In another light

Fall arrived this past weekend. The sun was shining full at a low angle, bringing the first intimations of the season's glowing golds, yellows, oranges and reds, stippled by purple asters, black seed heads, fruits and berries that announce the end of the garden year. The fermenting fragrances of autumn soon will begin to rise from the earth.

This set of sun-lit photos contrasts with the twilight photos in the previous post. Click on this link to see that post.

Leaf-strewn terrace overlooking the garden. The worn blue stone paving dates to the mid-1960s giving the modest sitting area a patina of age.

Late blooming Lespedeza thunbergii 'Gibraltar'.

Geranium 'Rozanne'.

Steps down to the garden, of native argillite stone.

The small pond surrounded by mounds of debris just heaved out.

The bank up to the house, still a work in progress.

As the sun drops behind the trees, theatrical shafts of light create moments of transient radiance.

Panicum virgatum 'Shenandoah'.

Filipendula rubra 'Venusta' in its copper phase, asters yet to bloom behind.

The native Seedbox (Ludwigia alternifolia).

Rods of Rudbeckia maxima, Goldenrod, some of which I must pull out to control its spread.

Looking across the garden toward the east.

Tall Silphiums and Rudbeckias dominate here earlier in the season. More interesting ground level plantings are in the works ... orange daylilies in grass, Pycnanthemum muticum, Rudbeckia 'Henry Eilers'.

Serpentine wall.

Wave Hill chair with Miscanthus purpurescens on right.

Looking up toward the house. Is refuge in the house or is it in the garden?

Back path with partially planted area on the left. I just seeded Sorgastrum nutans, which is endemic to this site.

Miscanthus 'Silberfeder' and Inula racemosa 'Sonnenspeer'.

View across bracken toward six red walnut logs, with new Miscanthus giganteus making a partial wall behind.

Hidden path into interior sitting area.

Pycnanthemum muticum and Panicum.

A place to sit, like a nest among tall perennials.

Late blooming vernonia with asters and blue lobelia.

Pycnanthemum tenuifolium, naturally occurring on this site.

Vernonia seed heads.

Inula and Miscanthus purpurescens.

Looking toward the hidden terrace.

Mystical 'omphalos' of the garden.

The elevated box hedge slowly merging with the garden as perennials seed into the planting. I do have to control this.

Great blue lobelia randomly seeded in.

White Eupatorium perfoliatum and Great blue lobelia, with a large self-seeded Patrinia scabiosifolia between, randomly timed to grow tall and bloom next year. Hydrangea quercifolia behind.

Looking across to the woods. Patterns of light shift moment to moment.

In the balance

My garden exists somewhere on the edge between a wild field and a cultivated garden. Knowing the nature of this place and the difficult conditions I was presented with when I first started the garden, I chose an experimental, naturalistic approach combining plants already on the site with new plants, many large enough to dominate, literally smother, competitors, some native, some not. The chief criterion was whether a plant could thrive in this place, not place of origin.

Mounding shapes like heaving waves, suggesting tumultuous motion, and evoking some anxiety perhaps?

But my intent was bedeviled by a tentativeness, by concern that this was contingent on a host of uncertainties, a risk, a bet, a gamble. It might not work. And I've worried about the wildness over the years, not knowing whether my garden would survive as garden, whether I could maintain that precarious balance between wild and cultivated.

Now I have enough years with it to know I can. Though I'm with the garden only a few days a week, and I don't particularly like standing in the pond pulling weeds or dripping with sweat in a pile of scratchy Miscanthus, I can from time to time intervene in the dynamic process of plant competition, make changes for the better. At times, rip out unsuccessful areas and make them anew. Now I feel much more at ease with the messiness, the lack of neat edges, the ungardened or partially gardened areas.

The long view - much more tranquil, especially with the strong verticals of the trees behind.

Many people, I realize, don't see a garden at Federal Twist. Some see a field of weeds and large, strange plants. Some become uneasy walking through it. Others "get it."

Since I don't really care for the labor of gardening, should I call this a garden an object of aesthetic or philosophical contemplation? One gardening acquaintance has called it a "creative mess." Is it?

The answer to both questions is "yes."

White candles of Sanguisorba canadensis light up the twilight.

It calls out to you to give it meaning.

You have to "find" the garden each time you look at it. I'm wary making comparison with paintings or photographs because they not at all the same, but it helps to look at the garden as an intentionally composed image. Simply taking a photograph does this, creating a frame that leads the eye to focus on individual details and find relationships within the framed image, and suggests the possibility of what lies outside the frame. It's a tool, so to speak, a way to learn how to look at the naturalistic garden.

Pattern and order ... in the first image you can see the mounding shapes of Miscanthus, Lespedeza, Oakleaf hydrangea, Joe Pye Weed, Filipendula and Golden rod, toward the back Miscanthus purpurescens in plumy flower. Added to this visual differentiation is the tumultuous emotional effect, a feeling almost of being tossed about by a sea of plants smashing together. A paradox, it seems, because all was quite still when I took that shot. Nothing is moving. The movement is only suggested by a seeming superabundance captured within that tight frame. The tumult and motion take place only in the mind of the observer, not in the garden.

With dense planting minor changes in position present new compositions.

A bit of dark water evokes dark thoughts.

Lespedeza thunbergii 'Gibraltar' veiled by Prairie cord grass, an alien and a native. Only the native is invasive!

The central garden, with a bronze sculpture almost hidden by the plants, a pleasant visual association, and vaguely evocative - but of what?

Raised planting of box extending back to the pond, joined to it by a mound of Oakleaf hydrangea, with irrepressible self-seeded Great Blue Lobelia and Eupatorium perfoliatum.

Swamp aster, Chelone 'Hot Lips', Conoclinum coelestinum.

The main path across the garden. Most of the verticals are Rudbeckia maxima.

Panicum 'Shenandoah' and Rudbeckia maxima.

Great blue lobelia (Lobelia siphilitica) naturalizing in grass.

An area of naturalized planting in grass - the dry end of the garden.

Walnut log circle, intended as a reminder of native inhabitants of this area. But such symbols don't really work. You bring your own meaning to it.

In the photo this view looks rather chaotic, showing the garden teetering on the edge between order and chaos, but in three-dimensional reality you can move around. The sense of spatial definition brings the view back into balance.

Rudbeckia maxima, a major theme plant, with my best ground cover, Miscanthus.

The low house on the hill broods over the garden.

A seating area for disappearing into the plantings.

The bank going up to the house.

Sanguisorbas. They self-seed well. I want other varieties.

Kitsch or useful visual ornament?

The Brooklyn garden on the morning of September 13. I mounted the ceramic face of Bacchus on Monday.

After visiting a garden last weekend with an overabundance of sculpture, one which we all agreed had gone beyond artful to kitsch, I'm concerned I may be doing the same with this object.

But it does have enormous virtue. Apart from giving a fine point to the garden's small perspective, its brightness catches the eye and keeps the eye within the garden. It looks down at the ground plane and the plantings, making you do the same. So the visual focus is directed downward and the outside view of houses across the way becomes less distracting. It really works quite well. It also reflects in the pool, and its brightness highlights the glimmering surface of the water.

Yet another contribution--when I look out from the house, it looks back, creating a dynamic visual exchange that adds visual and emotional depth to the garden.

But what is the kitsch factor?

(Ignore the planting at the back. It's become a plant holding area. I want to put in green Hakonechloa macra in the spring.)

Courtyard Gardens at Grounds for Sculpture

On every visit to the Grounds for Sculpture I'm astonished by its beauty. Formerly a state fairgrounds, the place has several sterling Art Deco buildings. My favorite is the Domestic Arts Building, which is put to good use as the focus of several courtyard gardens.

Enigmatic sculpture

Spatial transition

Feel it?

Water garden

Hakonechloa macra

Conversation - or more?

Camperdown elm

Maple courtyard

Illusion

Colors

Bambu

and bambu

and bambu and maple

Gallery

You can see many other photos of the visit here.