"Natural" Gardens?

Their really is no such thing as a natural gardener-made landscape. All gardens are constructs made by people, not by nature. Our gardens ultimately serve our needs, our sense of aesthetics. This means every gardener is really servicing their own ego. Our gardens do look nice, but they don’t really look natural. A natural garden would look as if nobody planted it or tends it. Therefore, a truly natural landscape would not satisfy most gardener's egos. If nobody recognizes the yard as the product of another person, nobody gets any compliments. A purely natural landscape would look so naturalized that most people would just walk by without noticing. The ultimate goal of an ego-free landscape designer or gardener would be a garden which no one identifies as manmade. But I've never met such a gardener.

Our gardens will always be a constant dialogue about the following terms: natural-like, naturalized, earth-friendly, sustainable (the latest buzz word), or environmentally-sound. Unnatural doesn't mean malevolent. We can have reasonably natural-like gardens that meet every definition of beautiful. Such landscapes are nice and unnatural.

Given that we are growing artificial gardens, exactly how natural-like can we get? More environmentally responsive than we may think. But the answers are in the details. Here's some pointers:

Gardeners usually try to do too much. Some yards have plenty of natural landscape to begin with. The typical approach is to remove almost everything that's there, buy a bunch of topsoil and plants and put completely new stuff back. Far from natural. And costly.

Don't even think of planting until you've fully realized the potential of what nature already provided. All that's often required is to selectively thin, prune or remove. The idea is to sculpt your existing plants to reveal their hidden form and texture. It's like Michelangelo carving away bits of stone to reveal the magnificence of the David.

Carefully trim limbs from a tree to reveal a serpentine or wonderfully-textured trunk(s). Or, shape existing native shrubs to reflect the line of a nearby tree or a distant hillock. Pull out weedy exotic shrubs to display the curve of a tree trunk, the rugged shape of an immense boulder or the multiple trunks of a large shapely shrub. Weed out exotic grasses to leave behind a scattered pattern of native grasses.

Or, as photographed here, carefully open up an odd-shaped hole in a tree's canopy to provide a slice of the distant horizon, a nearby lake or the silvery ocean. This is a garden in Big Sur, CA that is simply composed of trimming the upper limbs of a native coast oak (Quercus agrifolia) and a planted, but carefully placed Ceanothus spp. (known as tick brush or wild lilac, NO relation to the popular common lilac – Syringa vulgaris). This section of the garden is the closest to a constructed, native landscape I’ve seen.

Let me know what you think.

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Oh Deer!

It's early in the morning and the first of the graceful deer walks its favorite path from the woods, past the clay shards garden, and into the garden proper.

Alien plants that once were left alone by the deer now become snacks. Thirty years ago, as a new landscape gardener, I planted red-hot poker plants for their dramatic vertical stems topped by the flush of hot orange and yellow clusters of flowers, flowers that readily attract hummingbirds. I relied on these glorious plants until four years ago when the deer started to eat the flower heads. 

Now they eat the flower heads and the foliage to the ground. Similar casualties have been: the Flanders’s field poppies (They lasted four years, I was convinced the deer ate them to get high on the mind-soothing alkaloids—but alas, no morphine.), after 20 years the foliage of the glorious ‘Sunset’ rockrose with it’s hot-pink crape-paper flowers are reduce to stubble, a curious top-set “walking” onion lasted until just two years ago and is now eaten to the ground each summer as the local forage dries up, Euryops shrubs aren’t eaten, just the hot-yellow flowers negating the reason for planting them, the native sea pinks lasted only three years before the deer found them near my house, the native ginger was eaten back every fall only to be a lush thicket in the winter-the list goes on. I planted two types of ceanothus shrubs (the native “Summer Lilac” or tick brush—Ceanothus ‘Dark Star’ and ‘Julia Phelps’). The deer don’t eat the foliage. They just use the shrub to rub the velvet from their antler and destroy entire limbs. After four or five years they need to be replaced—because I love the rich violet color of the flowers. (Eating is not the only hazard. Once a deer simply laid down for a rest on top of a plant it doesn’t eat, gray santolina, thus breaking the shrub to death.

In the forest, the deer graze some on: the tender new growth of the huckleberry shrubs and new shoots of the western ferns; the lower limbs of the thimbleberry and new shoots of the native honeysuckle. They even browse the new growth of poison oak—which suits me fine.

It hurts my intellect, rattles my heart to forgive the deer as they graze upon native plants and evolve to consume well-established alien foliage and flowers. It’s also difficult to appreciate the grace and beauty of the does and their precious fawns when they give birth to two fawns a year compared to the more common birth of just one fawn many years ago, knowing the population is doubling every year due to the lack of enough predators or rampant disease. 

Luckily the deer have yet found the lavenders I grow tasty (nor the gophers). But an ominous hint of the future might be playing out as I’ve seen the naked stem of French lavenders’ blossoms. Having written a the book on lavender, if I loose these plants to the deer I might just throw in the towel (or shrub).

It’s a very difficult horticultural dance to waltz with the changing habits of the deer and strike a balance between alien and native shrubbery. There’s nothing very spiritual about wanting to strangle to death a svelte deer as it grazes on a beloved plant or favored fruit tree. The fawns are a precious addition to each spring, but a danger as they graze in my garden each summer. Deer are one of the best ways to try and deal with attachment. I often loose the battle.

Eight-foot deer fences start popping up when city folk move to the country to protect prized roses and a myriad of other plants that are just entrées for foraging deer. This leads to a concentration-camp look with the strand of barb wire at the eight foot level. It need not be that way. 

I learned of a special fence that had a 20-year track record of keeping deer out. It was only 4 feet high. But there were two 4-foot high fences 5 feet apart. Since deer can’t talk, I’m left to guess why this seemingly uncomplicated design is so effective. The most common theory is that the deer can’t see enough room between the two fences to land and then rebound over the inner fence. For whatever reason, this configuration seems to work on both flat and sloped sites. (This double fence may not work in cold-weather areas where winters are snowy and harsh and deer become desperate. For one thing, snow drifts might make it easy for the deer to simply walk up to and over the four foot height. For much of the west, it’s a solution worth experimenting with.) 

I built such a fence 18 years ago for a friend and no deer have crossed it. Once a mighty buck got trapped between the two fences. Luckily, he jumped out the way he came, away from the prized roses, strawberry plants, fruit trees and countless other delectables. If you don’t move to fast you can slowly walk an animal back to where it breached the perimeter to see how it got in.

I rent my home and the layout of the house to the road and the garden would make it very difficult to construct. So I’ve settled upon planting exotics.

Please post a comment - I want to know what you think.

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