IT feels like it is in the middle of ‘nowhere’, silent and tranquil, but ‘nowhere’ is actually in the heart of Sydney, nestled in Lavender Bay. In a location that wouldn’t be out of place in J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan, a garden has been cultivated through one lady’s artistic expression, a Sicilian head gardener named Corrado, various friends over 25 years, and a team of two-hundred volunteers. 

Four handmade and hand-painted fairy houses hide within the twists and turns of sandstone-laid and mulch-covered pathways, reinforced by recycled railway sleepers and fences made from twisting tree-limbs.

‘No straight lines, that’s how Wendy likes it’, said Ian, a volunteer gardener.

It isn’t manicured or horticulturally-inspired, it’s feeling, movement, and contours; it’s art. Corrado laughed, ‘For 25 years, everything is bent, out of shape, [yet] some people look and say ‘wowww’, it’s like they get a natural high!’

A curvaceous, one-hundred-year old Moreton Bay Fig rests alongside Wendy Whiteley’s house, its branches like arms reaching forth. Its trunk is a reminder of past lovers, while pockets between the branches form windows; each holding snapshots of Sydney. You could get lost in here. Briefly, I DID get lost in here, but that adds to the magnetism this ‘secret garden’ possesses.

When travelling in her elevator through the brick tower attached to her 1907 heritage property, Wendy laughed, and said that passers-by get frightened with ‘arghhhs’, as ‘they see me levitating’, perhaps with pixie dust. But today, she is sitting around her dining room table attending to life. ‘It’s slightly derange - I’ve made it up, so I don’t know if it’s correct French or not, it just sounds better than a mess’, she said with a cheeky smile. 

I walked over to the elevator, before disappearing into the office below; a room with a Van Gogh-like day bed nestled in the corner, desks with tribal crafts, views that inspired Brett Whiteley’s award-winning collection, and books, plenty of books. A door closed and heavy footsteps approached. It was Corrado. 

‘What are you most proud of?’, I asked.

With a single breath, ‘EVERYTHING’, he replied. 

He paused, his heart showing in every utterance, ‘Every little bit, I’m proud of it. Cos there was nothing here. For me, I treasure everything. It’s a nice place at the bottom just to look, and relax, and think of nothing.’ 

‘It’s gorgeous, I said, before strolling towards North Sydney Station, passing jogging groups, a young man and his dog, and an older gentleman having tea. With a sandwich in hand from a local café, I pondered, ‘Where am I going to eat?’ before realising, ‘Wendy’s Secret Garden was pretty perfect…’ So I made my way back.