Secret Sanctuary

All photos courtesy of the Outer Banks History Center SECRET SANCTUARY

Digging up vintage photos — and fresh dirt — from 70 years of the Elizabethan Gardens.

It takes serious grit to build on sand. And if you think driving pilings for beach boxes is tough, try laying the foundation for a botanical garden. Planting box hedges and English roses. Propagating camellias and butterfly bushes. Transforming a wild tangle of Roanoke Island maritime forest into a manicured slice of 16th century England. “Sometimes I wonder why they even put a garden here, because of the relentless winds and weather,” says Carl Curnutte, executive director of Elizabethan Gardens. “And when you look at old photos, you can see they took out most of the trees. So this remarkable greenery basically grew from nothing but sand and briars.” Sand, briars and a seed of inspiration. When Ruth Cannon, Hylda Henrietta Brooke, and Inglis Fletcher first saw the Lost Colony in 1950, the three society ladies and avid gardeners were so moved they felt compelled to memorialize the settlers. Before the night ended, they’d had an epiphany. “They said, ‘What if the colonists had thrived here?’” Curnutte says. “‘What would their home estate gardens look like?’ Then they decided, ‘Let’s create a garden to remember them by.’” In 1951, the ladies presented their idea to the Garden Club of North Carolina, who agreed to lease two acres from the Roanoke Island Historical Association. Two years later, they began construction. And come August 18, 1960, they opened the gates to a sprawling ten-acre sanctuary of native species and flowery imports that honored both the Outer Banks’ roots and the Elizabethan Age. “The formal structure — the sunken gardens, the statuary — is very much 16th century,” says Curnutte. “Then the native gardens have the oak trees and the indigenous plants. It’s a blend, because that’s what the settlers would’ve done — tamed the wilderness and brought in exotic.”

Since then, the two approaches have only grown more intertwined. They’ve added elements that preserve history. (A gazebo thatched in period style; royal roses sent by Elizabeth II herself.) While also offering up modern perspectives. (The new John White Butterfly Center not only engages young minds, it promotes awareness of endangered pollinators.) But the Gardens’ strongest appeal is what they’re not: another bustling tourist trap for an already too-busy beach. Rather, it’s a place of solace. An escape to a more peaceful time from our not-so-forgotten past. “I love when local families come here in the offseason,” says marketing associate John Buford. “Beach kids are running around getting grass stains instead of sandspurs. It’s a homegrown atmosphere that’s so nostalgic — yet new.”

This fall, as the Gardens celebrate 70 years, visitors will discover more nods to days gone by. Outside, the gazebo sports a new roof (using 1500s materials and methods, of course). Inside Odom Hall, centuries of backstory will hang on museum-quality placards. And there’s an even more noteworthy milestone in months to come. “While working on the placards, we realized there was so much material we couldn’t cover it all,” says Curnutte. “And there’s never been a book done about the Gardens, so we’re very excited to begin working on one.” So are we. In fact, we couldn’t wait for a final product. Instead, we asked Curnutte and Buford to share a few discoveries, then dug up images to illustrate the stories. What follows is a small selection of what we unearthed.

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Pitching in Pinehurst, circa 1955. “It’s important to remember that the Gardens’ were really a statewide effort by the Garden Club of North Carolina,” says Curnutte. “And we still receive funding from dues and countless clubs across the state. So, it’s their vision, and their support, that have nurtured us all these years.” Photo: John G. Hemmer

GARDEN OF EVES

If there’s a single lesson to the Gardens’ origin story,

it’s this: never underestimate a woman with a vision. The second these ladies dug into the project, they labored tirelessly to achieve their goals. Raising funds. Working connections. Making the moves and pulling many levers at a time when men still ruled the world — at least on the surface.

“You have to remember this was 1950,” says Buford. “Women didn’t run companies or sit on boards back then. Single women couldn’t even open bank accounts without a male co-signer. But the garden club had connections all across the state. So the ladies would talk to their husbands, who talked to their friends and colleagues, and ultimately things got done that way.”

Of course, it helps when your husband is the owner of a major textile company and a noted philanthropist — like Ruth Cannon. Or an influential British statesman. (Hylda Henrietta Brooke’s hubby, Sir Evelyn Wrench, founded the English-Speaking Union of the United States.) It also helps to be a noted North Carolina author and historian, like Inglis Fletcher. Add a network of 17,000 club members — and the associated annual dues — and, before long, these master string-pullers secured a top landscape architect. (The internationally renowned firm of Innocenti & Webel.) And sourced rare 16th century statuary. (More on that later.)

As they skillfully managed the project from behind the scenes, these ladies shifted people’s perceptions. So much so that when it came time to dedicate the Gardens, the men couldn’t help but take notice — and give credit.

“At the dedication, Senator Frank Graham gave this speech about what these women did here,” says Buford, “and he compares them to all these historic, courageous leaders from Eleanor Dare to Elizabeth I to Eleanor Roosevelt.”

Seven decades later, all but two of the 17 board members are female, and nobody says “boo.” All because a handful of driven ladies forged the path that ultimately helped change the social landscape of the world around them.

“It was their vision that built this garden, and made sure it continued on for 70 years,” says Curnutte. “That’s quite remarkable.”

Flower power, 1973. Despite being an “amateur gardener,” Louis Midgette was a true pro when it came to propagating plants. “Here, he’s holding some award-winning lilies,” says Buford. “And in 1976, for our bicentennial, Queen Elizabeth II sent a rose to our garden in a pot of dirt — and that’s still growing today.” Photo: Aycock Brown

FLORAL FATHER

Got a locally grown Leopard Plant? Perhaps purchased an azalea at one of the Gardens’ seasonal sales? Thank Louis Midgette. The Gardens’ first superintendent spent 28 years planting and caring for tens of thousands of specimens, sourcing new finds and sharing the results.

“He brought in over 500 different species,” says Curnutte. “Back then, they had a lot more trouble getting plants. There wasn’t a Lowe’s or Home Depot, or even that many nurseries and greenhouses. So it really rested on ladies from the garden club and around the state, helping him to introduce new plants.”

A woman in Raleigh brought hydrangeas from France. That leopard plant? It originated in Africa. At one point, Midgette even grew rows of pure Cackalacky tobacco.

But the former Coast Guard engineer is best known for the camellia garden that bears his name — and with good reason. “The camellias were on their way here — and so was a hurricane,” Buford recalls. “The plants made it, but the peat moss — which you traditionally plant with camellias — got held up. Mr. Midgette realized he needed to get these plants in the ground, because the rain from the storm would be perfect to water them, so he improvised by collecting whatever boggy material he could find. A few years later, they were winning awards.”

No wonder so many larger gardens tried to lure away the self-trained retiree over the years. But he gladly stayed put. Pouring countless hours of sweat equity into every plant. And while he retired in 1987 and passed in 2000, his memory lives on in every precious seed, stem and flower.

“We’re still propagating Mr. Midgette’s plants today,” says Curnutte. “As they mature we cut and divide them and put them in our shop. So whenever you take a hydrangea or camellia home, nine times out of ten, it’s one of his.”

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Heavy lifting, circa ’54. Louis Midgette and Ed Whitaker (front) and Buddy Jolliff give this 16th century lion couchant a permanent home — with some mechanical help. “It took a dump truck nine trips to carry all the statues here from Georgia,” says Buford. “Then RD Sawyer’s family loaned Mr. Midgette a wrecking truck to place them all in the perfect spot.” Photo: Elizabethan Gardens Collection

marbled history

While plants and trees define the landscape, it’s

the statues that shaped the design. After all, in the beginning, the idea was just to preserve a couple acres of open space. Then the Garden Club caught wind of a potentially timeless element: some precious 16th century statues that needed a new home.

“The water god font, the sunken garden, the benches, steps that lead to and from — those are all part of the Whitney collection,” says Buford. “And our garden’s architect, Richard Webel, totally changed his plans once he learned about this treasure trove. That’s how we went from two acres to ten acres. That’s how we ended up with a real Elizabethan feel.”

To backtrack, the Whitneys were a wealthy New York family who were selling their sprawling Georgia estate. At first, they’d planned to donate the former plantation’s priceless yard art to their Manhattan neighbors, the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Then their contractor, E. W. Reinecke, had a suggestion.

“Mr. Reinecke was from Fayetteville,” Buford explains. “He was married to one of the garden club members. He said something about the statues to his wife, and next thing you know, Mr. Webel was calling the Whitneys and saying, ‘Hey, we have this project honoring the Elizabethan era and we think your statues would be an amazing addition.’ And Mr. Whitney loved the idea.”

The Garden Club of Georgia, however, did not. In fact, they sued to keep the precious art from leaving the Peach State. Fortunately, the suit failed, and, ultimately, all the pieces found their rightful spots here — including a particular balustrade that bears the Farnese mark.

“The Farnese family was one of Michelangelo’s patrons,” says Buford. “It might even be one of his ‘seconds.’ But, nonetheless, these fountains and the birdbaths are some of the oldest European artifacts we have in this country. And they’re also the types of pieces that would’ve made their way here back in the 1600s, so they’re a perfect fit.”

Looming large, 1970. “It’s not the oldest live oak on the island, but it’s definitely one of the tallest,” says Buford. “In the early days of automobiles, locals used to hitch ropes to the branches and pull the engines out.” Photo: Aycock Brown Papers. 1970

ANCIENT OAK

Among acres of exotic blossoms and stately greens, one native feature looms larger than

life: the mighty ancient oak. Not just because of its impressive size, but its immense history.

“This oak was here before the gardens were the Gardens,”says Buford. “And Mr. Midgette said he believed he found an old Native American path nearby — though we can’t say, obviously. But the tree dates back to the 1500s, so we know it was here at the same time the settlers were.”

They also know they’re determined to keep it alive. In the 60s, the board added airplane wiring to brace the branches against heavy winds. And when the tree came down with a mystery illness, they called in NC State for a most experimental treatment.

“It was like chemotherapy for the tree, basically,” says Buford. “They drilled holes in it and poured in the chemicals, like an IV. They even had to get permission from the Department of Agriculture, because these chemicals had never been used in the United States before. They also bricked it up — which we know not to do now. But it all worked out, because it’s still there.”

Not only is it there, it continues to thrive. Today, families take selfies in its shade – or play by its roots. Just like they have for generations.

“We like to think maybe even Virginia Dare played underneath it — you never know,” says Curnutte. “But people love this tree. It holds a special place in the community’s heart. In fact, every time we have a storm, it’s the first place I check to make sure it’s still standing.”

Dreamtime for actors, circa ’71. “Who knows what was going on in Morrison Grove back in the 70s?” laughs Curnutte. “And Terrence Mann — who went on to do Cats — remembers a pretty wild performance of Alice in Wonderland in the 80s. Now, we’re more likely to do blood drives, or art classes, or host the Girl Scouts for sleepovers, so the Gardens are used more by the community at large.” Photo: Aycock Brown

As a public site, the Gardens play a prominent role

in bringing people together. Colorful Easter egg hunts gather families each spring. Potato sack races and hay rides thrill kids each fall. Winter Lights give the holidays some extra glow. But some of the most eye-popping displays date back to its original roots and ties toThe Lost Colony.

“During Joe Layton’s time as director, he created a program called the Professional Theater Workshop,” Curnutte recalls. “It was a way to allow actors to immerse themselves in other plays and studies during the summer.” Lawn. There were children’s plays. String concerts. Manteo’s 400th birthday celebration drew in the likes of Walter Cronkite and Princess Anne. But some of the craziest spectacles occurred in the swinging 70s and 80s, when spirits were high and the actors ran wild.

“This picture looks like A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” laughs Curnutte. “And Shakespeare in the Gardens certainly makes sense. Besides, in Elizabethan times, they tried to make the gardens as eccentric as they could. Not just with different plants. Sometimes they had huge parties where they’d bring in exotic animals. It was everyone trying to outdo the other, so this image is actually pretty appropriate.”

so much drama

Immortal beauty, 1997. “From the beginning, people realized there are two elements to our garden,” says Buford. “It’s not only in honor of the lost colonists and the Elizabethan era, it’s also in honor of the people who helped build the Gardens over 70 years by donating plants, statuary, benches, fountains. It’s a collection of gifts — which is then a gift to all of us.” Photo: Mike Booher

A DARING VISION

The Gardens’ most impressive statue isn’t from the 16th century.

But, in many ways, the iconic Virginia Dare sculpture best embodies the Gardens’ classic form and timeless appeal. All thanks to a woman with true determination — and uncharacteristic vision.

“It’s a remarkable piece because it pictures Virginia Dare as a woman who assimilated with her surroundings — instead of conquering them,” says Curnutte. “But then Louisa Lander was very ahead of her time.”

Born in Salem, MA, in 1826, not only did Lander learn to sculpt in an era when most women wouldn’t dare — she expatriated to Italy as a single, twentysomething to learn from the masters. While stopping over in England, Lander visited the British Museum and was captivated by John White’s sketches of 1500s native culture. She wondered, ‘What would a grown-up Virginia Dare look like? Upon arriving in Rome, she cut a marble pillar into a stately blend of classic form and Algonquin style.

“She’s topless, like a classic sculpture,” Buford explains. “But she’s clad in a fishing net from the waist down. Also, they put a heron at her side, instead of a dog. So she has these native elements, but she still looks very Greek.”

Fitting, when you consider the statue’s impending odyssey over the coming decades. While sailing home, she sank in a shipwreck off the coast of Spain. She was later salvaged and sold to a New York collector — only to survive a fire and be sent back to the sculptor. Upon Lander’s death, the statue was bequeathed to the state of North Carolina, who hid her topless form in a basement for years. Finally, they gave her to Lost Colony playwright Paul Green as a celebratory honor — only to have him send her to Roanoke Island’s Waterside Theatre, where she suffered still more isolation.

“She sat backstage in a crate forever, because the play didn’t have a use for her,” says Curnutte. “But one night Paul Green had a dream where he saw her in the Gardens. And he said, ‘I’ll donate the statue to you, but I get to pick out the spot.”

That was 1955. A half-century later, Virginia Dare still sits where Green placed her. Shadowed by live oaks, surrounded by greenery, she remains a centerpiece of natural beauty — and a constant reminder of the ceaseless efforts that’ve kept the Elizabethan Gardens thriving for 70 years — with more breathtaking creations to come.

“She’s kind of like our own Venus De Milo,” says Curnutte. “Elegant. Natural. Immortal. And much like this beautiful garden, she persists.”