The best garden design is problem solving

Garden design is many things: art, science, traveling through space (and time), but primarily it is an exercise in problem solving.

My knot garden 2.0 – far more sensible.

Over the years I’ve made many gardens. In truth I should say I’ve made many, many (many, many) gardens. It all began with a minor messing-about-outdoors dalliance which quickly progressed to more “serious” endeavors built around roses and herbs — I even had a knot garden, who does that. Sixteen years in the nursery trade fed an escalating plant-accumulation phase, which was perhaps inevitably followed by a period of attempting to tame the horticultural tiger I had loosed in the landscape

When it came time for yet another makeover (my last, I vowed) I was completely out of ideas for adapting the landscape in response to a massive building project that loomed over our lot, tearing the veil off my once private garden. You know what happens to an ant under a magnifying glass … well it wasn’t that bad, but it sure wasn’t good.

Evidence of garden betrayal. The neighbor was having a party, thus the Parking sign — but I think it adds a moody “Dexter” vibe to the landscape.

Distracted and discouraged, I simply looked the other direction. That’s when the garden escaped all bounds of decorum. This is probably the time to mention that our city lot is a typical 60- by 120-foot property — and there’s a house on it. It’s just not that big, but I was clueless about proceeding.

I knew I needed help, if not counseling. Fortunately, I consulted Seattle designer Virginia Hand to help me see past the garden(s) I’d known for decades to the possibilities of my future landscape. My wish list included privacy, a vegetable garden, room for gathering, room to dine (and nap) outdoors, and an organized workspace, with room leftover for all my favorite plants.

Note the diagonal line.

Investing in a designer’s time to help us find our way forward was invaluable. When newly defined property lines (!!) took a large triangular chunk out of the back garden, Virginia taught me about how a diagonal line could energize everything that was stuck in limbo.

The cozy interior of our 12 x 8 garden shelter, our haven.

Fast forward another decade, and the garden still fits. Not too big, not too small with plenty of room for leisure — our tiny outdoor shelter was a lifesaver during the pandemic. But, as it turns out, I might as well have adopted a tiny puppy with giant feet when I took on the level of maintenance required to keep a pleached hedge in trim. But everything is forgiven in April, when the crabapples blossom. I’ve harvested countless bouquets of sweet peas as well as surprisingly generous crops of tomatoes. 

A posy of sweet peas in a family heirloom vase.

As I wrote in my recent book(s)*

Tending a garden teaches us to know our plot and our place more intimately. We become familiar with shifting sun and shade as we move through the seasons. We recover the classroom-like wonder of watching seedlings emerge or discover a favorite (and reliably productive) tomato. Whether you’re new to growing or a seasoned green thumb, cultivating a year-round garden is a continuing education as well as a nearly constant feast.

Some years are more challenging or fruitful than others and sometimes the harshest seasons are the best teachers. Some years we celebrate a bountiful harvest; some years the birds get the berries. Alongside tender lettuce and tasty herbs we learn to cultivate a respect for natural systems and understand the importance of caring for the land that we have the privilege of tending.

* Grow Great Vegetables is published in three versions: Washington, Oregon and British Columbia (Timber Press 2026)