Rusty browns, spots of color, waving fans

"You should see his garden. Well, it’s not really a garden. There are all of these plants, and he’s built paths so you can walk around and see everything.” That’s what he said, or words to that effect.

This was a house guest last weekend, talking about my garden to his friends. At first I felt a little miffed …(yet another person who defines a garden in such a traditional way, he doesn’t see my garden as a garden), but I quickly got over that. Later that afternoon, I asked him about the remark, really out of simple curiosity. I don’t believe I ever succeeded in convincing him that I wasn’t offended, that I only wanted to know what he meant. After several starts and stops, I came to understand that he sees a garden as a clearly delineated space, usually not a very large space, with plantings that are regular, possibly patterned, certainly discernibly structured--a space existing in visible isolation from its surroundings, perhaps surrounded by a fence or a wall. Perhaps something with a more traditional, gardenesque selection of plants--dahlias, roses, mums, for example. He would probably be very comfortable in the Medieval garden, the hortus conclusus, at the Cloisters museum in upper Manhattan. I would too. I love that garden, but that’s not what would suit my modernist house in the woods of western New Jersey.

My garden’s lack of clearly demarcated boundaries, large size, and amorphous shape left him a little uncertain, perhaps uneasy too. After I pressed him, he told me my garden was more a “landscape” because it was so large, so naturalistic in contrast to his usual sense of garden. I can’t say I disagree, though I do think it’s still a garden. To use an analogy, mine is more a Richard Strauss tone poem than a J. S. Bach fugue.

There is pattern and order, order emerging from what could have been disorder, in my garden. In the photograph at the top of this post, particularly if you look at it as a two-dimensional picture, you can see repeated fan shapes, repeated patterns almost like layers of scenery on a stage. The Japanese fantail willow at the background sets the motive, a fan shape repeated by the massed grasses, Joe Pye Weed (Eupatorium purpureum) and, in the foreground, Miscanthus and Lespedeza, all fan shapes in this two dimensional view ... Of course, the wind blows, the rain falls, and patterns disappear, others appear ...

Order too, in placement of plants, not at regular intervals, but to create groupings, communities of plants of the same kind, to echo shapes, to achieve an aesthetically pleasing distribution of forms, textures, colors.

So, as to what was visible last weekend ... here are two prominent natives in this area, Boneset (Eupatorium perfoliatum) and Wool grass (Scirpus cyperinus) ...

... bold textures of  large, brassy foliage (below), Viburnum mariesii, Joe Pye Weed, Filipendula rubra, contrasting with whisps of Panicum 'Shenandoah' and more Boneset seeding around, the Boneset a reminder of the importance of chance in this garden; if it works, keep it, if not, move it or just pull it out.

I'm sure elizabethm at Welsh Hills Again would see this as a mess; I like her blog, but she doesn't like prairie gardens. At this small scale, not being able to focus in on the detail, I have to say it appears to be. But if you're in the garden, you can see more detail, and more subtle variations in texture and color, perceive movement, the force of air stirring emotion.

One way to sort it out visually:  look at detail and throw the background out of focus. Here Sanguisorba tenuifolia ...

 ... silken flowers of early blooming Miscanthus ...

... bruised blues and purples of Lespedeza thunbergii 'Gibraltar' planted last fall ...

... mounding miscanthus and Patrinia scabiosifolia on the terrace overlooking the garden, and purposely blocking the view ...

... I suppose this is that jumble time of year ... everything growing to the max ... with a few cones of Arborvitae (Thuja occidentalis) holding the line, so to speak ...

... then suddenly, looking at the ancient crab apple (it must be over 40 years old) I'm into fall. Clearly this is a sign the year is nearing its end.

Garden Diary: Homage to suburbia, minus lawn

I've always disliked Arborvitae (Thuya occidentalis). For me, it epitomizes the unimaginative, dreary US front yard of unbroken lawn with a few accent shrubs and "foundation plantings." But I'm forced to try to love what I thought I hated. I want evergreen winter structure in my garden, at least near the house, and Arborvitae is my only option considering my extremely wet clay soil. So I'm playing with the concept, turning the American front yard on its head, so to speak, making a parody of it, by using one of its most popular cliches in an entirely different way. In this case, making a rather formal hedge at the edge of a naturalistic wet prairie planting. There is grass, to be sure, but no lawn in any sense of the word.

This photo from last July shows Salix alba 'Britzensis', a colorful willow (colorful in winter, that is - brilliant orange-yellows) in the large yellow box. The smaller box highlights Mountain Mint (Pycnanthemum muticum), with its silver mid-summer foliage. I point out these two plants because they are important components of a big change at this end of my garden, nearest the house.

I've planted a row of Arborvitae across the view you see in the photo above, with the willows on the far side of the Arborvitae (see previous post). Actually, there are two layers of Arborvitae, eight larger ones nearest the willows and, at each end, several smaller ones about 30 inches behind (closer to your viewing point).

I've also added, as you can see below, two others in the mid-distance to give a sense of visual depth to the flat background of the garden.

The layers allow opportunity for planting perennials in and around the hedge to better integrate it into the wild summer garden, yet leaving a permanent framework in winter - a structure of hedge, willows, and long-lasting perennials.

Below is the first row of Arborvitae, planted two weeks ago, with the brightly colored willows in front (cloudy day, so not so bright appearing here).

My intent is to add many more Salix a. 'Britzensis' in front of the hedge, as well as some behind it, and to fill in with the Pycnantheum muticum around the smaller shrubs and other areas needing added visual interest. But this first attempt seemed too piddling. I needed a grander gesture, and thus the additional shrubs.

So here is the final arrangement, sans perennials, which are all still dormant.

Returning to the summer photo, you can see many plants have to be moved, especially a vigorous planting of rather invasive Prairie cord grass (Spartina pectinata 'Aureo-marginata') on the right. Since I'm adding more salix a lot of reworking of the area will be needed. I'm rooting cuttings to make the new willows, so I can take my time if I just take care to provide room for the new shrubs to grow.


With hedges and stone walls, perhaps other plantings, eventually I hope to have a structural frame - made of many parts - to hold the wildness of the central prairie planting - my own bit of anti-suburban front yard (mine is behind the house).