Twelve rainy seasons.
A garden of this size is not designed and delivered. It is planted one season at a time, by people who intend to stay.
The land as it was.
Sixteen acres on the Nosara River, cleared for cattle decades earlier and then left. Like most of Guanacaste, the forest had been taken for pasture, and what grew back was the fast, thin scrub that claims a hillside once the big trees are gone. The river still ran the length of the southern boundary. A few old trees stood where the cattle had wanted shade. Everything else was a beginning.

The first tree goes in.
On 27 May 2014, at the start of the rains, Dandapani and his wife Tatiana planted a coconut palm. It was the first tree. The following month, with a friend who had flown in to help, they planted a hundred and nineteen more into ground that was mostly rock and clay, under a sun that gave nothing back. It was the hardest planting the estate would ever make, and it is why the tallest trees here are the age they are.

Learning the land.
The land taught, and the planting listened. A tree that failed in one place thrived a hundred metres away, so trees were moved until they were happy. The Papagayo winds come down the coast from November to April and took their share in the early years. The rains drown roots on low ground and the dry season bakes the slopes, so water was solved for good: a well drilled to a hundred metres, and a concession, granted for a ten-year term, that transfers with the estate.
Not everything survived. What did is standing where it wanted to be.

The gardens take shape.
The palm walk was laid out and, in a single season, nine hundred trees and plants went in. The northern fence line was planted with red and white bougainvillea. The next year every tree was tagged and catalogued for the first time, and that ledger grew into the register you can walk today. The hardwood forest was begun in 2018, the first bamboo planted in 2019, and in 2020 the owners moved to Costa Rica to make the gardens their daily work.

The canopy closes.
Twelve rainy seasons on, the trees have closed over the paths. They are past adolescence: tall enough to shade, old enough to flower and fruit. The howler monkeys came back on their own. So did the motmots, the coatis and the crocodile on the river. Some nine thousand trees and plants from four continents are in this soil, and every one of them is recorded.
None of it can be bought and delivered. It can only be handed on.

“When you buy land, plant trees first.”The old counsel the gardens were built on









