A Rambling Garden Is a Tribute To One Couple’s Love for Litchfield and Each Other
By Paul Marcarelli
Photos by Ryan Lavine
Even before Sylvia and Jay Abbott were given keys to Marshfields, Sylvia had her hands in the soil. Elizabeth Renshaw, the elderly owner of the 1790 Litchfield farmhouse, wouldn’t sign the contract, it seemed, until she could observe how this young mom handled herself in a garden.
What Miss Renshaw didn’t know was that Sylvia is fourth in a line of avid women gardeners. Gardening is in Sylvia Abbott’s DNA.
50 years later, Sylvia is a revered member of both the Litchfield Garden Club and the Garden Club of America, a floral designer, educator, and recipient of GCA’s Katharine Thomas Cary Medal. But her crowning achievement is Marshfields.
The garden as it appears today began in 1973 with a yew hedgerow separating the yard from surrounding fields. Asked if she had worked from a plan, Sylvia responds with characteristic modesty. “Over time the garden tells you the plan. I just plant things I like.” Marshfield’s plan is to play with your senses: Countless perennials mingle in harmonious profusion, while buzzing pollinators and the susurration of the surrounding meadows whisper permission to touch plants assembled for texture as much as for their visual attributes. And the individual fragrances from heirloom roses, lilac, and mock orange all take over where the others leave off.
A rare private tour with the owners is likely to start in the ancient barn, once Litchfield’s Catholic church, which was moved from South Street after a fire in the 19th century. There, Jay hosts game dinners with homemade grappa under a sign that reads “No Whining.”
In Marshfield’s orchards you start to realize just how personal this place is. The old peach tree served as backdrop to Sylvia’s favorite photo of their three grandchildren. The quince tree produces the Abbott family’s favorite Christmas gift of membrillo and Manchego. “The kind of gift that makes it look like you know your stuff,” Jay says with a wink.
One pear tree has produced just four pears in 50 years. “But we love it,” Sylvia says, patting its trunk for encouragement. And she can’t bear to remove a massive fallen apple tree. “We’ll just see what we can save.”
Jay then points out a sapling that didn’t take. “This one has to go, Syl,” he says, snapping off a brittle twig for emphasis.
“Well, don’t be too mean. Wait and see,” Sylvia replies, still holding out hope. At the mention of a Youtuber that advises against sentimentality while gardening, Sylvia scoffs, “If it’s not personal, what’s the point?” She then indicates a stand of trees and shrubs planted for friends and family near, far, and long-deceased. “That one’s Dot and Clayton’s,” she says. “The one over there we call the Millard’s tree.” She cranes her neck to admire a towering thuja beside it. “Mom brought me that one in a coffee can. And this chestnut tree here went in after a trip to Paris while the chestnuts were in bloom.”
“April in Paris…” Jay whispers wistfully, sharing a knowing look with his wife of 63 years.
In order to ensure this love will live on far into the future, the Abbotts have put 30 acres of Marshfields into a conservation easement with the Litchfield Land Trust. At the parcel’s center sits a pond the couple put in decades ago. “I thought it was nuts,” Sylvia confides, “Then I figured, he doesn’t gamble, he doesn’t drink that much, and as far as I know he doesn’t have a girlfriend, so why not let him have his pond? And anyway, he promised me an island. How many people get their own island?”
