On an uncrowded day, the margins of the estate take on a slightly menacing air as the statues grow more hurricane-ravaged and the landscape becomes wilder.

At the back of the grounds, an “Area Closed” sign hangs on an otherwise unremarkable chain-link fence overgrown with vines. Pulling aside the vines reveals another garden, abandoned for the moment, waiting for the funding or interest to restore it to its former state.

The restoration of areas like these is actually increasingly likely. Over the least few years, Vizcaya has had an increase in traffic and notoriety, and there has been a corresponding increase in the funds available for upkeep and restoration. They’ve already renovated large swaths of the house and gardens, and another major project is planned for later in 2015.

These projects are undoubtedly good for the site, but it’s unlikely that they’ll fully erase the feelings I experienced wandering the grounds. When he built the estate, Deering wanted the house and grounds to have a timeless, ancient feel; he re-used elements from older buildings in some places and artificially weathered the building materials in others. He needn’t have bothered. The salt and storms of the Florida Coast have done his job for him, and Vizcaya feels — as it probably always will — like a place lost in time.