The Country of Hedges

I have never seen hedges like here in this country.
No country does hedges like England.
They're a work of art.
Every great country has something that just sets it apart.
And hedges may be what sets this little, once-mighty island in the rain and mist apart.
That's right. The hedges.
We drove down through the South Downs this weekend -- just a beautiful part of England. Rolling green hills, tidy little brown brick villages, winding roads, old country pubs.
But it's the hedges that get me every time.
Seven-foot high, perfectly curved or ramrod straight, not a branch out of place, just going on and on all over the place.
Amazing.
Maybe I should take this further, though, and say gardens are what set this country apart.
Spent some time with two amazing gardeners this weekend.
Both men.
Both really proud of what they can make come out of this great ground of ours.
One showing me his seedlings, what he's planning for this spring, what's coming up soon in his lovingly-tended garden.
The other, pictures on his cellphone of the big garden he creates and maintains each year. One of those big formal English gardens. That go with a big stately house.
I was humbled by both of them.
By their love -- and tending -- of mother Earth.
It's not surprising, I guess.
They're both from the land of hedges.