The Garden Wanderer

Landschaftspark Duisburg-Nord, Germany

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 21:35:00 +0000

The Landschaftspark in the north of Duisburg near Dusseldorf is a public park built on the site of a defunct steel mill. It seems that a lot of these projects are popping up across Germany, rehabilitating old factories into modern, multifunctional parks. As with other German landscape projects, very little information is available about this one in the English media, and I probably would have never heard of it if it wasn’t mentioned in a little article by Tim Richardson, which was also posted on thinkinGardens. In the piece, Richardson describes the park as “an absolutely extraordinary experience”, achieved “with the lightest of touches.”

The steel factory was abandoned in 1985, leaving behind an assortment of monstrous structures and polluted soil. The transformation into a public park was initiated in 1991, and was carried out by landscape architect Peter Latz, of the firm Latz + Partner. Unlike other proposals that were made for the site, his aimed to keep most of the existing buildings, and use them to illustrate and understand the industrial past rather than cover it up. As a result, everything has been left in place: the gigantic factory buildings, concrete storage bunkers of mammoth proportions, pools and canals, and the old railway. But everything has been put to new and often unexpected usage.

The factory buildings themselves provide the dominant theme for the park. They are in a perfect state of romantic dilapidation – rusted, cracking at the joints, and with signs of nature’s reclamation sprouting up everywhere. Access is allowed into several buildings through narrow and steep stairways that lead to a labyrinth of dark walkways. A little unsettling to a North American used to overly tight safety regulations. The edgy industrial feel of these buildings seemed to appeal to two groups in particular: teenage rock bands looking for a backdrop for their bad-boy cover shots, and well-equipped amateur photographers. You could find plenty of both hidden in the most unexpected dark recesses of the buildings.

The great concrete bunkers and various concrete storage structures that surround the factory buildings were also left in place. They are now put to creative use either as playgrounds featuring gigantic sand boxes and twisting slides, or as climbing walls. As a climber myself, the latter was really nice to see. And very tempting since the climbing rope happened to be in the car!

All this is well enough, but what about the green stuff that usually goes in parks? I think Richardson already described the approach perfectly when he said the “lightest of touches” was used. Most of the greenery seems to be whatever happens to grow there - it's hard to tell what was planted and what was already found growing at the abandoned site. There are a few exceptions, such a simple geometric planting of trees at the entrance to the park, and some pruned hedges here and there to punctuate the chaos. The soil was quite polluted, but Latz chose not to replace it. Instead, the very fancy-sounding approach of “phytomediation” was taken, meaning that the soil was left in place and plants are now used to do the rehabilitation work. Perhaps what seemed like a mess of random vegetation is actually a carefully chosen mix of soil detoxifying plants?

The only more ‘gardened’ area, if one can call it that, is across from the factory buildings on the other side of the canal. Here, there are a series of gigantic concrete bunkers, which look like boxes with no tops. There is an elevated walkway which allows visitors to look into the boxes from above. Given the viewpoint, the planting patterns are kept simple and obvious. Several boxes are planted with straight rows of identical plants, which I thought worked quite well. In one box, the only one you can actually walk into, tightly clipped hedges were used to create a strong geometric pattern which was both striking from above and effective below. Although the hedge pattern is not classical, the garden contained mostly traditional plants, such as roses and hydrangeas.

The Duisburg Landschaftspark is certainly a very interesting experiment, and a park unlike any I have seen before. But personally, the feeling I got walking through it was one of uneasiness, of being on edge. There is no sugar coating the industrial history here, no softening of the landscape with pretty plantings. Certainly many elements are original and may provide important inspiration for the future. But to me, it felt a bit like a very modern house – nice to see and visit, but just not comfortable to live in.

Karl Foerster Garden, Germany

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 20:24:00 +0000

The name Karl Foerster is enough to inspire awe in many gardeners, particularly those of us interested in perennial plantings and naturalistic design. Foerster first made a name for himself as a plantsman based on his innovative plant selections at his nursery in eastern Germany. Starting all the way back in 1903, Foerster looked at plants in a different way than most people. He wanted perennials that were sturdy and looked good massed, and was drawn to plants with elegant but strong flower spikes. His earliest work was with delphinium (a rather un-slender flower spike), but grasses soon became a favourite. Today, few gardens are without Calamagrostis x acutiflora 'Karl Foerster'.

The grass aisles at the Foerster nursery - uhhhhh.

In addition to plant selection, Foerster also dabbled in garden design. In the garden adjacent to his nursery, he experimented with a naturalistic planting style by combining grasses and massed perennials to achieve an overall meadow effect - an approach starting to sound almost too familiar today. His work is credited with greatly influencing the New German style of planting and the naturalistic planting movements that have since followed.

Clearly there is a lot of history at the Karl Foerster garden, so my expectations ran high. But as usually happens in these cases, the image built up in my mind did not exactly match the reality on the ground. The first surprise was the size. This is a small private garden created around the front and back of the family house. So expect a short visit to a tiny garden!

The second surprise was the content of the garden itself. I, unfairly, expected a very modern garden, one that would have been eons ahead of its time in the early 1900’s. But today the garden doesn’t look revolutionary to us, it just looks like something we’ve seen before. The plants are now familiar, and the style is hardly radical. It’s difficult to imagine how people viewed this garden during Foerster’s time, when annual bedding schemes and roses were the norm. It’s also hard to know how much the garden itself has changed over the years, as its maintenance has passed through several generations (currently Foerster's granddaughter).

Viewed with today’s eyes, this looks like a richly planted garden with an interesting mix of perennials, grasses and large trees, built around a fairly classical framework. In the back of the house is the rock garden, with mounded rocky beds and winding paths. There were many interesting examples of grasses here, such as the soft Carex alba planted between rocks. This garden is now quite shaded by large trees, conditions which seem less than ideal for some of the grasses.

Carex alba and bergenia softening rocks.

The front garden is definitely the highlight of the visit. It’s a symmetrical garden built around a rectangular, sunken pond. It reminded me a bit of the water garden at Castillon-Plantbessin, one of my absolute favourite places. This one is almost just as good, which means I’m now officially in love with sunken pond gardens. The plants were tightly packed, and included a lot of the perennials and grasses we are now used to seeing. Overall, it seemed like a nicely designed perennial garden, but I didn’t get the sense that the style was ‘naturalistic’. Many perennials fit the naturalistic palette, but there were relatively few grasses and massed plantings. Regardless, it’s a little jewel of a garden which makes for an inspiring visit if you don’t bring along too many preconceived ideas.

Review on thinkinGardens

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 20:57:00 +0000

Hurray - my first review for thinkinGardens has been posted! I'm very excited that Anne Wareham found it worthy, and curious to see any comments. The post is a bit of a rant on the problems with show gardens, based on my visit to Appeltern in the Netherlands, a massive permanent exhibition ground for model gardens. It's a place I was excited to visit, but it completely turned me off show gardens. Perhaps others will have some thoughts on why show gardens don't often satisfy, or maybe why they think they do?

Grugapark, Germany

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 19:48:00 +0000

I visited the Grugapark just outside Essen in south-west Germany based on Noel Kingsbury’s list of recommended gardens. As the list is very short and select, and includes Hermannshof and Westpark in Munich, I had high expectations. Unfortunately, this was the first garden that disappointed in Germany – it definitely doesn't deserve its place of honour alongside the other names.

The first difficulty with Grugapark was finding it – following Google directions, we first ended up at an impressive hospital in the middle of a forest with absolutely nothing else around it... surreal. A lot of broken German and driving in circles later, we finally found signs for the park, but it was still a while before we hit on a real entrance.

Grugapark is an extensive public park, mostly of the classical public park variety - old trees, neat lawn and asphalted walks. A nice enough place for city people to air out. Some sections of the park were originally built for some kind of garden show. Of these there are some model gardens left over, that suffer from all the classical ailments of model gardens –impersonal, out of place, predictable.

But never mind, because what I really wanted to see at Grugapark were the large naturalistic perennial planting areas. These were roughly in the middle of the park, somewhere between a very old fashioned rose garden (which, though not cutting edge gardening, did smell divine), and various sports fields.

The first perennial planting area was a sort of sand dune habitat, with a lot of sand, a few plants that didn't seem to want to be there, and a lot of weeds that did. A weedy sand beach... not the best look. Unfortunately, this highlighted the main problem with the rest of the perennial garden, namely the maintenance. There were large bare patches of ground throughout, and unhappy looking plants trying to battle it out with the weeds. I think Noel Kingsbury himself
remarked on the lack of upkeep of public plantings in Essen in a recent blog.

Garden maintenance is an interesting issue, and has been the subject of a few blogs lately. I think it’s great that many people are considering lighter approaches to maintenance, and working with the natural balance and spontaneity of the garden. However, the very definition of a garden is a place created by humans, and some human presence is necessary to maintain the intent of the work. Sometimes very little is needed to do that, but somebody should still be on hand to guide the natural balance from time to time, and edit appropriately if that balance is not found. Otherwise, a garden can end up just looking disheveled and sad.

The good news is that some sections at the Grugapark perennial garden managed to achieve balance on their own, which was interesting to see and learn from. For example, the aster plant family really thrived in the local conditions. Many varieties flourished together, and nicely covered the ground while outcompeting invaders. Unfortunately, my visit during the first week of September was a bit too early to see most of them in flower. And grasses, the usual tough subjects, were also doing well, but I didn’t find their use particularly inspiring. They were planted relatively sparingly and often seemed lost in the large open space.

Lastly, as often happens in life, the things we really look forward to can sometimes disappoint, but the unexpected can often provide a pleasant surprise. In the case of Grugapark, I most enjoyed a marsh and pond area on the far side of the garden. This section was mostly naturalized vegetation, hence circumventing the maintenance challenge altogether (the easiest solution – if you don’t have funding for maintenance, don’t make a garden that needs it). The lake was framed by a few very simple decks with chairs to sit on. A geometrical network of boardwalks sitting right on the surface of the water provided a way to walk across the small pond. Most interesting were a number of swamp cypresses (Taxodium distichum) planted directly in the water. Not all of them were doing well, but some planted on slightly shallower ground were thriving. All in all, a very simple human made framework that highlighted the natural beauty of the setting and helped people enjoy it.

Hermannshof, Germany - Part III

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 20:24:00 +0000

I promise this is my last post on Hermannshof in Germany. This is definitely the most cyber space I have used for a single garden, but there was just too much to digest in one blog. This last post is about the woodland garden, the small pond, and a long perennial bed of more classical composition which borders the central lawn.

One of the goals of Hermannshof is to experiment with plant groupings inspired by different natural habitats, and that includes woodland. The park is fortunate to have many mature trees to provide a believable woodland backdrop, including massive specimens of dawn redwood, larch and tulip tree. The open, sunny gardens gradually transition into woodland with some smaller woodland edge trees, such as magnolias and dogwoods, before being plunged into the deep shade of giants.

The woodland sections are just as richly planted as the prairie gardens, and the fascination with North American natives continues. Various types of epimediums, ferns, sedges, hellebores and hardy geranium form a dense and complex tapestry on the woodland floor. One of the most striking plants I saw, and which I didn't know before, was Paeonia mlokozewitschii. It was an eye catcher in a sea of green – prominent blue seeds in bright red pods, strong leaf shape and even some leaf colour at the beginning of August. And that's just the after-show, since it flowers in the spring.

Paeonia mlokozewitschii

One aspect of the woodland garden at Hermannshof which I found distinctive was the great number of grasses used, particularly in the edge areas. I noted Luzula sylvatica or Greater Wood Rush looking good (not pictured). There were also some showier perennials in the edge areas, such as Lillium martagon and Lobelia cardinales.

The pond deserves only a very short mention, as it was placed in a rather awkward spot on the side of the great central lawn. It was bordered by lawn on one side, and wetland plants on the others. Although I didn't find it anything special, it was interesting to note that it was still a magnet for visitors, as water always seems to be.

The last section I got around to was the perennial border on the woodland side of the great lawn. This is not accessible from the woodland garden, so you have to decide to walk all the way back across the central lawn see it. Part of this border used huge specimens of Hakonechloa macra to set up a strong rhythm, very dramatic even from far away. Further down, the plantings were more reminiscent of a classical mixed perennial border, but with some nice colour combinations which I think the pictures show off best.

Well, that's it for Hermannshof. The romp through Germany continues next time with a garden which was, unfortunately, a bit of a disappointment... didn't think that was possible in Germany, did you?

A better world?

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Thu, 25 Aug 2011 17:17:00 +0000

I'm back from my visit home to Canada, which was fantastic, but of course too short. On the plane I was reading H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine", and was struck by the section below. In it, the time traveler describes the ideal state of the future world he has landed in, a world where man's improvements upon nature have reached their peak.

"The work of ameliorating the conditions of life - the true civilizing process that makes life more and more secure - had gone steadily on to climax. One triumph of a united humanity over Nature had followed another. Things that are now mere dreams had become projects deliberately put in hand and carried forward. And what a harvest I saw!

... Our agriculture and horticulture destroy a weed just here and there and cultivate perhaps a score or so of wholesome plants, leaving the rest to fight out a balance as they can. We improve our favourite plants and animals - and how few they are - gradually by selective breeding; now a new and better peach, now a seedless grape, now a sweeter and larger flower, now a more convenient breed of cattle. We improve them gradually, because our ideals are vague and tentative, and our knowledge is very limited; because Nature, too, is shy and slow in our clumsy hands. Some day all this will be better organized... The whole world will be intelligent, educated, and co-operating; things will move faster and faster towards the subjugation of Nature. In the end, wisely and carefully, we shall readjust the balance of animal and vegetable life to suit human needs.

This adjustment, I say, must have been done, and done well... The air was free from gnats, the earth from weeds or fungi; everywhere were fruits and sweet and delightful flowers; brilliant butterflies flew hither and dither."

Scary stuff, huh? Not just because of technicalities, like the fact that doing away with those pesky gnats and fungi would mean the extinction of life, but because this is the kind of 'ideal' humanity has been aspiring to. I'm not judging Wells here, because a lot of his work actually explores the pitfalls of playing around with Nature. The scariest bit is that although we're supposed to be somewhat wiser and humbler today, in reality we're still on the same course described by Wells: the continuous improvement and subjugation of Nature to fit our needs. And we're all still doing it, including myself of course. There must be a better way of living with nature, but our society is not designed for it. I bike to work and eat most of my veggies from a CSA 5 minutes away where you pick your own. But I also eat meat from the supermarket, rent cars to visit gardens, and fly home to Canada. I spend countless hours on the computer every day, using resources that are destroying our planet to post and store silly blogs such as this. So what are we to do? I think we can try to stop and think about it once in a while. And do the little things, even if on their own they may not seem to change the world.

Hermannshof, Germany - Part II

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Thu, 11 Aug 2011 18:45:00 +0000

Hermannshof is a fantastic, public experimental garden hidden in the small town of Weinheim in south-west Germany. The aim of Hermannshof is to showcase “successful examples of new directions in planting design, especially in the naturalistic planting style”. There is too much interesting stuff happening in this garden for just one blog, so this is part two. Last time I tried to give a little tour of the North American perennial garden, which uses many of the very striking flowering perennials we've come to know and love through the New Perennial movement. Although the North American perennial garden is open and uses a mix of both perennials and grasses, it’s a perennial flower garden rather than a prairie inspired garden. The separate prairie inspired gardens are the topic of this post.

The prairie gardens are found at the entrance section to Hermannshof, and are based on the tall and mixed grass prairies of North America. But signs are quick to point out that the gardens are not meant as a re-creation of a prairie, but rather an artistic interpretation of the prairie idea, which seems to so captivate European gardeners.

I found it very interesting to contrast these gardens with the previous North American perennial sections. Grasses make up the bulk of the planting, with flowering plants mixed in but at a pretty low percentage. The colour is predominantly green in early August, though it would be very interesting to see it later in the year as grass seed heads and fall colours become more apparent.

The planting seemed extremely informal and relaxed, but I think that belies its complexity. Flowering perennials were mixed in with layers of grasses in intricate ways. In some instances, there were large colonies of certain flowers, such as Echinacea angustifolia below. In other cases, many different single plants could be found in a small area. I wonder how much of this is controlled and how much is self-seeded, and what they do for maintenance in this garden.

In early August, the height of the plants was already impressive. Walking down some paths, you felt completely swallowed by the vegetation. The best 'garden' experience in my mind.

Although the North American prairie garden did get top billing, there were also two sections devoted to its European cousin, the Mediterranean steppe. I particularly liked one of them, which was used as a lead-in to the woodland sections. Shorter grasses dominated the scenery, and I especially admired the fluffy, soft seedheads of the grass below. Anyone know what it might be? Autumn moor grass (Sesleria autumnalis) also looked great, with very clean, bright green foliage. It was the perfect partner to lime green Peucedanum verticellare, which I didn't know before but it was used to great effect throughout this area.

Autumn moor grass (Sesleria autumnalis) in the foreground and the umbellifer Peucedanum verticellare (or Angelica verticillaris)

The prairie and steppe sections at Hermanshof are some of the most complex and interesting gardens I have seen so far, and I think it’s especially impressive to find them in a public park. It’s quite bold to use so few flowering plants in a public garden in a very non-traditional design. But there were a lot of people walking around who really seemed to enjoy themselves and pay close attention. Perhaps a small example that people will respond to many kinds of gardens.

I'm afraid there will have to be a part three for Hermannshof – it's getting late and I just haven't had the time to go through all the woodland pictures yet. And I have to pack for a trip home to Canada! Hurray!

Hermannshof, Germany

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 18:50:00 +0000

Of all the gardens showcasing the exciting horticultural developments now happening in Germany, Hermannshof is probably the best. It was at the top of my garden visiting list for a while before I finally made it there last summer. Hermannshof combines everything that is great in German garden design. First, it is a public park and free for anyone to stumble into. Second, everything in the garden is an experiment, and thus always changing, exploring and pushing boundaries. You can see almost everything in this garden because noses are not turned up at any plant family – there are outrageously flashy annual beds side by side with decidedly understated and un-garden like meadows.

The declared aim of Hermannshof is to study and showcase the modern use of plants. The park is a playground for garden director Cassian Schmidt and head gardener Till Hofmann along with 7 garden staff. And they are playing with a lot of different things – woodland plants, annuals, water plants. But clearly their passion, if one is to judge by what covers the most ground, are prairies and meadows in their many incarnations.

The garden itself is not very large, about 2.2 ha (5.5 acres) in total. There is a densely planted area at the entrance, where several beds are separated by paths and buildings. From there opens the main area of the park, which is roughly square with a circular path around the outside. The plantings are arranged around this circular path, while the center is simply lawn, though it was my impression that the plants were slowly encroaching. The planting style changes rapidly as you move through the garden to showcase various styles or habitats.

A much better map can be found on the garden website here.

Close to the park entrance, one first encounters the annual beds. Although I didn't necessarily like all the plants used (I'm biased against certain annuals, such as amaranthus), it was an extremely interesting experiment which proves you can create a very intricate and rewarding planting tapestry based on annuals.

These 'summary' plant labels were posted in some areas, and I thought they really great. Rather than having to crawl around the beds to try to find a tag on each plant, here was everything together! Unfortunately, there were only a few of them around the park.

Past these beds begins one of the real show pieces of the garden, the North American perennial section. This is not a prairie inspired garden as there are mainly flowering perennials and only a few grasses (I'll have to save the real prairie sections for the next blog - I think Hermannshof is just too overwhelming for a single post). The first sections here were just bursting at the seams with the colour and exuberance of helianthus, rudbeckia and annual zinnia. Again, there was a handy summary label, though only some of the plants were listed.

We visited on August 8th (this was actually an earlier trip than the one to Peter Janke's garden.. it's all starting to blend together). Already a lot of dry seedheads, such as echinops, were playing a big role.

There were also some more subtle colour combinations in places, which were certainly not any less striking. Something to learn from each creation in this place.

Next time - the prairie inspired gardens at Hermannshof! Hopefully coming sooner than one month from now.

Peter Janke Garden, Germany

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 20:19:00 +0000

I have been very, very behind on my blog lately. A common complaint in the blogosphere, usually followed by a vow to do better, which never materializes. My impression is that making unrealistic blog resolutions is the beginning of the end of a blog. So I'm not going to make any promises, only try to keep plugging away at the many gardens still in my un-blogged stash.

I am now finally getting around to the Germany trip of last fall, one of my best garden visiting trips so far. The first garden we went to was Peter Janke's in Hilden (near Dusseldorf), which I learned about through James Golden's Federal Twist blog. Janke is a nurseryman, garden designer, and one of the leading figures in the exciting German landscape design scene.

His garden is a very large, rectangular piece of land, bordered by a very busy road on one side and an impressive mature forest on all others. The driveway bisects the property from the road, and leads to the central house and nursery. The driveway is the first impressive feature of the garden, with a very simple but striking use of Verbena bonarensis as edging along both sides (about 20m long stretch I would guess).

The right half of the front garden is occupied by a simple meadow with a circular pattern of mown grass in the middle, as well as a mown path bordered by fruit trees. At the time of our visit, the grass was uniformly tan in colour, with few other interlaced plants.

The left half of the front garden is taken up by the gravel garden, inspired by Beth Chatto's work in Essex. Peter Janke has studied with Chatto and credits her as a great influence on his work. This garden was absolutely spectacular at the time of our visit on September 4th. Everything seemed to sparkle in the autumn sun: delicate grass blades and seed heads, silver foliage, papery fall blooms and spiky dried flower heads.

At the back of the property lies the woodland garden, where the presence of the mature forest is keenly felt. This garden is cool and wet, in contrast to the open front areas. Simple mulch paths snake through it, along the edge of the forest. The garden is so lush you can hardly see outside of it. Many small and larger ponds are hidden between the foliage, and some were covered in a copper or rust coloured film. I'm not sure what the source of this is, but it made for an interesting contrast with the surrounding green.

Everywhere in the garden, there were little details that caught my eye, such as the interesting border edge below.

Or the wild abundant herb garden, with plants popping up through every crack in the paving, creating that beautiful contrast between geometrical and organic lines.

And the imaginatively pruned or placed trees throughout the property.

It was definitely a treat to be able to visit this garden. It combines a great mix of modern and classic, both in the design and the plants. It might have been even better if I spoke German as Peter Janke did a tour of the garden (we visited on a special open day). Would have loved to learn from what he had to say, although the garden was already a good teacher by itself.

Helen Dillon Garden, Ireland

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Wed, 08 Jun 2011 18:52:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, we were in Ireland for a wedding and family reunion. But high up on my scheming gardener's mind was, of course, visiting gardens. What self respecting gardener could possibly find herself in Dublin and not make a visit to Helen Dillon’s iconic garden?

The Dillon garden is set in a Dublin suburb, on a little street just off a main road. The front yard provides the first hint that a gardener lives here: it contains no less than 51 birches concentrated around the perimeter of the garden. That may sound like a ridiculously high number of trees for such a small space, but it actually works. I’m not sure how they will grow over the long term, but it is an example of not being too afraid to plant trees close together – they are used to growing in a community and touching each other! Our obsession with leaving miles of space around trees allows them to grow into huge specimens, but it’s not the only option.

The main garden, the one we’ve all seen in pictures, is in the back. I already knew what to expect, but it was still stunning to see it first-hand. The best view, we were informed, is from the living room window (picture below, snapped in a hurry). Not many people can say that they look out to that from their couch. I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if everyone actually decided to do something with their suburban backyard, something crazy and passionate like Dillon has. Wouldn’t our towns and neighborhoods be so much richer and more beautiful?

Our visit was in the middle of May and the borders already felt complete. Unfortunately, it was too early to have the full effect of the hot and cool borders on either side of the pond. But we could still enjoy the careful planting of every nook and corner, the many studied plant combinations and of course the drama of the central pond. I even managed to meet and ask a few questions of the very energetic and friendly lady of the house. Best of all, at the end of our visit, Dillon’s husband Val, inquired if we’re from the “gardening world”! Um, er, no, but wouldn’t it be fun to be able to say yes to that question one day.

Les jardins de Séricourt, France

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Mon, 16 May 2011 16:44:00 +0000

Les jardins de Séricourt were the last gardens we visited on our trip to Normandy last year. I think we may have been suffering from garden burn-out by the time we got to this one, which may explain why I don't feel the urge to write a long and tedious ramble about it. It is in no way a criticism of the gardens, which were quite beautiful and certainly worthwhile. So instead I’ll just leave you with a photo journey through them.

Very briefly, the gardens were designed by landscape architects Yves and Guillaume Gosse de Gorre, who used a series of rooms to divide the large grounds. The rooms are quite intimate in the center on the garden, while on the perimeter they open up and merge into the surrounding landscape of forest and meadow. Several of the central gardens were designed around the theme of war, with some interesting representations of it. A characteristic feature at Séricourt is the exquisite topiary and hedge work, which is used throughout the gardens to create its most memorable images.

Rambling roses mark the entrance to the gardens.

Interesting clipped shapes are dotted throughout, surprising the visitor in unexpected places.

The first of the war-themed gardens: a field of yew soldiers on guard.

In Flanders fields ...

Bomb craters eerily similar to the real ones we had just seen on the beaches of Normandy.

Figures scattered in the field - soldiers, villagers?

An outer garden merges with the field and forest beyond.

Séricourt's trademark topiary and clipped hedges - the whole garden is an inspiration on how to use green sculptures.

Monet's Garden, Giverny, France

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 19:35:00 +0000

I once read that artists who sketch or paint in public often find that people who glance over their shoulder spend more time looking at the subject than the work of the artist. It seems that we are first interested in what inspires the artistic eye, and only afterwards by the results of that inspiration. Maybe that’s what the long line of visitors outside Monet’s Giverny garden hope to get – a glimpse over the master’s shoulder at the source of his inspiration.

Monet’s garden is one that most of us already feel some sense of familiarity with, thanks to his many paintings of it. In real life, it’s almost exactly as I imagined it to be. The first section close to the house is a very domestic, traditional flower garden, divided into simple rectangular beds devoted to flowers. Monet spent a lot of time devising colour and plant combinations, and fortunately left behind a lot of material – notes, photographs (mainly by visitors), and of course paintings – that can be used to plan and maintain today’s gardens. And even though ‘traditional’ comes to mind when describing this area, the design and plantings are certainly unique – even a small corner photographed can instantly be recognized as Monet’s garden. The house itself is also really lovely by the way, and features his large painting studio, a cozy kitchen and yellow dining room, and a huge collection of Japanese prints that fill every square inch of wall.

But across the road (now reached through an underground tunnel), is the magical spot everyone is most keen to see – the lily pond. And yes, it is just as magical and inspiring as one could hope. It’s an enclosed garden, completely surrounded by an envelope of tall trees. It’s hard to tell exactly where Monet’s paintings of it, lodged somewhere in our subconscious, stop and where reality begins. The light shimmers off the water and willows, the colours blend into each other, and everywhere you turn you can imagine a perfect little tableau. We have a ridiculous number of photographs from this garden because almost every angle seemed perfect.

Monet described his two main occupations as painting and gardening, and it’s hard to tell which came first. He started gardening when young and said that flowers inspired him to become a painter. As an adult, he created gardens at all the properties he rented, but most extensively at Giverny because he was able to buy it. He used his gardens as subjects for paintings, and used his paintings to learn which compositions and colour combinations work best. In the end, he declared the garden as “his most beautiful work of art”, a gratifying thing for us gardeners.

"Where is the garden?"

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Tue, 05 Apr 2011 20:19:00 +0000

A few weeks ago (actually, I now realize that it was a few months ago... ), I was reading Thomas Rainer's series of posts on his blog Grounded Design on the use of native plants, and the related story of the native gardens at New York Botanical Gardens. It seems that the NYBG is currently transforming these areas because they failed to impress visitors. The originals were designed to illustrate various native habitats, but their small size made them difficult to maintain, and in the end the “general public was left wondering exactly where the ‘garden’ was”. In response, the gardens are now being transformed into new designed landscapes with bolder plants and a more refined design, which should hopefully prove more popular. Rainer goes on to say that if native plants are to be successfully adopted into mainstream gardening, they must meet our criteria for “ornamentally beautiful” plants, meaning that they should be “pretty” and “showy”. The public isn’t going to fall for a patch of rough grass with a handful of hidden orchids. Also, we should be using these plants in “designed landscapes”, rather than confining them to designs that usually try to mimic some natural habitat. And that got me thinking… are we just trying to change the varieties of plants we use, or are we trying to change the types of gardens we create?

First, I should say that I fully understand the problem Rainer describes. Maybe it’s fair to say that the average person enjoys bright colours and “knock-your-socks-off bloomy” borders much more than something they could encounter on the side of the road. We are attracted to flowers and colours, so perhaps we should just acknowledge this as a universal starting principle in all design. I also agree that just because we’re trying to use more native plants doesn’t mean we should always try to mimic a certain habitat.

But at the same time, I can’t help feeling that there should be more to this than just trying to find sufficiently dramatic native plants. We seem to be on a bit of a movement for more ecologically sensitive gardening. Maybe this movement could be about more than just exchanging one colourful plant for another; maybe we can change our whole perception of what a garden is?

This brings to mind two rather well known garden makers: Piet Oudolf, the internationally recognized guru, and Henk Gerritsen, the lesser-known wild child. Oudolf has become a huge influence in the landscaping world by using new plants in new ways. He has helped change our perceptions of gardens, and I, like so many others, admire and enjoy Oudolf’s work a lot. At the same time, I would argue that he is still playing by the rules of the game. People don’t wonder if Oudolf’s gardens are gardens – they clearly are, but they are new and different. His strength is that he has found a balance between managing our desires for an aesthetically organized and fairly colourful and ‘showy’ garden, while still pushing the envelope.

Henk Gerritsen was a colleague of Oudolf’s, and they collaborated and shared ideas on many new concepts. However, Gerritsen’s garden ideas were far more wild and pushed the concept of a garden further than Oudolf. I’m by no means an expert on his philosophy (especially as I haven’t even read his book -can’t find a reasonably priced copy anywhere!), but I have been to his garden. When I was there, my first impression was that it was a bit too disorganized and unkempt in parts, perhaps losing the feeling of a garden. But it had the most incredible atmosphere, and almost 2 years later it’s still one of the places I think back to the most. Flowers were far fewer and smaller, plants seeded everywhere, and the buzz of insects was deafening. It was wild and overwhelming at times, but also gentle and comforting at others. Gerritsen’s approach is far messier and less structured than Oudolf’s, and I’m sure many visitors to his garden have been left wondering ‘where the garden is’. But in the end, for me at least, this kind of ‘borderline’ garden provided a richer experience than many other gardens I have been to, one of being truly immersed in an outdoor, green space.

Human perceptions of beauty can change, often dramatically, over time. Gardens are no different. Although we’ve been trained for showy flowers and ‘designed landscapes’, we’ve already started to appreciate new types of gardens. Maybe we can push this even further, and come to appreciate all sorts of experiments as gardens - even those with – rumpled textures, subdued flowers and a little bit of chaos just beyond our control.

Images of spring

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Wed, 16 Mar 2011 22:38:00 +0000

Since I'm now among the ranks of gardeners who can brag about all the lovely things that are already in bloom in March, I thought I would take advantage of it. Who knows when I'll find myself back in the harsh winters of Eastern Canada, complaining about all the show-offs in Britain or the West Coast. In that generous spirit, here are some pictures I took this weekend at our little botanical garden in Leuven (at least I can't brag with my own flowers since I'm living in an apartment, although I do have little Tête-à-tête daffodils blooming in outdoor containers). Even though it's only early March, flower colours ranged the full spectrum, from pure white hellebores to the dark burgundy blossoms of Parrotia persica.

Erythronium dens-canis 'Rose Queen'.

Parrotia persica.

And with spring we also welcomed several new lambs at our CSA farm. Only a few days old, they were running around as sure-footed as their parents.

Domaine de Villarceaux, Île-de-France

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Tue, 22 Feb 2011 19:57:00 +0000

It seems that no trip to France is complete without a requisite castle visit. During our vacation in Normandy, we weren’t exactly seeking them out, having already overdosed the year before in the Loire Valley. Still, we couldn’t escape at least one, and that one ended up being Domaine de Villarceaux. The choice was quite random (I think we might have spotted it in a brochure), but it led us to a hidden treasure.

Domaine de Villarceaux is different from any other castle I’ve been to in France. First off, there are no hordes of tourists, probably because it only opened to the public fairly recently and it is almost impossible to find. Second, this particular chateau can only be visited by guided tour. With only 6 people on our tour, including our own group of 4, it was a treat to have a personal, expert tour leader. And third, the whole thing, including the guided tour, was free! This must be unique in all of France.

The highlight of Domaine de Villarceaux is definitely the gardens. The chateau itself is quite small, and not as impressive as some others in the area, though still certainly worth a visit. However, the gardens, which sweep from the castle down a hill and into a broad valley, are enough to fall in love with. The building blocks of the garden are classical and minimalist: lawn, hedges and water. What makes them remarkable is the way all the elements sit so well in the landscape, how they fill the space, and how easily they flow into one another.

The entrance to the chateau is on the far side of the property, by the stables and other utilitarian buildings which are quite beautiful in their own right.

The tour of the gardens proper starts up a few worn steps to a small stone tower, which was built especially to hide and protect the property’s spring, apparently a very valuable commodity in former times. Surrounding the tower is an enforcement wall and a surprising, elevated herb garden. Hidden by walls on all sides, and with no seeming connection to the ground, this garden felt a bit like a secret sorcerer’s laboratory.

Descending from the magical herb garden, you are met by the best view at Villarceaux: a floating garden backed by a long view of the valley. The floating garden is in fact an intricate hedge parterre, surrounded and transected by still, dark water on all sides. It’s the first time I’ve seen this and the effect was unmistakably ‘floating’ and very striking.

The gardens then proceed to snake their way through the valley, with a large grass bridge between two bodies of water leading up to the castle. On our visit, it started to rain at this point and the very friendly staff came running down with rain jackets for everyone (yet another unique feature at Villarceaux)!

The castle itself doesn’t make an appearance until the very end of the visit, after a fairly long climb up a grassy slope. The slope is intentionally designed to be nearly invisible from the castle thanks to clever land-shaping. This was done in order to make the outer landscape, including the lake at the bottom of the valley, appear much closer, right outside the castle doors. Only those who venture outside to explore the grounds are surprised by the long stroll down and the many secrets of the gardens below.

One last neat thing about Domaine de Villarceaux is their environmental conscience. The gardens are managed completely organically, and plans are underway to construct a tiny hydro plant in one of the ponds to supply power for the fountains and garden lighting.

Les jardins d'Argences, Normandy, France

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Sun, 06 Feb 2011 13:53:00 +0000

Les jardins d'Argences are residential gardens created around a beautiful stone mansion in Normandy. The house is stunning and the surrounding countryside even more so. But unfortunately, my honest impression of the garden was that, while nice enough, it was missing that special something. Everything is very pleasant and comfortable, but there are no moments when you feel captured by this garden. It’s the type of place you could easily relax in with a nice book and a glass of wine, but you’d be admiring the house and the tranquil French countryside first and foremost. And that doesn't sound too bad, except that in this case there are in fact gardens which occupy the space between house and countryside and that's what we went to visit.

Before I launch into this one, I just want to issue one warning: this garden is extremely photogenic. I look back at the pictures and I almost don’t recognize the place. It’s another example of how the camera can, and often does, lie. By always trying to take good pictures and choosing angles, we didn't capture the place honestly. You’ll have to trust me that something was missing in this garden though, because the pictures sure don’t give it away.

The gardens at Argences were created by the owner, Mme Caroline Lecardonnel starting in 1989, after purchasing the house. There is a heartfelt essay on the website where she describes the creation of the gardens, and her own aspirations as a gardener. This of course makes me feel very guilty saying that the gardens are only so-so, but in the end, the passion and reward the owner puts into and derives from her garden are not connected with a strangers’ impressions of it. Although in all honesty, everybody loves to hear that their creation appeals to others. A discussion for another day…

The owner’s first gardening attempts resulted in little skinny borders, which she was painfully dissatisfied with. That was all the motivation she needed to launch into the project full force , ending up with 9 different gardens scattered around the house at present. The best parts are actually the oldest, which perhaps don't try to do too much and work off the house, using its French charms to full advantage. The courtyard in the middle of the U-shaped main buildings is the best example. You don’t need much when you already have such a perfect setting – a few plants crawling up the stone house, some old shade trees and a generous patio of local stone (which is where I would sit with that book and drink) are more than enough.

From here, you go on to various small garden spaces surrounding the house. The first two are formal in nature, with a rectangular, shallow pond in the first, and a large parterre in the second.

The garden in the back of the house features more informal, English-style borders of perennials and a circular pond one one side of the central lawn. The pond is a perfect example which I think shows how the camera can distort one's perception. In the first photo, the angle makes the lawn look nicely anchored in the garden, a perfect garden picture. But from another angle, you can see that in reality it's floating on one side of the lawn, and meets up awkwardly with the straight-edged flower border.

To travel on, you follow a small stream in a little valley around the side of the house. This offers a very pleasant respite from the open areas, complete with lush stream-side plantings.

More gardens await at the end of the stream, including some with a more formal layout as well as a more casual garden composed mainly of lawn, with a few, not particularly happy-looking, perennials and a naturalistic pond in the middle. And there’s also the requisite labyrinth.

So, why didn’t I like the gardens? In my opinion, the incredible potential of a beautiful French house and property were wasted. I had the feeling that I was walking through a series of gardens I had seen in different books, placed here on the whim of the garden maker, but with no connection to each other. This is a beautiful spot that demands its own treatment, not just a collection of gardens to show off different styles. I thought the saddest example of a missed opportunity, of not looking at what is there, was the moat. Yes, the house had a moat on three sides; a centuries-old one with mossy stone and actual water flowing through it. And yet, it’s not in any of the pictures because the gardens completely ignore it, and in fact obscure it most of the time.

And then there were the details. I often forget how important they can be, but this garden was a good reminder. There were many little things that just felt a little off, enough to change your whole perception. In some cases the proportions didn't feel quite right, or there were walkways that didn’t connect or weren’t wide enough, or patches of glaringly bare soil between plants. These are the kind of things that don’t show up on camera, but play a huge role in shaping your impressions when you're there.

Les Jardins de Castillon-Plantbessin, Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Thu, 13 Jan 2011 18:39:00 +0000

Again and again, I find it so difficult to try describing what makes a garden great, never mind actually pin-pointing specific attributes. It’s not that I’m trying to categorize all gardens into good or bad, but when you walk into a beautiful garden, it’s instinctual to ask what makes it so. Of course there’s no formula for beauty, but there are ingredients. What I mean to say with that lengthy prologue is that Les Jardins de Castillon-Plantbessin is a great garden, but it’s difficult to describe what sets it apart from a merely good one.

The history of the gardens at Castillon is not too different from many others: husband and wife team (Colette and Hubert Sainte-Beuve) start nursery, become completely obsessed by it, and create superlative garden. The first garden at Castillon was created in 1985, conceived and implemented entirely by the owners. The second garden is a more recent addition and was designed with the help of artist François Houtin. The two gardens, old and new, are similar in size, two rectangles that approximately mirror each other on either side of a wide central path.

The plan that the owners started with for the first garden sounds like a sure recipe for disaster. The concept was a series of themed garden rooms covering almost all garden styles known to man, from the quintessential English double border to minimalist Zen. Sounds like a case of falling in love with plants and gardens, and wanting to have a little bit of everything. But even I know that this cannot possibly succeed – it’s a mish-mash, it muddles the message and it’s nearly impossible to create a coherent picture with a sense of place (although it's still possible to have many impossibly pretty vignettes).

Doesn’t sound too great up to now, does it? Well, that’s where the second garden comes in. This garden somehow manages to pull the whole thing together into one cohesive, memorable experience. I have a few theories (3 to be exact) as to why it works: it guides your journey, the design is in harmony with the older garden, and it has a clear focus which draws out the best qualities of the old garden and the place itself.

Journey
How you are led through a garden is so important – it guides your mind and defines how you experience the space. At Castillon, according to the prescribed visit plan, you start with the new garden and proceed through it entirely before crossing the central path over to the older section. Once in the older section, you start with the water garden first (which I gushed about previously), which is the most stunning garden in the original area, and the one that clearly links to the new garden. I suspect that the theme of this particular garden (water combined with a rich plant palette based mainly on greens and textures) served as the key inspiration for the new garden. So, after a great first half and a fantastic transition into the second half, by the time you get to the more so-so sections of the old garden, you are already so enchanted you hardly notice.

Layout
To keep the design consistent, the layout of the new garden also uses garden rooms. However, the divisions are very simple – the long rectangular space is divided into 3, square-ish rooms. Straightforward paths take you around each room, and a central opening is used to transition between spaces. I've recently read criticism about gardens designed as rooms, because the constant shifts don't allow for a single experience, a feeling to develop. I’m in the same camp, but I think it works here because the rooms don’t actually offer completely different experiences, just sequential illustrations of the same theme. The divisions could easily be taken down and a cohesive whole would result. Also, the ‘room’ concept was used here to link with the design of the older garden, and works well to achieve a unified overall picture.

Substance
Lastly, we come to the actual content of the new garden, the best part. We visited on a rainy, gray morning in July. Water seemed to be everywhere – in the heavy, grey clouds above, trickling down our rain jackets, and glistening on every plant and path. Given the watery mood, which is more or less typical of Normandy, the many ponds and fountains in the gardens seemed like a perfect fit. The dark water and wet stone provided the needed contrast to the lush plantings – layers of textures and shades of green sparkling with water beads, and both water and the plant palette seemed to capture the general mood of the place.

Since that blurb was a bit all over the place, I saved the pictures for last to show the journey through the garden as experienced first-hand (captions below the pictures).

The central path where you enter the garden from the parking lot. The tall hedges on either side guard the secrets of the two gardens, new (right) and old (left).

The first space in the new garden is all foliage and structure, soft and strong at the same time. It beckons you downwards and onwards through the gardens.

The transition between the first and second garden room.

Water.

Stepping stones across the pond guide you onwards.

From water and lushness, to a more subdued, open lawn.

Labyrinth hedge.

After crossing the central path, you are plunged back into water and impossible lushness.

Phew - overdrive of senses somewhat relieved by more traditional borders and lawn of the old garden.

Castillon is a garden I keep thinking about, images of it popping up in my head randomly when I’m daydreaming.

Come and gone

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Sun, 09 Jan 2011 13:04:00 +0000

Only a few weeks ago, I was anticipating the arrival of a harsh winter in Belgium based on the unlikely discovery of a few speckles of snow in early December. We didn’t have to wait long because only a few days after that post, it started snowing... to the tune of Belgian’s harshest winter since 1946. But almost as suddenly as it came, Belgian's big winter has vanished. We came back on Thursday from holidays in Canada to discover that the almost 2 feet of snow which we left behind has dissolved into puddles and muddy fields, and temperatures are now at a balmy 10C.

Winter may have been short, but it was beautiful. Here are a few pictures of the magical winter landscape not often seen in Belgium, taken on December 18th. The snow had that perfect quality which makes it stick to every surface. It’s amazing how much we can overlook when admiring nature and our gardens – only with snow highlighting every twig, can one fully appreciate the intricate branching structure of trees and the rich woody layers of the forest.

A snowy cover also means that we're irresistibly attracted to any colour not white or brown. Pictures of red berries in winter are so overdone, and yet it's hard not to take (and post) just one more.

Structure and colour - winter is a great reminder of these important elements of landscape.

Le jardin d’eau

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Thu, 23 Dec 2010 21:01:00 +0000

Les Jardins de Castillon-Plantbessin were one of the gardens that made the deepest impression during our trip to the coast of Normandy. This blog was meant to be all about this captivating place and the many things I admired there. But whenever I think of Castillon, the first thing that pops into my head is one particular garden: le jardin d’eau, the water garden.

The layout of this garden is as simple as they come: a long rectilinear pool surrounded on all four sides by plants. The pool is dark mirror, reflecting the sky and providing as porthole to things below. Around it, a jungle of green plants are just on the edge of chaos, completely overtaking the space and leaving only a narrow path to walk on carefully at the water’s edge. The entire space feels secret, magical and powerful. I’ll just leave it to the pictures to hopefully convey the atmosphere, and there will be more to come on Castillon-Plantbessin. In the meantime, Happy Holidays!

Winter is coming

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Thu, 02 Dec 2010 20:16:00 +0000

Winter in Belgium generally means gray, rainy days with temperatures rarely dipping below freezing. Snow and ice are rare, and cause complete chaos across the country when they do occur.

Well, this year, we’ve been warned: a real winter is coming to Belgium. We could already see the first signs of it this weekend at our local botanical garden in Leuven: tiny specs of snow were nestled between the fallen leaves, even though it was a sunny day. This little evidence may seem pathetic to any Canadian, but in a country where rain is the only usual form of precipitation, it’s an ominous sign.

The sun is so weak now, it’s no wonder it can’t even melt a few bits of snow. It’s dropping ever lower in the sky, and by 2:30pm there was barely enough light to take these pictures. The soft, low lighting did make for some nice effects though, especially in combination with the dried skeletons of once lush plants.

One of the advantages of borderline freezing temperatures and moist air which characterize winter weather here is hoarfrost. It's a beautiful effect, one that I often saw in gardening books while in Ontario and usually thought what a scam! Any garden can look good silhouetted in hoarfrost, but how often does it actually occur? In Ontario almost never, but here (and I suspect in the UK, where most of the books were from) it's a frequent visitor during the winter months. The pictures below are from last winter, but we've already enjoyed a few mornings of it this year. It's just a tiny patch of un-mown roadside on my way to work, but doesn't hoarfrost just make the most mundane thing beautiful?

Le Parc du Bois des Moutiers, Normandy, France

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Tue, 23 Nov 2010 21:01:00 +0000

The partnership between Edwin Lutyens and Gertrude Jekyll ranks as one of the most famous in gardening. He was the architect, she the gardener. He provided the garden layout and designed the structures and spaces, while she filled them in with billowing herbaceous plantings that have become synonymous with the “English garden”. Given their place in British gardening lore, it was a bit ironic that I should see my first example of their work in Normandy, France at the Parc du Bois des Moutiers. And even more surprising that I should be most impressed by the elements provided by Lutyens, who is often a mere footnote to Jekyll in gardening books.

The owner of the property commissioned Lutyens to design his country retreat. Lutyens designed not only the main house, but more importantly all of the outdoor hardscaping, including terraces, paths, level changes, pergolas and walls. It’s easy to see the master’s hand at work here: all the elements flow into one another and into the landscape, seamlessly linking the house to its environment. And despite the detectable English influence in the design, the chosen materials and style seem local, and sit perfectly comfortably in the French countryside.

On one side of the house, the feeling is open and grand. A large, multi-level terrace offers a full view over a large lawn, which descends down into a park-like forest dropping steeply to the coastline and into the sea. The view is all sky and forest, with a small bit of sea poking through between the trees.

On the other side of the house, the ground is level and space is restricted by the small country lane that leads to the property. Fittingly, the feeling here is intimate and enclosed. A walled garden, a pergola-covered walkway and small paths and steps make this side feel like a hidden and private oasis, a complete antithesis to the open lawn on the other side, yet perfectly complementary.

Jekyll provided the planting plans for the property, primarily for the above mentioned enclosed areas. Unfortunately, it’s very difficult to know how closely today’s plantings match her original intent. I’m also not sure how she approached the design– did she come and visit the site, check the soil and look at native plants, or was it more formulaic? The soil here is chalky and shallow, perhaps not best suited to her standard palette of perennials. The family has also done a lot of restoration of the property after almost losing it, so again it’s difficult to know how close to the original plan they have stayed.

Some things are perfect, whether designed by Jekyll or the owners: the rose draped pergola and the soft white hydrangeas in containers fit this rural French site as well as anywhere. Other things are a bit disappointing, such as an in-between area on the side of the house, which features an open lawn with no structures and some randomly dotted tree specimens. The park on the sea-side is mainly the work of the owners, and makes for a relaxing walk through native forest intermingled with many cultivated plants, such as Japanese maples and hydrangeas.

Le Parc du Bois des Moutiers is a great place to take in some inspiring lessons about the role of structure in defining and linking the garden and house, or just to enjoy a beautiful setting on the Norman coast.

Le Clos du Courday, Normandy, France

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Wed, 03 Nov 2010 19:28:00 +0000

Only 5km away from Les Jardins Agapanthe lies yet another extraordinary Norman garden, Le Clos du Coudray. Although barely a few fields and a small village apart, the two gardens couldn’t be more different. If at Agapanthe the plants were the medium, at Clos du Coudray, they are the main message. In standard gardening lingo, Coudray would be described as a 'plantman's' garden, focused primarily on plants and plant combinations, and less on design. It is a classic example of a garden which has grown organically as passionate owners Marie-Christine and Jean Lebret added more areas and wanted to grow different types of plants. The result is a mixed bag of very different garden rooms with fantastic individual plantings and colours, if somewhat lacking in a coherent overall message.

The first of many garden rooms at Clos du Coudray is the rose garden, which sounds terribly conventional but luckily isn't. The mixed planting is sumptuous, and is well framed by a strong, geometric layout of long, parallel paths and trellises. Many of the colour combinations are masterful in this area, with both harmonizing and contrasting blends, and clever colour echoes.

Next is a typical English perennial garden, with large curved borders and big swathes of lawn, as well as a gravel garden in one corner and a small woodland at the end. A stream with several ponds runs through the middle of this long garden, providing a central link. The set-up reminded me a little bit of Beth Chatto's garden. It's a nice space with many beautiful details and great plant combinations, but I found it a bit of an awkward fit with the French countryside. The photos seem to have turned out OK though, again reminding me that pictures only tell part of the story.

A number of smaller gardens follow, which are set on more sloped, rolling land. The changing relief in these areas really added interest compared to the English garden above, and reminded me once again of the importance of this element – it is something that many great gardens do well. One of these smaller gardens which was particularly nice featured a naturalized pond in a depression surrounded by mature trees and lush plantings.

Deeper into the garden lie the newer areas, which showcase some novel plantings. One truly spectacular space which is not to be missed is the grasses garden at back end of the grounds. In the middle of July and with late afternoon sun, this garden looked spectacular. Unlike other 'new perennial' gardens, this garden is almost exclusively grasses with only very few, well-placed and perfectly coloured perennials. There was a very interesting feeling to this garden. My first impression was that of movement - the area is quite high and the slightest air movement is picked up by all the grasses and spreads in waves across the garden. My second feeling was that of being dwarfed – the mass of plants here is impressive, both in height and in breadth. The garden manages to be open and towering at the same time. Overall, a really interesting space and a creative take on the mixed grasses/perennial garden we see so much of right now.

As you move towards the exit, the last garden is a new tropical addition. This moist, shady corridor filled with lush plants is a world apart from the open grass plain just moments before. Just an example of the dramatic shifts at Le Clos du Coudray, which may leave the visitor a little bit dazed, but still appreciative of the great planting lessons throughout the garden.

Les Jardins Agapanthe, Normandy, France

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Wed, 13 Oct 2010 17:06:00 +0000

After England in May, the next garden wandering trip on the calendar was France in July (was I ever spoiled this summer!). It was absolutely magnificent. I was amazed by what’s happening over there in the gardening arena, and came away incredibly inspired.

As many other people have noted before, the French just seem to have a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’, an artistic flair that makes everything French somehow more beautiful. Gardens are no different, though for a long time the French seemed stuck in a formal rut. Luckily for everyone, gardening is enjoying a bit of a renaissance in France, with newer, innovative gardens popping up all over the country. Normandy is a hot-bed for (relatively) new gardens, so that’s where we went.

The first garden we visited was Agapanthe, and what a start – it completely blew me away. If anyone has a chance to visit this, please, please do. Agapanthe is a work of art in the form of a garden. Its creator is Alexandre Thomas, and he has devoted his artistic energy to this garden for over 15 years. It is a residential creation, which seems to be the category in which the best gardens are found in France.

The amazing thing about Agapanthe is that everything from an insignificant hidden corner to an overall view is gorgeous. You could honestly take a picture anywhere, and each composition would be beautiful. I’ve read some reviews saying that it’s overly theatrical, but I didn’t find it to be. It’s dramatic and staged, that’s for sure, but I didn’t find it false.

Thomas employs a mixture of recurring elements to create his compositions: clipped evergreens pop up a lot and are contrasted with loose perennial plantings; paths and stonework are innovative and always add to the picture rather than just being functional; and structures and decorations are used where they best complement the garden. Best of all, the entire garden is fully planted - there isn’t a patch of lawn anywhere, which made me particularly happy as a committed anti-lawn gardener.

The plants are the first important element at Agapanthe. The palette is mainly green, and it’s all about texture and form. You get the sense that the plants are used as an artistic medium, but also allowed to shine in their own right. The pruned boxwood and other evergreens scattered throughout the garden add green structure and link the whole together. Other areas are less structured in the geometric sense, and instead use texture upon texture of plants. As might be expected, there are also many agapanthus plants, mainly in pots. Hydrangeas, particularly white, also feature prominently. Normandy is known for its hydrangeas, with the most incredible specimens growing casually next to abandoned farmhouses and old churches.

And oh, the paths. I could go and on about the paths, and how Agapanthe has really opened my eyes to the possibilities that they offer, how much they can add to a garden. They were always creative, even though the materials were simple, just gravel and stone or brick.

In the most brilliant path I have ever seen, stone was combined with flowing water. It was brilliant, a magical spot where you really felt drawn into the garden. Because of the design of the path, you interact almost directly with the water flowing underneath your feet and in and out of the surrounding plantings, and thus feel completely immersed in the surroundings.

The decorations were also prominent, in particular the massive ceramic vessels. Apparently Thomas is also an antique dealer/collector, so he has a lot of pieces perfectly suited to the garden, each creating its own little vignette.

I could go on and on about Agapanthe – I’ve been thinking about it a lot since our trip, and each time I do, I get as excited and inspired as when I was there. It is a strong, beautiful art composition. Even the small nursery area at the end was gorgeous – in fact I didn't even realize that it was a nursery until I noticed everything was in plastic pots.

Wisley Garden, England

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Sun, 03 Oct 2010 18:45:00 +0000

The RHS garden Wisley is supposed to be the jewel in the RHS’ crown. It’s certainly a fantastic garden, which has almost anything one might be interested in as a gardener. Unfortunately for me, Wisley came at the end of our spring trip to England and I have to admit that I was a little bit gardened out. I really didn’t think this would ever be possible, but apparently five large gardens and an even larger garden show are just about enough for one trip. And maybe, although it seems sacrilege to even suggest it, I also grew tired of the absolute perfection of each garden we visited. Forests and wild meadows never seem to lose their charms – could it be that English gardens, or any type of garden for that matter, are just too ‘landscaped’ for their own good? Or maybe I’m just reading way too much into this – seeing multiple castles or paintings can also wear you down, no matter how beautiful each is individually.

But I digress. Back to Wisley, which really is a very lovely garden. It’s the oldest garden owned by the RHS, which means the Society has had over 100 years to develop it into one of the top attractions in England. The well-known greenhouse is instantly recognizable, while the Wisley trial fields are the sacred ground where the “RHS Award of Merit” is determined. There is great history at Wisley, a true establishment of English gardening culture.

As the gardens are very large, I’ll just go through a few of my favourite sections. One of the latest notable additions to the garden is Piet Oudolf’s modern take on the English double border. His wide borders run from the aforementioned signature greenhouse up a large slope, to the upper part of the gardens. While in late May they clearly weren’t at their full glory, they were still nicely filled in. I did think that perhaps some more structure (which is often found in Oudolf’s work) would have made the composition stronger, but maybe late spring is not the best time to judge.

A completely different area was the alpine garden. Here, attention was focused on the individual plants, and late spring was a great time to visit. As one might expect, everything was grown to perfection - a real candy store for the alpine plant enthusiast.

As seems to be often the case, I also really enjoyed the woodland section. There were two woodland sections at Wisley, one a little more ‘gardened’ with smaller trees and a great concentration of lovely woodland floor plants, and another which was more forest-like, at the further end of the garden. The latter featured some amazing rare and old tree specimens, as well as an impressive collection of rhododendrons and azaleas, all in bloom. A beautiful garden to enjoy, even in the perennial English drizzle.

The Urban Jungle

noreply@blogger.com (The Garden Wanderer) — Tue, 21 Sep 2010 17:44:00 +0000

I love coming across surprising little plants in unexpected places in the city. It reminds me of the incredible resilience of green things, as well as just how quickly they will take over once humans move out.

It seems that plants can make do with almost any growing condition. Here is Buddleia (Butterfly bush), looking perfectly happy on the narrow ledge of an old building in the center of Leuven. We coddle and fuss over these plants like new grandmas in Toronto, but here in Belgium they can break through concrete.

In a mild and wet climate such as Belgium's, any level or slightly angled surface can quickly be overtaken by vegetation. Moss is ubiquitous on almost any textured surface, while wider ledges can support a veritable garden. The side entrance of this local stone church was in full bloom this spring.

Old stone walls are also plant favourites, as well as tourist favourites. To me, there's nothing more romantic than an old stone wall, partially draped in wild vegetation. To most Belgians, they're really just old stone walls of doubtful structural stability. A friend has one in the backyard of her old farmhouse that I would kill for, and she can't wait to tear it down and repair it. Luckily the one around the old abbey in Leuven is still standing.

Flat ground is of course also a pretty good place for plants. This was an empty lot I spotted while riding my bike a few days ago. It looked absolutely brilliant, a perfect little jewel among cookie cutter houses and uniformly mowed lawns. Isn't it amazing that we spend so much time and effort to prevent this from happening?