When I started my garden on a bare piece of ground twenty years ago, I never could have imagined that it would develop into what it is now: intensely planted multi-tiered layers of garden rooms housed on a steeply sloping one half acre property.
This garden of mine has gone through several transformations, as have I as a gardener and as an individual. It reflects where I am in my life. Now I am the steward of a very mature garden, a property where I must renovate in order to feel infused with the exhilaration of observing plantings develop from their infancy onwards within the context of a new design.
Perhaps it was 5-7 years ago when my garden was at its best for wooing visitors. At that time, it offered extraordinary color and plant combinations as well as terrific bones. It also made visitors realize that it was possible to transform a cookie cutter development home into a property that one might find in the countryside of Italy. People ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ as they meandered through.
But something has happened since then that represents an evolution in my philosophy of what constitutes a garden. Rather than a high maintenance, startling beautiful design, I have found myself compelled to let the garden develop into a more naturalized state, without it crossing over the line into a state of chaos (although sometimes it gets pretty close to it).
I am no longer interested in arduously maintaining my garden. Nor am I terribly concerned when I observe a specimen randomly seeding itself. It is only when it begins to crowd out other plants that I pull in its wings and pull out some of its seedlings. And whereas I used to get a thrill in creating charming vignettes, (and I still greatly admire the artistry of those who do) I now plant in huge blocks of one plant specimen, gazing at it from afar. I now find myself entering another stage of gardening with a strong interest in green roofs, prairie meadows, tree canopies in urban areas and xeriscaping: such is the journey of living a rich life.
When walking through my top island beds, garden designing friends of mine will frequently mention how out of scale my Miscanthus sinensis are. My response is that I can imagine Moses in the bulrush cushioned by the bamboos swaying in the breeze.
After all, isn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder? I absolutely love the feel of this bed with its Macleya cordata, Eupatorium fistulosum, Molinia ‘Windspiel’, Panicum virgatum and Miscanthus sinensis jockeying for space in order to be the shining star amongst all of the others. I don’t care a wit what anyone else thinks about it. I garden only to please myself.
I have been deeply influenced by the philosophy and work of Henk Gerritsen, a colleague of Piet Oudolf, both designers of Dutch origin. He is the master of creating a well controlled natural looking garden. I follow in his footsteps in my intent: to see how far a garden can stretch in order to expose the soul of its creator and to let nature lead the way while still having a restrained hand in order to maintain some sense of artistry.