Xeriscaping is not a new concept, but if you don’t reside in the Western US or another arid clime, you may be less familiar with it. Most broadly, xeriscaping refers to a style of garden design or landscaping that utilizes minimal water resources, specifically water derived from natural precipitation or condensation, reclaimed sources, or nominal irrigation. In parts of the horticultural world, it is often simultaneously stylistically neglected and derided, which may be linked to an inaccurate understanding of the style itself. 

Significantly, xeriscape is not intended to be NO water use as obviously all plants need some source of moisture. Additionally, others make the error of assuming that all xeriscaping is done entirely with native plants when, in reality, it is simply using plants that tolerate or prefer low moisture. Still, others may believe that few design elements are incorporated, assuming that it is a “natural” (potentially) untended space—owing perhaps to the poor mental representation of the xeriscape concept relevant to what most people imagine makes a garden. In fact, xeriscaping is entirely intentional, and carefully edited design is a core component—more on that later.

Every time I visit my parents, my mother and I go through the same exchange. Me: What if I plant something exciting for you in your backyard? Her:  Nothing grows in Arizona and the animals would just eat it anyway. I then launch into naming potential plant options and explain why they are adapted and won’t be decimated by the animals. She tells me she hates cactus (I know), and I remind her that nothing I named was a form of cactus…and we end in détente.

In the popular imagination, gardens are often conceptualized as lush green spaces replete with vivid color, primarily from flowers. Ask most people what a garden is, and they will likely describe something more typical of what grows in temperate zone climates, with average to above-average water resources and soil conditions. 

While many gardeners, garden designers, horticulturalists, etc., know that an entire range of flora exists, those who are not gardeners, or even perhaps not plant admirers, fail to imagine the array of possibilities. Furthermore, many people (avid gardeners included) assume that an orthodox “native” garden with an amalgamation of prescribed plants constitutes xeriscaping. Still, others take it one step further and assume xeriscaping is zero maintenance; however, an unmaintained space simply becomes disturbed ground and ultimately reverts wild, so NO maintenance does not exist as a garden, merely as a natural-ish space. When the gardener’s hand is long absent, the disarray, lack of design, or care will always become evident. 

Back to the verbal volley with Mom… As a last-ditch effort to illustrate what an attractive and creative xeriscape garden could be, I decided to do some visual reconnaissance—on the hottest day of the year–at the Scottsdale Xeriscape Garden.  Encircling and heroically concealing the City of Scottsdale Water treatment facility near Phoenix, Arizona, the garden is a designated “ecological park” that doubles as a stunning public works resource.

While not an expansive area, the garden offers insight not only into xeriscape planting and water conservation but also masterstrokes in creative xeriscape design. Strong forms, sweeping vistas with repeating themes, shadow work, natural textures, and sound (wind through fine leaves, cicadas, etc.), interplay to create a grounding sensory experience in what would otherwise be a banal public space. 

 

Several features elevate this garden above other “xeriscape” yards haphazardly punctuated with cacti and misappropriated exclamation points of date palms throughout the greater Phoenix area. Foremost, consider the material choices. Although plants exist as the protagonists, the use of weathered natural steel, multiple types and forms of stone, and, yes, even reclaimed water convey a story greater than the component parts. 

 

Stone gabions, or rocks in bondage as I fondly refer to them, are used effectively to create visual volume and tie the building to the landscape. Notice how the gabions are repeated structures across the landscape.

 

Planting density is also a key player here. Striking architectural forms, such as this Aloe, become more impactful because they are grouped together into large communities of plants, modifying how we experience them.

 

Perhaps the most powerful and even desirable feature is indeed the restricted use of color and shadow in the elegantly pruned chartreuse Palo Verde allée. The negative space between the punctuated forms offers the eye a muted textural place to land.

 

Despite this skillful execution, many will continue to disregard this garden and others like it. In speaking with my companion at the garden later, he noted that while he appreciated the space, he “would not have known it was a garden unless [I] had told him,” which brings us to perhaps the bigger stumbling block. We need to begin to expand how we talk about and conceptualize gardens—beyond “landscaping” and the “yard,”—the garden is the extent of the human-modified natural space (however managed) outside of our doors. When we begin to appreciate it in that format, we open our eyes to what can be possible. Incorporating at least some of the key elements of good garden design (color, texture, shape/form, varied materials, contrast, scale/proportion, etc.) then makes it special. Nevertheless, in case you’re wondering, it still had too many cacti for my Mom.