The Remarkable Caroline Dormon: Guardian of Grandpappy and Louisiana’s Natural Heritage

July 19, 1893

On this day, my dear gardening enthusiasts, I bring tidings of the birth of a most remarkable woman—a naturalist, botanist, ornithologist, prizewinning horticulturist, painter, archaeologist, historian, author of six books, and loyal daughter of Louisiana: Caroline Dormon.

Her intimates called her "Carrie," a diminutive name for a physically diminutive woman who was, nevertheless, a veritable force of nature. Though small in stature, she possessed opinions as formidable as ancient oaks regarding the natural world.

And—one must note with a raised eyebrow—she steadfastly wore dresses throughout her life, considering trousers quite the scandal.

One wonders what she might say about our modern gardening attire!

Carrie entered this world at her family's summer residence, aptly named Briarwood—a place that would become her sanctuary and legacy. In the roaring twenties, while the rest of society danced to jazz and sipped illicit spirits, our Carrie constructed a writing cabin christened "Three Pines," surrounded by the towering trio that inspired its name. With a confidential tone, she informed friends it served as "a place for daydreams."

How many of us yearn for such a retreat among our beloved gardens?

By the 1950s, a second cabin emerged at Briarwood. In a delightful display of hospitality toward our feathered friends, Carrie regularly removed the window screens each spring, extending an open invitation to wrens seeking nesting quarters.

What a charming gesture from a woman who understood that gardens belong as much to wildlife as to humans!

At her beloved Briarwood, Carrie crafted woodland trails, planted hundreds of specimens, and—in a touch that reveals her whimsical devotion—installed a reflecting pool for "Grandpappy," her most treasured arboreal companion on the property.

This Grandpappy, I feel compelled to divulge, is a longleaf pine of considerable distinction who continues his stately existence to this day. Estimations place his age beyond three centuries—a living witness to history that predates even the founding of this nation!

There exists a particularly delicious anecdote about Grandpappy that Carrie shared with visitors. When an impertinent forester once attempted to "core" Grandpappy to determine his precise age, Carrie interceded with the splendid retort:

"It's none of your business how old Grandpappy is, or how old I am for that matter."

What a magnificent defense of dignity and privacy!

One cannot help but admire a woman who extended the same courtesies to a tree as she demanded for herself. In our modern age of endless documentation and measurement, perhaps we would do well to remember Carrie's wisdom—some things in our gardens deserve their secrets.

Carrie's legacy reminds us that a garden is not merely a collection of plants but a sanctuary for dreams, for wildlife, and for the expression of one's deepest convictions.

Her Briarwood stands as testimony to what a single dedicated soul can create when in communion with nature.

Would that we all might leave such an enduring green legacy!