Garden Building with Fresh POV

Over time, human beings become blind to the clutter that surrounds us – particularly the clutter that masks an awkward space.  It’s the reason that right now, on a corner of my bathroom countertop that I’ve never used effectively, there is a semi-permanent pile of ugly vitamin bottles and two houseplants on the critical list. 

If I was walking through my house for the first time as a bright-eyed homebuyer I’d spot them. But many years in, they are probably there until I finally give a precious day or two to ‘solving’ that space (or costly renovate the whole damn area).

Instead I’ve invisibled it. 

And subconsciously, it still bugs me.

The same sort of awkwardness can be masked/ignored/left to fester in the garden, and it probably happens far more often; because most people are more concerned with the inside of their houses than the outside.

But for those who aren’t…and for those who have reluctantly thrown up their hands at the impossibility of ‘solving’ a certain landscape issue – and have begun steadfastly ignoring it instead – I sympathize. 

It’s not that we want it to remain unattractive and unsolved, we just don’t know where to start; and detaching oneself from that semi-comfortable blindness – and the biases, fears, desires and annoyances that feed it – is extremely difficult.

After all, it is far easier to blame difficult terrain and greedy shade trees for the haphazard placement of some struggling and mismatched containers, than to finally clear them away and realize that the space is still ugly. And now it’s boring too.  

Sometimes you just give up.

POV: You’re staring at the impossible

One of the best ways I know of breaking out of this difficult cycle is by harnessing the power of someone else’s point of view.

When you are starting to contemplate asphalt over ambiance and the budget doesn’t include a personal consultation by a top landscape designer, a friend that gardens well might be all you need.

Their fresh perspective on the garden that surrounds and confounds you is incredibly valuable – even if it’s painful. Though it’s hard to hear a friend admit that, yes, that ugly corner is in bad shape, and your landscape band-aids aren’t fooling anyone – hearing what this gardener might do in your place can prod you to think differently about it.  

When I moved into my last [serious fixer-upper] home, I despaired over three levels of honeysuckle vines, poison ivy, weedy grass, and groundhog holes – with a few shovelfuls of broken glass and detritus thrown in for giggles.  A small adjoining woods was reclaiming the property; but even in this pseudo-wild space, privacy was non-existent owing to the sheer amount of surrounding houses that stared at us, exposed at the top of a hill. I had no idea where to start.   

Eventually we hid all those neighbors.

POV: Your friend informs you that you’re lucky

A gardening friend had just taken a relatively level lot in her own small town and turned it into a space where traditional formality paired with gentle wilding and created…magic.  I invited her over, desperate for ideas, but our properties were so different I didn’t hold out much hope. Faced with my hilly topography, carnivorous vines and greedy trees, I was fairly certain that she’d tell me to buy some iris and a swing set.

Surprisingly, my friend did not shudder or smirk.  Instead, she said something that has stuck with me ever since. “I envy you your levels,” she said.  “You can create so many different rooms in your garden.”

I probably laughed out loud. I was frustrated by my multi-leveled lot, awkwardly bisected by an old and ugly cinder block wall.  But after she’d gone home to her garden and I was left with mine, I pulled out a folding chair and sat for a while with the idea of separate spaces running through my head.

POV: Your wreck becomes rooms

Rooms. I hadn’t thought about that.  Instead, I had focused on the truncated spaces, the lack of traditional flat lawns and general obstacles to what I considered a ‘standard’ garden.  My friend was challenging me to look beyond the obvious use of the space and create something a little different.

And by the time we left that beloved garden, that’s exactly what I did.

Those levels allowed me to create ‘rooms’ for the vegetables and the compost pile, a ‘room’ for the bees and soft fruit; winding paths and secret steps – and even a ‘room’ with playhouse and lawn for two children who had much more fun on winding paths and secret steps.  A long slender stretch of grass in the front became a sunny perennial border, and a large maple provided enough cover to play with a different plant palette in a shady ‘room’ on the north side of the house.

All because someone else’s POV helped me see it a little differently.   

A room for bees.

POV: Imagine it naked

These days I try to keep my perspective fresh by playing a little game with myself when I visit someone else’s garden – especially when it’s really good.  I squint my eyes and try to imagine the space as it once was – probably plain, possibly difficult. 

Then I open them wide again and suddenly I can see the paint separated from the canvas.  It’s just a little exercise in reclaiming perspective – but it’s always wise to keep these skills fresh for the next time I come across a rocky outcropping or an inconvenient tree and need to brainstorm the possibilities. Every garden starts somewhere.

First two months at Oldmeadow — Shade!?!?!?! What on earth do I do with that?!?!?!!?!??!

Human beings are highly skilled at being critical of one another, but we also have the ability to harness this power for good.  Invite a friend over and give them carte blanche to talk about your garden till they’re blue in the face…then go get your hands dirty.  All you need is some fresh POV.­

Revel in the challenge. Every garden starts naked and ugly.