The Magic Forest of the Trochu Arboretum
Prairies to Badlands: Locally Grown Stories
Stories Rooted in Community & Event Partnership
Location: Trochu, Alberta | Logged by: The Gallivanting Gals
If you’ve ever dreamed of stepping into the pages of The Secret Garden, the Trochu Arboretum is waiting. Right in the heart of the prairie, it feels like a secret kept by the land itself—winding paths, blooming beds, and the quiet kind of magic that only grows when nature and community have cared for each other for decades.
The moment I stepped through the gates, I was carried back—not just here, but into memory. My grandparents’ gardens on Vancouver Island, three-quarters of an acre where the house was small but the flowers seemed endless. Summers with my grandmother, wandering through the gardens of the Netherlands, then Normandy, treating hedged estates like cathedrals. The Arboretum stirred it all back up: bees humming, bare feet on grass, the reminder that gardens are never just beauty—they’re memory made visible.
What we thought would be a quick one-hour chat with Carol Anne—the facility manager, head gardener, and self-declared “keeper of the chaos”—slipped into more than two and a half hours of wandering, listening, discovering. Every turn was another story. Another corner worth pausing for. We weren’t just hearing about the Arboretum. We were living it.
The perennial garden alone could stop you in your tracks. In summer, borders burst into jewel tones: magenta coneflowers, fiery orange daylilies, the sunny cheer of black-eyed Susans. Lavender sways alongside Shasta daisies, while hollyhocks stand tall like guardians in shades from blush to crimson. Turn a corner and blues of delphinium take over, rich purples of salvia crowd close, begonias flash their bold fire-reds. It doesn’t stay still; it shifts, it moves, it pulls you forward.
And just when you think you’ve walked straight into a painting, the Arboretum lets out a laugh. Kobe the koi—massive, slow, his name cheekily borrowed from the Japanese word for sushi—glides through the pond. Garden gnomes pop up like they’ve been caught mid-mischief, faces frozen somewhere between innocent and sly. It’s impossible not to smile. Impossible to hurry.
Some trees here have seen more than a century, like the wych elm carried over from England more than 100 years ago. The bog garden, once a bare patch, now cradles a secluded pond lined with perennials and a stone path leading to two chairs. A stump sits nearby—practically begging for a game of tic-tac-toe with painted stones.
The Arboretum breathes with the seasons. In summer, it’s buzzing and blooming, a patchwork of colour and life. In winter, it transforms. From December 1 to January 1, the Forest of Lights turns it into a glowing wonderland, firepits lit and hot chocolate warming cold hands. It has been a backdrop for weddings, birthdays, reunions, tours—for moments people carry with them.
When I asked Carol Anne what she was most excited for with the upcoming Prairies to Badlands Dinner Series at the Arboretum, she didn’t hesitate: “Just making the Arb shine. Showing it off. Showing what’s possible in rural Alberta.”
While there are no public tickets available for this September’s dinner, we can’t encourage you enough to visit the Trochu Arboretum for yourself. In the middle of the open prairie, it’s a forest, a garden, a gathering place, and a love letter to community. It’s proof that even in the wide sweep of grassland, something lush and magical can grow—and with it, a thousand stories.
This is the kind of place where you could lose an afternoon… and find yourself again.
‘Til our next wander,
The Gallivanting Gals
What they offer:
A picturesque prairie oasis, the Trochu Arboretum & Gardens is more than a botanical showcase — it’s a stunning venue for community events, celebrations, and gatherings. With vibrant perennial beds, shaded paths, and tree lines shaped by the prairie winds, it offers a naturally beautiful setting in every season.
