Designing Gardens

Several weeks ago I took Connor to a birthday party at his classmate's house. The yard was incredible. I spent the entire time oohing and aahing over the variety of plants and the overall design. It was fabulous. The yard was surrounded by gray brick retaining walls, planted with shrubs at the top. There was a layer of shrubs and perennials at the ground level, and the overall effect was dimension and depth to an otherwise flat space. The entrance to the yard was a long path, and with the retaining walls spilling over with plants and draped with ivy, it felt almost enchanting and mystical. The path wove through a small play area with a sandbox, and then made its way to the back, where there was a square patch of lawn, a swing set, and two Adirondack chairs. There was a screened-in-porch overlooking everything, and paths that disappeared in a maze of plants. That was just the back yard; I never even saw the front (I entered from the side. I admit that I actually drove by that house later, just to catch a glimpse of the front landscape.)

When I met the hostess, I told her how fabulous and wonderful her yard was.

"The prior owner was a landscape architect," she replied. "You should have seen it when we moved in."

Oh, if only....

I returned home and began researching retaining walls. And I realized that a yard like that would cost at least $20,000. Maybe even more. Ouch.

Not to worry. I picked up a Southern Living a few days later and was inspired by another garden. A kitchen garden, they called it. Now this was practical. I suddenly pictured a harvest of corn, watermelon, peppers, tomatoes, onions, and lettuce. I pictured herbs intermingled throughout. I pictured a brick patio lying next to it, separating it from the back lawn where Connor plays. I would put it on the side of the house, next to the wooden patio, which is one of the few spots in our yard with ample sun. The bay windows in the kitchen would overlook it. It would be somewhat formal in design, but the plants would be allowed to grow and sprawl as they pleased. A kind of merging of the natural and formal worlds.

A little more research revealed that the kitchen gardens of Colonial Williamsburg might give me everything I dream of. I found yet another garden, with limestone-gravel paths edged in brick, and patches of vegetable gardens where the plants grow abundantly. Two bonuses to this particular design: (1) with the brick layout, it would look nice even in the winter, and (2) slugs hate limestone (or so I'm told).

And so I set out to the library to find a book on the gardens of Colonial Williamsburg. I was determined to find a layout that would fit my space so that I could mimic it in my own yard. They had one book, and according to the computer catalog it was checked in. But I couldn't find it anywhere. I was so frustrated. I considered asking for assistance, but I had Laila in the carrier, who was trying to figure out how to get my boobs out of my shirt, and Connor running wild through the aisles, pulling books off the shelves and asking when we were going to go look at his books. I settled on Classic Garden Plans and The Art of the Kitchen Garden instead.

And now my head is spinning. My problem is I love them all. I can't pick one and stick with it (which is why I will never do a $20,000 landscape). No matter what I choose, there's a good chance I will change my mind in a year. And since gardens take several years to fully develop, I fear I may never get ahead.

I plan and plan and plan, and when planting time comes I head to the nursery with my little list, but I never buy what's on the list. Sometimes I can't find the right plants. Sometimes the plants I need don't look particularly healthy. But more often than not I am inspired by a different plant that I see, and I buy it (or several) with no idea where they will go, and then I get home and just put them somewhere, which in turn messes up the plan I originally had. Sometimes it works; most of the time it doesn't, and I make plans to move the plants when the weather cools down.

Gardening is a slow process. Gardening requires patience. Although in essence it is simple, there is so much to learn about it. In one of the garden blogs that I read (Garden Rant), the blogger (Michele Owens) states that although she has been growing vegetables for 18 years, she is still learning fundamental things. If that's the case, then I suppose I will never become bored of gardening.