in the walled garden, all cares distant and forgotten. But there’s always that nagging doubt about withdrawing from the world. And these country homes hide secrets in their stones and histories, Arcadia came at a price. But I’m not righting the wrongs of the world on this last, steamy day of the summer, I don’t have the answers. I’m happy passing through for an hour, chuckling with Pan and and the other stone figures lurking in the glades and under the canopy of the cedars.