Meandering paths lead off into the woods from the new house, some wending their way back to the old house. On one such path, there is a large, sunlit, native meadow, not one planted by Brooks, but already existing, with old cedar trees at its center. “This is my favorite bit,” Brooks says of the meadow. “It feels like the still heart of it all. Apart from a mown path, the only thing I do is stop it from vanishing.”

There is passion in Brooks’s feeling for the land, here or anywhere she makes a garden. England defines her sensibility to some extent, particularly in her use of hornbeam and lindens, uncommon here, and her lavish, unusual treatment of boxwood. And yet, there also exists an easy interplay with the wild, a desire to let nature have its way, which seems very American. But Brooks’s gardens are each of their place, whether on Long Island, in Connecticut or in England, allowing the singular character of the setting to be celebrated. “It is all emotional,” she says of her work. “It is all there to be spoken to.”