was carved in the tallest totem towering nearby, a reminder of the confluence of tribal and settled lands. I asked him whether he regretted living here.

“No, I’m happy in Duncan, it helps me forget the past. I hope you like our town.” Robert said to me with an appreciative smile. “Where are you from?” Skirting the complexities of my life, I told him that I didn’t live in Canada full-time, but that I loved being here and learning about his history.

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Colourful snapshots

“In fact,” I told Robert, “I’m from Alberta originally and hadn’t quite appreciated the vast differences between the coastal and the plains First Nations people.” I was really only now coming to appreciate this. Instead of hunting and subsisting on the buffalo as the tribes of the plains people had, the coastal people had relied on the ocean, primarily on whales. Given that the whale hunt was crucial for survival, whalers were the one of the most honoured members of the tribe. The expedition to intercept, kill and tow a whale home with a canoe in the open ocean was perilous. Not least of which was first the necessity of stitching up the mouth of the whale, so as to not take in more water and thus sink the crew and canoe. Every part of the whale was instrumental for survival. As with the plains people, I sensed there are many aspects from these former days that are keenly missed today.

On we went from Duncan to Parksville where we walked on the tidal flats of Qualicum beach. Rippled sand, Brant geese on their grand migration gorging on eel grass and sea lettuce, the moon pulling on the tidal waters. At dinner our waitress asked where we were headed. “We’re on our way to Ucluelet.” I replied.

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Strolling amongst the ancient cedars

“I hope you’re staying at Black Rock,” she said expectantly. “I just stayed there on my honeymoon, it’s the only place to be.”

“Yes that’s where we’ll be, glad to hear that.” We chatted a little more and I asked where we should stop along the way. She told us the drive was beautiful and not to miss Cathedral Grove.

As we cut west towards the Pacific, we soon found ourselves there. Captivated by the beauty, we ambled through old growth forest where 800 year old Cedars and Douglas Firs tower over ferns and mossy, twisted branches. As eagles swooped over dizzying tree tops, I could appreciate the reverence for the cedar tree. Every part of it was used by the First Nations. The inner bark was woven into mats, baskets, even waterproof clothing. Branches became ropes and the rot resistant wood was fashioned into canoes, houses, totems and ceremonial masks. In fact, the regions first inhabitants simply called it…the tree of life.

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Angelo in Port Alberni

When we got to Port Alberni it was very much in the clutch of a spring chill; a counterpoint to the budding cherry blossoms, the bright daffodils and lime green willows. We walked along the harbour, the pulp mill belching into the misty air, snow lingering on distant peaks. We came across Angelo, sitting on a bench with binoculars, spying across the inlet. He was keeping an eye on the logging unit he had worked with for 38 years.

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An iconic Canadian train station

“I moved here from Italy after the Second World War, through Ontario but I eventually found work here. The pulp mill was hiring,” he told us, his handsome face belying his 80 some years. When I asked Angelo if he had any regrets that he moved to Canada, he shook his head. “It’s been more than a happy life and besides, I have too many Canadian grandchildren to ever return to Italy,” he told us fondly. We talked awhile and shook hands. I sensed he was pleased that we had taken the time to chat, as were we. If I’ve learned anything at this stage in life…it’s to take the time to converse. Connecting with people and hearing their story is always a privilege.

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A colourful snapshot in Port Alberni

We also took the time to slowly cruise the back streets of Port Alberni, chancing upon colourful, striking everyday images. Port Alberni also retains its original train station, a design that is emblematic of most small towns in Canada. Constructed from the same blueprint, these iconic structures have welcomed people like Angelo as they arrived from afar to build a new life in Canada. Now the train tracks are less busy, with once useful cars spruced up for museum pieces or left to rust. A reminder that few things stay the same in life, but also that there is beauty in the old and abandoned, as well as the vibrant and living.

Onwards to Ucluelet where we planned to spend some time, between here and Tofino. As we checked into the Black Rock Oceanfront Resort, a welcoming young man, Mustafa opened up a local map to show us the region.

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On the road, Vancouver Island

“The Wild Pacific Trail is right outside, if you’re lucky you’ll see whales as you hike along it,” he offered.

“Wonderful, we heard the Pacific Rim Whale Festival is on this week, hoping to see some! Are you from this area Mustafa?” I asked.

“I’m originally from the Middle East, I came to work for a summer and never left.” I looked past him to the massive windows beyond the lobby. They frame the Pacific ocean as it pounds against the craggy black rocks.

“I understand why,” I said, full with anticipation of the stay ahead.  Full of new found appreciation for this special place on earth.

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Surfers in the Pacific Ocean