Visiting the Jardins de quatre-vents in August 2024
The gardens of Francis Cabot, known as the Jardins de Quatre-vents ("gardens of the four winds") in the sleepy but stunningly beautiful small town of La Malbaie, Quebec, are said to be transformative, changing anyone’s life who passes through.
I was privileged enough to visit the privately owned gardens in August 2024 during one of the scheduled tours offered during just three Saturdays in a year. (I set my alarm and purchased tickets months prior, in March 2024, the very day they went on sale because tickets generally sell out within just 24 hours of release).
I have to admit that when I first watched a documentary about the gardens, called "The Gardener" (2016) I was skeptical as to how a garden could be so transformative. Yes, I’ve visited great gardens before, including the extensive gardens at Versailles and the mystical gardens of Quinta da Regaleira in Sintra, Portugal, and yes they have been stunningly memorable. If not downright magical. After a nearly four-hour visit through the expansive, almost folkloric gardens of Les quatre vents set amongst the stunningly beautiful hills and estuary of the Charlevoix region of Quebec on a clear sunny day, I think I now understand the singular magic of these gardens.
First, an introduction to these gardens. They are the product of the visionary Francis Cabot, an American gardener, horticulturalist, and financier from the prominent New York Cabot family. In 1989, he founded the Garden Conservancy. At the same time, he was renouned for his personal gardens around the world. His gardens in La Malbaie, in the Charlevoix region of Quebec, cover more than 20 acres and feature a myriad of stunning features and themes, and are home to rare plants.
Entering the private Cabot estate as a part of the public tours is a bit like entering a sanctuary, though you know it is not yours. These visits are extremely well organized and well managed, from the moment you park and "check in" near a stunningly beautiful birch tree-lined lane, where the tours begin.
From the bucolic waiting spot under the shady birch trees, we finally begin our tour. The tours are offered in English and in French, but the English tours are the most popular, as most of the visitors to these gardens are from the United States. Visitors drive from all over the East Coast and fly in from all over the United States - I was on a tour with a couple who had flown in for the weekend from San Francisco just to see the gardens - to take one of these rare tours of the storied gardens. We set off down a lane, and first approach the family’s private home, lovely and inspired by French Provincial architecture. It was built in the 1950s, by Francis Cabot’s mother; he inherited the property and added on the expansive gardens.
The first stop is a fragrant herb garden that hugs the side of the French-inspired residence. The herb garden features a carefully tailored selection of herbs that emit their soft fragrance in the hot and humid August air.
In these initial gardens, which are close to the house - the rooms look out on these tidy, lush green spaces - are charming cedar topiaries that create a bit of a labyrinth, opening into various outdoor "rooms" each containing small surprises. A functional bread oven in one. Topiaries in the shapes of couches and ottomans in another, creating a surprisingly cozy ambiance and almost Alice in Wonderland type atmosphere. My favorite contained a weeping rock, tucked behind a small maze, unassuming but spectacular. The magical little weeping rock was so unassuming and hidden so well that almost everyone in our group missed it, except for me and maybe one other person who caught onto its presence. A gift for the quiet and observant. I later went home and tried to research how to make a weeping rock; it's a secret, apparently. The first of many magical surprises in the Cabot gardens.
After the cedar labyrinth gardens near the house, the garden experience is just beginning. It begins to sprawl and amble leisurely out away from the house now. An area with carefully curated perennials, ensuring blooms are present all season long from spring to fall. A rose garden with stunning and fragrant specimens. Sweeping vistas of the mountains are contrasted with tight, almost claustrophobic corridors made from cedar hedgerows and other shrubs. These mazes open to hidden fountains, and then become tight again before releasing you out onto a lawn with another sweeping vista.
Speaking of the lawns, there is a lawn of grass, clover and thyme that smells like a spa - or maybe heaven - as you walk across it.
Around one corner, you are greeted by a goddess from India. Around another, there is an archway. Then the scene pans out again, and you are witness to an incredible view of the Laurentian mountains. Forced perspective and optical illusions help create this magnificent scene, a place of magic, not unlike the creative and fantastical gardens of places I visited in Sintra, Portugal.
A goldfinch takes in some of the inky black water. A chickadee lands in a cedar branch. A cardinal flies by. What astounded me was that the birdsong actually evolves and changes as you move from one space in the garden to the next. It’s curated nature, creating a multi-sensory experience. Certain shrubs, trees and flowers are planted to attract certain species, and so the ambiance and mood shifts.
I particularly loved walking from the carefully curated gardens and open, lush green lawns into the woodland, only to emerge in an area with a garden inspired by Granada, in Spain. Arab influences were apparent wth the reflecting pools carefully designed in a grid, and surrounded by tidy cedar hedges. Arches and mirrors added to the effect.
Then we were back into a woodland, and another. It was not a native Quebec woodland - I could tell, because I have lived in Quebec for decades and explored many of our province's beautiful wild spaces, but rather a curated woodland. It contained trees that grow in Quebec but plants in the understory were clearly collected from around the world, decidedly unfamiliar to the local environment. I can't decide how I feel about this: was it a story of a colonizer going into the lands to take, or the colonized having foreign lands imposed upon it? This may not have been an impact or question he intended, but through my present-day lens, I did consider this. Why did he seek to so dramatically alter the native forest?
I pondered this for only a moment before we stumbled upon another tidied-up woodland featuring a little gazebo with gilded music stands that was built only to host a live string quartet. It was honestly so charming, though also spoke the story of a man who could afford such indulgences: live music in the middle of a forest.
Then we came across the gardens' famous Chinese bridge, which was a bridge in a half-circle, modeled after similar structures found in China. the bold, half-circle shape of the bridge makes a complete circle with its reflection in the perfect, still pool of inky-black water below it.
At that point, each surprise we encountered in the gardens seemed to be bolder than the last. Next up was the pigonniere, a tower in the woods, hosting a hidden bedroom and tea room (we were unfortunately not invited into those very private spaces, though the documentary does show inside and it reminds me a bit of Marie Antoinette's Petit Trianon). This stunning and luxurious feature was hidden by more carefully-designed cedar hedges as well as whimsical statues of woodland creatures and frog bands. There was even music playing dixieland music in one corner and classical in another through hidden speakers. Not unlike Versailles, or even Disney World, which are other outdoor spaces that also channel musical recordings to set the mood.
Perhaps most astounding of all was a Japanese tea house, which we encountered next after another journey through the woodland path. This remarkable architectural feature, situated at the bottom of a slippery path in the deepest and darkest part of the forest that we had been through up to that point, had been created by a Japanese craftsman who took 7 years to build it. What I noticed was the scent, the beautiful scent of the aging wood that was used to construct this incredible place. there were ferns, plants and flowers native to Japan throughout the area surrounding the tea house, and I wondered how they survived the harsh Quebec winters. Perhaps it helped that they were positioned in a protected gully area.
We climbed up a path surrounded by waterfalls, lily ponds, reflecting pools and channels of water gently directed by bamboo pipes. These engineered features prompted several of the members of our group remark upon their excellent craftsmanship. I noted the excellent energy of the area; the atmosphere was stunning, with the combination of the humid, dark forest, the damp soil, and the gentle water features.
We carefully climbed uneven and beautiful wabi-sabi paths out of the gulley. We passed underneath breathtaking Tibetan-inspired suspended bridges (which, unfortunately, we did not go on; the liability might have been a little too intense to take large groups on those!). What I loved around the bridges were the primulas, or primroses, interspersed throughout the Japanese ferns and Chinese flowers and maples. These are a highlight of the gardens, as a certain cultivar of primula is unique to the gardens. We then climbed up some of the slippery stairs and into another woodland. The primulas continued to grow here, helping us transition from our journey through the Asian-inspired gardens back to a Quebec woodland of sorts.
At that point, our group was “running behind” according to our increasingly nervous volunteer guide (I am not sure why he was so nervous, unless he was being scored on how long we were allowed to physically be in the gardens... it had felt like we'd only been there 20 minutes, but well over 3 hours had already passed). That was the worst part of the tour: I am a little bitter about the fact that I could not get lost in that winding pathway among the stunning and unique primulas. I took two pictures of the primulas, tall and beautiful, their red and pink colors contrasting with the rich emerald greens of that woodland... I loved them. The small, twisty, meditative woodland path finally opened up and released us to another stunning vista of Charlevoix.
We arrived at that point at the backyard of the family house. We were back at a residence, with an old pool that seemed a bit like a relic, like it had seen lovely, happy days that were now passed. There was a recreation area for a family that might no longer have any need for it. That was when the residence took on a haunting quality to me; it felt like something out of a bygone area, that was maybe still loved, but not actively in service anymore. At last, we reached an area called the vegetable garden. In reality, it was an expansive space set up to supply a summer full of feasts. It was full of brassicas and rhubarb - yes, that was what was producing in Charlevoix's short, cool summer - and beautiful flowering tobacco, cornflowers, and hollyhocks.
After the vegetable garden, we were released onto the lane that took us back to our cars. It was a bit like emerging from being immersed in a movie or film set. It felt like I had stepped out of reality for those few hours, and it was going to take a little bit of time to come back down to real life.
Afterwards, I definitely found myself transformed by the experience. The gardens as a whole were clearly an intimate and very personal vision by an intelligent, sensitive and worldly man who had this at once understated and yet extravagant way of expressing himself. It was also a product of its time: borrowing from so many cultures from faraway lands, a signal that the man had the time, luxury and money to do such travels in the first place. Although I questioned his choice to impose nonnative plants and features into what is already a stunningly beautiful environment here in Quebec, I still respect his vision and can also understand it through the context of his time. To judge him too harshly would be hypocritical; we, the visitors, were privileged to afford the tickets and the time to go see these magnificent gardens.
Everything about the gardens was entirely transformative and transportive; it transported me to another time, another space, another world, for an afternoon. My perspective of nature and of gardens in general shifted dramatically with the experience of visiting these gardens. It was almost like taking a masterclass in gardening in just a few hours. I think what I am most inspired by is not the specific plant or architectural elements of the garden, but instead by the overall creativity and artistic vision that was foundational to the experience. It was a space created by someone who used the natural world as a paintbrush.
In my opinion, this wasn't really a horticultural garden or an educational garden or a garden dedicated to preservation. It’s a garden of unabashed luxury and beauty and understated elegance. Of simplicity and the sublime. A love letter to inspiration from around the world, of trips and memories and people and places lost to time and committed to one man's memory. It’s a garden that pays tribute to what gardens were meant to be: playgrounds, follies, beauty, an ode to the divine Goddess (or whatever God/god you believe in). A rich celebration of the senses. Of eternal life, and also of death. I thought of the people who created and enjoyed these places and thanked them. I wished I had something to offer them, and to the garden itself, but it had so much to offer and so much beauty any gift other than appreciation seemed to pale in comparison. It also didn't ask for anything in return, other than to spend a few hours of my life immersed in it. And that is what I did.
For more information about visiting the Jardins de quatre-vents (I have no affiliation with the gardens and paid for my own ticket), visit https://cepas.qc.ca/jardins-quatre-vents.
