I’ve spent the last couple of days visiting gardens. Five gardens in two days is quite impressive, but not quite my record. My record was six.
Three of these gardens were fairly big public gardens; Trebah, Glendurgan, Trelissick and Marwood Hill. The remaining garden was a private garden open for charity.
It begs the question of why would someone who spends their working week in gardens spend the weekend visiting other gardens. I must say it’s nice to visit gardens I’m in no way responsible for!
Lifestyles Of The Rich And The Famous
There’s an element of voyeurism visiting gardens. We like to see what others get up to behind their garden gate.
Invariably the gardens that are most highly regarded, the most talked about, and indeed the ones open to the public on a regular basis in the first place, are large gardens belonging to the wealthy. Many of these gardens here in the UK are now under the care of the National Trust, but some belong to independent charitable trusts while others are businesses in their own right.
One family used to look over this wall and see their parkland
Gardeners flock in large numbers to walk among opulent borders, admire towering trees and, depending on the garden, walk on lawns bigger than our whole gardens.
Perchance To Dream
I used to be so in awe of these places.
Like so many gardeners I daydreamed about what it would be like to have a garden of such scale myself. My mind wandered: I would have dahlias here and row of flowering cherries there, oh and I’d really like a jetty out into the lake with a comfy chair… The nature of daydreams is such that I never dreamed about the work looking after it, or the processes of employing others to look after it for me.
An adventurous garden like Trebah needs a team of skilled gardeners to look after it
Domestic British gardens have traditionally followed the model of big country gardens, albeit on a ridiculously miniaturised scale. Imagine a rectangular garden with a solid fence on three sides (to keep nosy neighbours from looking in) with a narrow strip of border up each side and a lawn in the middle to represent the lawns and borders of the aristocracy. Every estate needs a big pond or lake, so a small pond is squeezed in somewhere. Oh and you must grow some fruits and vegetables for the kitchen, even though your garden is a fraction of the size of the productive garden on a big estate.
Changing Ideas
For a surprising amount of time this suburban ideal was the model of British gardens. Gardeners who turned their whole gardens over to one particular interest, such as vegetables or produce for showing, were regarded as gently eccentric and allowed to get on with their lives in peace.
Then we started looking at the idea of gardens being extensions of the home, places to live in rather than a separate entity. I think we largely took the idea off the Americans, so thanks for that. The slight problem is that the British climate is remarkably dissimilar to that of, say, California. In the UK a barbecue is something that lives under a cover for around 360 days of the year, only to be pressed into service when both free time and good weather collide.
Just for fun; a log ‘moon gate’ at Enys, Cornwall
Nevertheless the idea that your garden was more than just a place of toil opened up a whole new idea; your garden could represent you and your tastes. Ironically the large gardens of the wealthy, some subject to restrictions in order to preserve them, were now being left out of the new revolution in gardening.
There are gardens that have embraced modern ideas of artistry but generally the revolution hasn’t been as great as that which created them in the first place. Labour and materials are expensive now and the truth is that this, along with a lack of creative vision, has slowed the evolution of larger gardens. Domestic gardens can quickly embrace things like decking because it’s much easier to do this on a more modest scale. Add that irritating sense of tradition that goes with big country estates and it’s a wonder there’s progress at all.
What Makes A Garden Great?
An interesting question posed in the wake of my recent post here asking what makes a great gardener.
It’s also a difficult question to broach objectively, as personal taste will inevitably play a major part in shaping our opinions.
I’ve seen a lot of amazing gardens over the years (and some less amazing ones too), but I have actually come to a sensible and objective answer to the question.
The garden at Bodnant benefits from breathtaking scenery
A great garden is one that makes a real impression on you.
I can give you an endless list of gardens I’ve visited over the years, but there are some that still stir something within me. These are the gardens where I’m instantly transported back to my visit(s) and can remember so much detail. Most importantly this process of remembrance also stirs emotions within me.
I remember the gentle influence of Bodnant in Wales, where unbeknownst to me the garden’s soul was guiding me towards an interest in plants and gardens. I remember my first visit to Trebah and reaching the garden’s private beach. The gentle atmosphere of Stone Lane, not far from my home.
None of the gardens that have made such an impact on me have been exactly small, but each has had something about them, a spirit of place that has come to mean something to me.
Benign Dictatorship
Scottish gardening expert Ken Cox has a marvellous expression: he tells us that the best gardens are created through benign dictatorship.
A strange thing to say on first impressions, but when you think how many great gardens have been the vision of one person, or have had a series of owners/gardeners who have taken the lead, it makes sense.
Gardens are very personal things. They’re built with love and devotion, and reflect the singular vision of the person, occasionally a couple or a family, who have brought them into existence.
Bold displays come from gardeners with singular vision
Gardens built or at least managed by committees never seem to have the same feel to them. The same is true of those designed by designers. A personal garden evolves with the needs and desires of the gardener, so comes to tell a story of the coming and going of interests, changing ideas and so on. Gardens built by committee lack the spark of a personal garden; they can be nice to look at, impressive even, but there isn’t that all-important soul.
The same is true of a garden that is designed. A designed garden is installed as a total package, and generally the aim is to keep the garden as it was when the last plant went into the ground. Designers seem to subscribe to this idea too, and it’s very much modern practice that once your garden is installed the designer comes back at least once a year, at your expense of course, to issue instructions about how the garden should be gently modified and managed to keep it looking how the designer wants it to look.
No gravel for me; agaves in long grass at Glendurgan
I am completely and utterly not a fan of this. As far as I’m concerned a garden that is installed should be allowed to evolve and mature, rather than being kept in a state of perpetual newness. This is the problem with treating designed gardens as artistic works; there’s an impetus to keep an artwork how the designer wanted it so art is cleaned and protected. By contrast a garden is a living entity and should be allowed, within reason to do whatever it wants.
Seeking Greatness
My garden isn’t great. It brings me great joy but it hasn’t reached the point yet where it makes me feel.
The thing about the gardens that I would call great is that they’re not places where everything is perfect. The soul of a garden lies in its imperfections; it’s in the little details like moss on a statue or gently worn away steps. It’s the weed poking cheekily out of the border. It’s the joy of brushing against a plant that overhangs the path.
It’s the little details of a garden that give it spirit
I’ve never felt the soul of a garden in its neatly mown lawn on perfectly clipped hedges. I’ve never been to a garden where the conscious highlight is the neatness of the gravel paths.
The soulful garden comes about through a good relationship between gardener and garden.
The gardener does what needs doing but otherwise lets the garden find its own spirit. Sure there are gardens around that impress us as we view them, but there are precious few that make us feel something.
And that, to me, is the mark of a great garden.
I agree wholeheartedly! I consider my 10 acres a garden, although others may think much of it as a woodland or prairie. That is my sense of place along a river in the middle of the U.S. eastern deciduous forest. The paths and seats make it a garden. I have beds near my house but use mostly native plants. As I age I am replacing perennials with native shrubs to make the beds easier to care for.
Paths and seat, and you’re making a conscious decision about what to grow and how… sounds like a garden to me.
And it sounds rather wonderful too.
Thank you for this lovely post. It makes me feel really good about my garden! I’ve got the moss, I’ve got the worn steps, I’ve got weeds peering out everywhere! I’ve got looming plants hitting my head as I walk on my deteriorating paths! I love my garden, and I have to admit that people who see it do get the impression that they have seen something more than a “yard.”
Sounds like your garden has soul, and I like that.
I aree. Great gardens are the onea that stay with you because they made you feel. Theose are gardens with a soul.
Absolutely agree. That feeling is important.
I could not agree with you more! My current garden was started 20+ years ago just having made a move. I’m 82 now, and I am thankful every day that I have a garden that I built with some physical help from my husband. It has matured to shady paths bordered with plants that obscure any distinct lines; the paths have several mini “tree tunnels,” and, most of all, has memories. I’m unable to work in it now but no matter, just walking around in it and admiring what nature has provided is more than enough.
I feel that I have a soulful garden, maybe not one that is great, but the feeling it evokes in me means everything. It’s all personal. Thanks for a truly meaningful essay.
It’s interesting how plants and gardens can evoke such memories and feelings.
I have always thought that the garden has one job: to please its creator. Oh, it’s nice if others like it, but it’s something that has to please me first and foremost. So I agree with your sentiment wholeheartedly.
I had the great privilege of spending 30 years working a garden that had been the vision of one man/family for 60 years. After my retirement, a ‘consultant ‘ firm came in with no understanding of the spirit of the place. The entities now in control are following their recommendations and I feel the spirt is waning.
What a fantastic career, but also how disappointing to see that garden lose spirit because it’s now under the management of someone who doesn’t get it.
Your words were exactly what has gone through my mind when walking through designer made gardens. No personality or soul. I was just taking a video of a night blooming primrose opening and a neighbor walking by told me my garden had unique plants, I wasn’t sure was that a compliment or a negative, didn’t matter because my garden makes me happy!
I’m glad someone else has noticed this. I was a little apprehensive writing it in case it was just me…
I’ve been on garden tours where it seems that all that can be said is that the person could afford a pricey design firm. Paying somebody to put in a garden — to me — is like paying somebody to eat a hot fudge sundae for you.
An excellent analogy, and so true. I get that not everyone has the patience to evolve a garden, and some want to spent money to shortcut the process.
But is it not another level of fakery?
Yes, it is. I really admire and enjoy this column, Ben and I thank you for writing about gardens and their souls. Bravo!
Excellent post; I couldn’t agree more!
As both frequent garden visitors and also opening our own garden, your essay is spot on, especially considering our recent experiences. “Landscapes” designed as you say, are often an unimaginative bore around an expensive home. Not always but yes…the preservation of discreetly plants surrounded by bark mulch-oh the horror.
I understand how those less inclined to gardening might just want a bit of green around their home, but there’s no way such a thing could have the same effect as a garden that has been lovingly tended and guided,
I really enjoyed this essay, Ben. And I can understand how you could work all week and then visit gardens on the weekend – I never miss the opportunity to see the gardens of others. I like to think my gardens have soul and make an impression. Creating and maintaining them myself continues to be a source of joy for me – if that doesn’t make them “great,” I don’t know what does. By the way, that moon gate is so whimsical and enchanting – now I want one!
Moon gates are great!
But yes, there’s more to a garden than a collection of plants in a space. Over time it comes to mean something.
The responses to this post are very striking. If you were to talk about a great garden in Britain, people would assume you were talking about places like Bodnant, Sissinghurst or (sigh) Dixter. Not so much their own gardens.
This must simply be the result of the British garden opening tradition.
Quite a culture gap, I think.
The question is whether the big ‘great gardens’ of the UK are great because they make people feel something, or if they’re great because they’re hyped up to be special.
You’ve seen yourself how people can be if you dare criticise Dixter, but if it wasn’t hyped up so much as this great icon I wonder if it would have the same universal appeal?
Yep, I wonder!
I agree Ben. A great garden makes you feel. Now, the question is – what if it’s not necessarily a good feeling, but nonetheless a feeling you can’t ignore? Still great? Yes perhaps. Great does not always mean good. – MW
An interesting idea.
The Vistorians had stumperies built to unsettle visitors, and occasional touches of the macabre….
Well, the good thing about seeing a garden that elicits negative feelings is that it makes us feel better about our own!
I certainly approve of the benign dictatorship concept. Being able to express a personality through plants is what I notice and appreciate both in my garden and in others. A garden can be a lovely setting for a home, without being a great garden.
That’s very true. There are many pretty, but not great, gardens around.
Surely it is fundamental that the purpose of any garden, beyond utility, is to make one feel something, if only satisfaction at meeting neighbourhood standards. As Russel Page pointed out, most people want their personal gardens to make them feel calm and relaxed. Other gardens are primarily aimed at visitors to impress, surprise or entertain them.
As a designer, I can’t help but respond to a few ideas here that seem to be on the rise. First, all gardens are designed or composed by someone, somehow. To assert that gardens designed by people who have made it their occupation, at any/all skill levels, lack ‘soul’, or the ability to connect with ‘spirit of place’, is irrational, and I’m trying to be nice. Although I believe I know what people are talking about when they use these words, it is not something soulless designers invented. In my profession, it is typically a mad struggle to inspire clients and architects to be engaged and interested in garden/landscape spaces on any level. If a garden space falls short of evoking a desired feeling, or any feeling at all, that will be the result of many factors, including such basic variables as time of year, time of day, lighting effects, and even air temperature.
I am aware of who it is that originated the stereotype of the designer as an indifferent and soulless charlatan. It needs to stop. What I would agree with is the idea that we might have more conversations about how gardens and landscape make us feel, and specifically why, if possible.
Thank you for taking the time to respond.
I don’t doubt for a moment that it is challenging to balance the needs and desires of clients and interested parties, to suggest that gardens that lack feeling comes down to variables such as time of the year, time of day, lighting effects and temperature is a bit baffling. Is the suggestion that designers can’t get things wrong, that gardens only have a spirit of place under certain conditions, or maybe that we’re not seeing the garden correctly? I’m confident that this is not what you mean.
What I will say is that I’ve not suggested that designers are indifferent and soulless charlatans, and I wasn’t aware that such a stereotype exists. I wrote this piece independently and based it on my own thoughts and opinions.
But yes, 100% to keeping the discussion going. Some might think that disagreement is the enemy here, but the truth is that not discussing ideas is what causes problems. A lack of discussion around design and even the purpose of a gardens risks the whole topic slipping into banal non-entity.
Just to clarify: there are so many possible variables that add up to a great aesthetic experience. I was just pointing out that season, and time of day, and thus light effects are among them. Nothing about gardens ever comes down to one thing, and we will all appreciate, or be annoyed by different things in our own gardens, and in the gardens of others, at any given moment.
Yes, designers make mistakes. Yes, there is bad design. No doubt about it, but it is very hard to quantify.
I have reread your article, and I believe you were fundamentally sharing an appreciation for a wabi-sabi type of aesthetic that you will hardly see in the ‘horticultural’ garden, or an actively preserved historic estate garden – although you would see it in an historic garden in an active state of ruin or disrepair, but with a slightly different flavor, or felt effect. Designers just got tangled up in that.