Rosemont Cercis

This redbud (Cercis canadensis) in the Rosemont Burial Ground is certainly one of the oldest I've ever seen. I'm not actually sure it's a tree of outstanding age. I've been told the Cercis can take on an ancient look in only a few decades. Here is another view.

The Rosemont Burial Ground dates back to the eighteenth century, though exactly how old it is is a mystery too. The words on the oldest slate stones have been entirely erased.

The trunk, I've noted before, is about three feet in diameter. The largest limbs present an image of sinuous power that suggests in form and motion the coils of the sea serpents in the Laocoon. I may be stretching this analogy a bit, but more than once an old, twisted Cercis has brought this sculpture to my mind. (Which may say more about my own subconscious than anything else.)

Though the emotions evoked by the two images are very different (the tree is not a figure of tragic suffering, but of survival, of the ability to endure), both share in a sense of awe.

The image below, with the uplifted branches against the sky, is an entirely different matter.

The tree still flowers profusely and, had I been able to visit it last Monday when the temperature rose into the upper 80s, I'm sure it would have been abuzz with thousands of bees as in years past.

Ancient Redbud in Rosemont

Rosemont is a small hamlet in western New Jersey. The Rosemont Burial Ground, which dates back to the 18th century, is nestled among low hills in a small valley descending to the Delaware. The grave of William Bray, who collected the boats for George Washington's crossing of the Delaware on Christmas eve, 1776, is the most notable grave site.


Each spring, a venerable Redbud (Cercis canadensis) bursts into profuse bloom near the back of the burial ground. This is the largest, and oldest, Redbud I've ever seen. The trunk is short - the tree probably owes its longevity to its low profile - but about 30 inches in diameter. This must be a notable tree of its type, deserving of preservation efforts.

Rosemont Valley Winter

Our part of New Jersey has been called a piece of New England along the Delaware. Much of the farmland has been preserved and, up to now, the massive forces of suburban development have not penetrated to our rather remote part of the state.

I take great joy in driving out from the City each week, knowing about six miles from home I will cross the last remaining public covered bridge in the state, the Green Sergeant's Covered Bridge, as I enter the very small, very beautiful Rosemont Valley.

Is this what you envision when you think of New Jersey?

Making Space

Here is the garden at Federal Twist from space, much thanks to Google Earth. The terrain slopes rather sharply from left to right, carrying tremendous volumes of storm runoff down to the Lockatong Creek, a large, rocky tributary of the Delaware about 1000 feet below the house. As a consequence, my garden is very wet.


The house (the brown roof is visible on the left) overlooks the garden in progress. An irregular oval path, the "great circle," partly hidden by trees and shadows on the right, delineates the central garden area, and is connected by linking paths to both ends of the house. The lower linking path is through a woodland area and is almost invisible in the photo.

When we moved to Federal Twist Road three years ago, the house was surrounded by first growth forest, about 40 years old, mostly of cedar (Juniperus virginiana). One thing was clear. Many of the cedars had to be removed to create space and light. After we cut the trees I didn't know how to define the garden in proportion to the house and surrounding forest. Then I remembered a device John Brookes recommends, and used a grid taken from the dimensions of the house to define the space. The crude drawing at the right shows the initial, and final, layout of the garden pathway using a grid based on the modular structure of the house - squares about 30 feet on each side.

This technique helped me recognize the need to remove additional trees to create more breathing room in the garden area. By giving me a firmer grasp of the spatial constraints of my land, forest-bound as it is, it also helped me understand how the garden can grow. The lower woodland path in the drawing, for example, will become the armature of a new woodland garden already begun. The back side of the "great circle" will, in the future, break through into a "cove" of open space (just visible in the photo) that curves down and away from the main garden, giving an area of privacy (mystery?) from which the house can't be seen.

The Google Earth photo looks so bleak I offer two more photos to show a real garden is actually emerging. First, a landscape shot into the "great circle."



Next, details of the evolving "wet prairie."



In a later post I'll write about garden elements that will quietly allude to the culture and history of this area - light touches, I hope, that will be so integral to the garden design only those who want to see will see.