Woodland shadows

 Midway through life's journey, I found myself lost in a dark wood.

- Inferno, Dante Alighieri

"Woodland was once the predominant vegetation on much of the earth's landmass. In clearing so much for agriculture and settlement, the human race has created conditions much more to our liking, for we have an ambiguous relationship with trees and woodland. There is something primeval about mature woodland; it is a habitat in which we wonder at the majesty and diversity of nature, but at the same time do not feel quite at home. It is almost as if there is an aspect of the collective unconscious that makes us feel on edge when surrounded by trees."

- from Natural Garden Style, Noel Kingsbury

My garden, in an open clearing surrounded completely by a wall of trees, isn't always a comforting place to be. Though it's a bright sunny site, particularly in the morning, and a peaceful woodland setting, with the sound of the Lockatong Creek clearly audible at most times of year, I sometimes feel a sense of unease, particularly when alone -- an emotional undertone that colors the experience of being in the garden, a subtle feeling, one that is simply a part of being in this place. There are certainly moments of beauty, of peace, delight, and the miraculous sense of constant change as the wet prairie plants grow with amazing rapidity, continuously changing the profile of the garden, its colors and textures, as the seasons advance. But that feeling of unease always returns, lingering in the background.

"On edge when surrounded by trees" - Kingsbury puts it so simply. The woodland surrounding my garden is so tight and close, with trees leaning out over the edge of the garden, that the open savannah-like garden area always feels a little too closed in--threatened, if you will--by the forest, so eager to retake the land, to make it into forest again. To return it to its natural state, at least what would be its natural state in this climate, geological setting, and time.

Kingsbury's quotation points to one very  common experience of humans to woodland, and I think we all can relate to this feeling, walking through a forest, sometimes stumbling through tangles of undergrowth, sometimes walking smooth paths through grand halls of majestic trees, then suddenly breaking into the sunlight of an open glade. That is a welcome, a pleasant, and a safe feeling. On a deeper, more symbolic level, the forest can come to represent a host of meanings to us - in Dante's case, a condition of being spiritually "lost," unable to find the right path, the way to safety. These are such common reactions to the experience of woodland and forest, and such long-established conceits in our culture, literature and arts, that it seems almost willful to focus only on the beauty and fragility and peace of the woodland experience when, frankly, the woods can frighten us. Consider Hansel and Gretel.

There is something quintessentially American about this too, at least in this place. As my own  ancestors moved, with each generation, from east to west during the early settlement of this continent (or "taking" of this land, one might more accurately say), they repeated a pattern of settlement that became a motif of western migration, moving into new land, clearing the land of trees first of all, for safety and for utility, to make farming possible, to create pastureland for animals, to create visibility so danger could be seen from a distance. One could ask why the emotions that accompanied this experience are not entirely appropriate to an American garden. At least this is one common historical context, one we can play with, or play against, as we explore the making of a garden.

I relate this unease with the forest, as Kingsbury points out, to something almost like a collective unconscious, but also to a deeply buried, and unresolved, habit of thought, a deep fear of the unknown and unknowable, and the need to find safety in control, to what has become a flight in our current culture into the superficial, something that has taken as one of its prime symbols the American suburban lawn, a smooth, featureless surface of green with no purpose whatever, other than to say, "Don't fear me, don't think I'm different, I'm like you, I'm no threat." Perhaps I exaggerate, or overstate the case, but I do believe there is a truth here too.

This Sunday morning, with the bright sunlight streaming down onto the snow, lighting the white cover deep into the forest, as my thoughts turn to spring, plants emerging from their dank, wet dormancy, the tall wirey flowering stems of the Darmera peltata and hybrid Petasites that will rise in a few weeks (among the earliest clear signs winter is over), to again starting work in the garden, the planting to come, I'm still aware of the looming woods and a sense of a presence, an immanence, out there, invisible, but felt.

 Awakening Filipendula rubra 'Venusta', irises, Rudbeckia maxima in spring - life 

bursting forth against a background of dark wood.

This isn't to say I don't enjoy the garden, that I don't find meaning in the annual struggle with the challenges it sends my way, the planning to give it a form that is appropriate to this wooded place while also setting it clearly apart as a cultivated garden, naturalistic though it may appear, that I don't find it "beautiful" at times, though beautiful with a significance beyond simple ornament and diversion.

The high today is predicted to be 55F, the warmest day in weeks, the snow is melting, at last, and though there are as yet few signs of real spring, I know the brightness and warmth are starting changes that will bring renewal.The garden largely cares for itself because it is planted appropriate to this place, to use that overused word, it is sustainable, continually looking forward to future springs, yet in careful balance with its past, historically, culturally, and psychologically recalling what came before, the idea of being lost and alone, of fear and suffering, then suddenly breaking into the sunlit clearing.

On edge when surrounded by trees, indeed. Where to go from here?

Sustainable Garden Design

Two presentations on sustainable garden design - one frightening, one practical - are available on podcast at the Gardens Illustrated podcast site.

As part of a Masterclass in Sustainable Garden Design sponsored by the Sustainable Design Advice Committee of the UK's Society of Garden Designers, these two talks by Mark Laurence and Nigel Dunnet address sustainable design from two dramatically different perspectives.

Mark Laurence presents a virtual end-time scenario in which the decline of fossil fuels will lead to the necessity of a total change in our way of living if we are to survive. It's a rather depressing talk, but one we all should hear. On the lighter side, Nigel Dunnet talks about water gardening and stormwater management. Nigel's point is that our houses and gardens should be designed to reuse all stormwater that falls on our particular piece of the world, preventing the cost of infrastructure to carry it away (a growing problem with development) and eliminating the pollution, erosion, flooding, and other negative consequences of ignoring the fact that stormwater can't be engineered away. Eventually, the cost is prohibitive. Interestingly, due to strong stormwater management regulations, America is far ahead of Britain in sustainable stormwater management.

Pond

The new pond was excavated to get soil to fill in behind the new dry laid stone wall. It's actually more a canal than a pond, about 40 feet long and 8 to 10 feet wide, with a slight S-shaped curve.

I thought this would be a sustainable gardening approach since I got a new, dryer planting area at the top of the wall, and a new pond to collect some of the water that flows around the southwest end of the house. The pond is still holding water after two weeks, with virtually no rain to refill it. I didn't use a liner, thinking my super clay would do the job. (There is an old pond a couple of hundred feet out in the woods that holds water perpetually, so I assumed this "natural liner" approach would work for me too.)

This certainly looks like a mess, but I'll be planting all around the pond in the coming months. We'll see how it looks later in the season.

Garden Diary: Using the Landscape as Guide

The Setting
The landscape at Federal Twist is the result of centuries of natural processes as water has drained from higher elevations down to the Lockatong Creek below the house, eroding and refining the landforms left by the advance and retreat of the ice sheet in the most recent glaciation. The landscape also shows the effects of various cultural overlays. The Lenni Lenape lived and hunted in this area for centuries, but left virtually no visible trace, though they certainly left artifacts of their civilization. Eighteenth and nineteenth century farmers cut the virgin forests, cleared stones to make new fields, and built the stone rows that form grids throughout the surrounding woods. Much later, in 1965, a major cultural change was introduced with the construction of what is now our house on an earthen platform elevated above the surrounding land, providing a view across the then open fields to the hills on the far side of the Lockatong valley (now mostly obscured by forest). Over the intervening decades, the house platform has changed drainage patterns, affecting the ecology of the area. By interrupting the flow of water down the natural slope to the creek, and forcing larger flows around each side, the earthen platform has created extremely wet, almost boggy areas at each end of the house, resulting in new ecological niches that will become part of my new garden.

Stone Wall: Imitating Curves in Nature
We have used native stone from old stone rows on the property to make a low, dry laid stone wall around the base of the earthen platform on which the house rests. On the end of the house we just finished building a curved wall that reflects the shape and direction of a small natural drainage channel. You can see how the curve of the wall partially follows and complements the shape of the channel in the photo above.

I plan to excavate a canal-like pond that will appear to flow from, and be fed by, the small drainage channel. The excavated soil will be used to fill in behind the new stone wall. In the next photo, you can see the start of the pond excavation (now interrupted by winter). The green hose, extending back about 40 feet from the water toward the woods, suggests the S curve of the pond, which will carry the curve of both the wall and drainage channel further into the garden (excuse the logs and debris; this is sort of a construction site).

Governing Concept: River Broadening into Delta
As shown in the next photo, taken from the opposite side, the curved wall serves another purpose. Since the main entrance to the garden is via a curved path through the woodland garden, the wall adds a visual momentum, opening the view to the garden as you walk down the path. This curve, in fact, has given this garden transition - from shade to sun, from woodland to open garden - a logic and flow that I didn't anticipate. Think of the narrow mouth of a river (the restricted entry space and wall) as the river rounds a curve and opens into a wide delta (the garden proper). This powerful concept has emerged gradually, as individual pieces of the overall design have fallen into place, and demonstrates, at least to me, the value of a "slow gardening" approach.

The view back to the house from the garden (next photo) shows the straight line of the wall, which will demarcate the wet prairie plantings below the wall, from the drier habitat plantings to be created at its top and extend up the slope.


The garden will develop in harmony with the natural landscape and setting. I have only to learn to read the landscape and interpret symbols left from the past. And, to the extent possible, practice sustainable design, reusing materials and resources from the site.

Garden Diary: Taking Stock

Douglas Tallamy's book Bringing Nature Home (see previous post) lists native plants of the Mid-Atlantic region with desirable wildlife value and desirable landscaping attributes. Since I do mix in exotics, I decided to see how many plants on Tallamy's list are in or surrounding my garden. Here's the list:

Shade and Specimen Trees
Acer rubrum
Betula nigra
Carya glabra
Platanus occidentalis

Shrubs and Understory Trees
Cephalanthus occidentalis
Chionanthus virginicus
Clethra alnifolia
Cornus alternifolia
Cornus florida
Ilex glabra
Ilex opaca
Ilex verticillata
Itea virginica
Lindera benzoin
Magnolia virginiana
Rhodendron atlanticum
Rhodendron viscosum
Rhus typhina
Sassafras albidum
Vaccinium corymbosum
Virburnum dentatum
Viburnum nudum
Viburnum prunifolium

Conifers
Juniperus virginiana
Pinus strobus
Tsuga canadensis

Vines
Parthenocissus quinquefolia

Streamside Plants
Acer rubrum
Betula nigra
Cephalanthus occidentalis
Clethra alnifolia
Magnolia virginiana
Platanus occidentalis
Rhodendron viscosum

Ground Covers
Carex plataginea
Podophyllum peltatum

Herbaceous Perennials, Dry Sites
Aquilegia canadensis
Arisaema triphyllum
Aster divaricatus
Aster laterifolius
Aster novae-angliae
Baptisia australis
Cardamine concatenata
Cimicifuga racemosa
Eupatorium perfoliatum
Geranium maculatum
Pycnanthemum muticum
Sisyrinchium angustifolium
Solidago canadensis
Veronicastrum virginicum

Herbaceous Perennials, Moist Sites
Asclepias incarnata
Aster puniceus
Chelone glabra
Eupatorium coelestinum
Eupatorium fistulosum
Eupatorium rugosum
Filipendula rubra
Hibiscus moscheutos
Iris versicolor
Lobelia cardinalis
Lobelia siphilitica
Lysimachia ciliata
Mimulus ringens
Monarda didyma
Penstemon digitalis
Polygonatum commutatum
Rudbeckia laciniata
Verbena hastata
Vernonia noveboracensis

Grasses, Sedges and Rushes
Carex vulpinoidea
Chasmanthium latifolium
Elymus hystrix
Juncus effusus
Panicum virgatum
Sorghastrum nutans

Ferns
Onoclea sensibilis
Osmunda cinnamomea
Osmunda regalis
Polystichum acrostichoides

Some of these are cultivars, not local species. I also have a number of other plants I believe are native, but they are not on Tallamy's list. Some, I know, are native to this continent, but possibly not to the Mid-Atlantic area. This brings up the much more complex subject of regional differences, and of local provenance vs. "native" in a very general sense. A subject for another day.

The Self-heal (Prunella vulgaris) in the photo above, for example. Is it a native in this area, a native of another region, or an alien that's been here so long we think of it as native? I have to admit I don't know.

Bringing Nature Home: How Native Plants Sustain Wildlife in Our Gardens by Douglas W. Tallamy

I'm a gardener, and I don't want to grow only native plants. This book makes me stop and think. Douglas Tallamy makes the best case for use of native plants I've read. I recommend it without reservation.

Tallamy writes with grace and humor. He makes it easy to follow his arguments, uses copious examples to relate his ideas to the natural world we all know, and uses down-to-earth anecdotes to illustrate his points clearly. The book, even with its many, for me, unpronounceable binomial Latin names for a multitude of insects, is an easy read. I finished it in two days, while busy with work and many other chores.

Simply put, the book's message is this. All life on earth, except for some recently discovered, relatively rare forms that take energy from volcanic vents in the ocean floor, depend on energy from the sun that plants convert into food through photosynthesis. Most of that solar energy is made available to higher life forms through insects that eat plants. With the exception of a few direct herbivores such as cows, all other higher forms of life either eat insects (most birds) or eat other animals that eat insects (hawks eating sparrows), and so on up the food chain. The productivity of an environment, literally the weight of biomass produced in a given area, is directly related to the insect population, and the variety of wildlife - number of species of birds and other wildlife - is also directly related to the numbers and varieties of insects living there.

Research now clearly shows that native insect populations cannot be sustained by most alien plants. Our insects have co-evolved with native plants over millions of years, and most have highly specific preferences for certain plants as food. As Professor and Chair of the Department of Entomology and Wildlife Ecology at the University of Delaware, Tallamy has access to research that tells a disturbing story. With increasing urbanization and suburbanization, loss of large forest and natural areas to development, and transformation of a vast portion of the continent into ecologically sterile lawn, we can look forward to mass extinctions of insects, birds, and other forms of life that could surpass the mass extinctions caused by the great meteorite impacts long ago.

Without the literally innumerable varieties of insects that constitute the first step in transfer of solar energy into life, massive losses of species will occur in the not too distant future. Many such extinctions are already under way.

Tallamy has statistics to back up his message. Native oaks, for example, support 517 lepidoptera species, willows, 456, birches, 413. In contrast, alien Clematis vitalba is a food source for 40 species of herbivores in its homeland, but only 1 in North America. Another example, Phragmites australis supports 170 species in its homeland, but only 5 species on this continent. Unfortunately, insects can't evolve to adapt to alien species in time to save our threatened populations. Evolution takes place over millions of years. Although the Norway maple has been on the North American continent for going on 300 years, and has become the predominant shade tree here, it still has not become a productive part of our native ecosystem. Instead, it is rapidly displacing native species of maple.

Lest you fear increasing insect populations will decimate your garden, Tallamy reassures his readers that balanced populations of insects and predators will keep each other in check. The key is to plant in sufficient variety to maintain a stable supply of insects as food, as well as birds and other creatures that feed on the insects.

Tallamy urges readers to do what they can to eliminate invasive alien species, to use native plants, to replace sterile lawns, which consist of two or three alien grass species that serve as a food source for little more than Japanese beetle grubs, with sustaining native plant refuges. He urges those who live in suburbia to plant native shade trees, even groves, to plant natives along lot lines to begin reestablishing productive areas where insects can successfully reproduce and thrive, and where their predators can find security and cover. If you have many insects, you'll also have many birds.

Like most people, I have an aversion to what I consider ugly, even frightening insects. I find it much easier to look at pictures of pretty butterflies than spiders and sawflies, but I learned a lot about the insect world while reading this book and looking at its pictures. And now I have enough knowledge to want to learn more, and to better understand how the natural world of my garden works.

I doubt I'll be able to entirely eliminate plants of foreign origin from my garden, but I'll try to keep a much better balance of natives to aliens (mostly natives), and practice more sustainable gardening in the future. And I'll certainly work to try to convince others to reduce lawn size and incorporate native plants into their landscapes.

The book is available through Timber Press.

For an opposing position, see my posting of October 2006 (Is planting Dahlia Bishop of Landaff an immoral act?). I'm still wrestling with with this one.

Moss-covered wall

We visited Iceland in early August. Reykjavik has many gardens, even a quite interesting botanical garden, but the highlight of the trip, floristically speaking, may have been a moss-covered wall fronting the city hall.

But that description of this unique "vertical garden" is far too bland. It's much more than that - visually, it's an arresting structure, long and green, at least in summer, full of texture and color, both a beautiful object and a powerful symbol. It is a wall of allusion, with symbolic references to multiple aspects of Icelandic ecology, culture and history, evoking the moss-covered lava fields surrounding the city, the old turf houses with "green" roofs the rural Icelanders lived in for centuries (consider the similarities to the turf-roofed house below). It pays tribute to the maritime heritage of the country, which depends for most of its wealth on the sea (reflected in the portholes in the wall), and is a fitting reminder of the location of the city hall at one end of the Tornin, a small jewel-like lake in the center of the city. Possibly other references beyond my knowledge are present there.



The wall is long, fronting the entire length of the building, with a large pool at its foot. It appeared to be kept moist by a spray of water from along the top (though Iceland's climate is so damp, it seems unlikely the mechanical watering feature would be needed all the time).



This looks like an exemplary model of sustainable design, using a monoculture of native mosses, as well as what appear to be a few self-seeded grasses and forbs, growing in a matrix of natural lava rock. I haven't been able to find any reliable documentation on the design of the wall, its maintenance or its history. If you know anything about it, please post a comment or send me an email.



The portholes are a nice feature of the design, adding considerable visual interest, especially from a distance. They serve as focal points, drawing your attention toward the wall, where you can appreciate the mosses and other flora close up.



The last photo shows one end of the city hall opening over the lake. You can see the building structure is made of two similar halves with arched roofs. In the center, between the two halves, you can make out the end of the moss-covered wall. It looks very dark because the day was rainy, and the building casts the wall into shadow.

I Dislike the Phrase "Sustainable Design" but ...

Since moving from Brooklyn to the country six years ago, I discovered an exciting, new approach to gardening. It revealed itself slowly, via books by Piet Oudolf, Henk Gerritsen, and Noel Kingsbury. In five years, I established a garden in the hamlet of Rosemont, New Jersey, that relied on the principles and plant predilections of what has been called the New European Style of Perennial Gardening. This met my practical needs (heavy clay soil, windswept location, enormous deer population, limited time), as well as my aesthetic preferences (more on that later). We sold the house and garden last year, and now I'm starting a new garden in an even less propitious location, on Federal Twist Road - thus the name of this blog.

Just as the house went on the market, I discovered I was selected by Horticulture magazine for the Grand Prize in their home gardening category (I have doubts about how serious that competition was). The photo above, taken on a foggy September morning, was the one selected for publication.

I hope to use this medium to explore where these and other gardeners and plantsmen and women have led me, to learn, and to share ideas with like-minded gardeners (actual or virtual). I dislike the sound of the phrase "sustainable design," but that's what it's about. Any suggestions on how to talk and write about a gardening style (philosophy?) that, as of yet, has no name?