The stone walls stand tall, ivy lacing their faces. Their girth shields the lush vegetation within their confines from the late afternoon sun. Walking along the crushed stone paths I stop to observe bees and hummingbirds retrieving nectar from the abundance of flowers and I pluck a pear from a tree. I take a bite as I sit by a babbling brook which flows from an artesian well near the center of the garden. So this is the mysterious place where the legend springs from.