Exploring Serpentin Garden
It was a melting hot day in the wildest depths of Greece when I emailed Doris Schlepper to say I’d heard about her garden and was staying just around the corner if she wouldn’t mind a visit.
A Serendipitous Garden in Greece: Discovering Doris’ Wonderland
It was a melting hot day in the wildest depths of Greece when I emailed Doris Schlepper to say I'd heard about her garden and was staying just around the corner if she wouldn't mind a visit. She invited me over that morning, and I went without preconceptions, for Serpentin Garden is not widely documented.
Doris' playground, attached to her Pelion home, was far more spectacular than I ever imagined. It's sizeable, for starters—roughly three-quarters of an acre—and its boundaries impossible to distinguish amid all its lofty foliage. It has a pond, a plunge pool, a showstopper of a glasshouse, fountains, art and animals (both the live and stone kind). It unveils itself in layers, revealing curiosities and treasures with every dip, step and bend.
I spent the morning as Alice in her wonderland; only Doris was far kinder than the Queen of Hearts. We spoke at length about the intricacies of her garden—where she'd found the mannequin legs that now sprout a thorny bouquet from the hip, how she'd saved a cactus (that bloomed that morning!) from a bin, and what life is like when she's snowed in here in winter.
When her friends arrived, she invited me to sit at their table for a drink and a natter, which I did before skipping out of her blue, iron gates on a botanical high.
Published in Blumenhaus, Art & Botanical Review. This is a personal edit of the story, featuring outtakes not included in the final piece.
The Latvian Birch Sap Bottler
With the help of his family, Ervins Labanovskis runs BIRZĪ, both a shop selling artisanal birch-based products and the world's first sap tree park. I'm visiting him in late autumn. The sky teases the odd ray of light but is otherwise on the cusp of crying.
From his home-slash-production site in the woods of Latvia's Smiltene region, Ervins Labanovskis harvests birch sap, transforming it into organic drinks and syrups.
With the help of his family, Ervins Labanovskis runs BIRZĪ, both a shop selling artisanal birch-based products and the world's first sap tree park. I'm visiting him in late autumn. The sky teases the odd ray of light but is otherwise on the cusp of crying. The ground is licking at my boots, a sporadic bush dons a vivid red ensemble, and the leggy trees are showing off their blonde tresses.
The window for sap extraction is a slim three weeks in spring, so though I don't catch the action live, Ervins gives me a tour of the land, an insight into his process and, most enjoyably, a thorough tasting session of the finished goods.
His workshop, creatively decorated with offcuts of wood and dried flowers, has a small tasting station. Here, Ervins serves sparkling birch sap concoctions in celebratory style, pouring them into champagne flutes. These are non-alcoholic and flavoured with herbs, fruit, and spices—hibiscus tea turns the festive blend a pretty pink.
What better way to sample BIRZĪ syrup than drizzled over perfectly cooked pancakes? In their log-clad cottage, Ervins' wife, Livija, whips up a tall stack for us to enjoy around the kitchen table. We're joined by their three children for a feast that will undoubtedly stay forever lodged in a cosy corner of my memory.
Onwards, to the steam pan—a stainless steel tub for boiling and evaporating sap when making syrup. It removes impurities and, to my delight, fills the air with atmospheric smoke.
Ervins demonstrates the use of a refractometer, a handheld device used to measure the sugar content of plant juices. He also proudly poses with his fermentation drums and wonders at my (purely aesthetic) fascination with the gravity filters that hang from a drying line like clothes.
A low-lit basement houses Ervins' lab-style experiments, some more successful than others: the glowing bottles of dandelion wine will not go into production. Here, I sample another BIRZĪ creation: a strong, smoky and wonderfully warming shot of balsam—a spirit long consumed across the Baltics and my new favourite Latvian bevvy.
Photography assignment commissioned by National Geographic Traveller for their "Meet the Maker" series. This is a personal edit of the story, featuring outtakes not included in the published piece.