casa coniglio

Sometimes it's good to be obsessed about things. Today I'm obsessed with Arcteryx ski wear. I have this pair of Minuteman ski pants that are a great pair, but baggy in the butt. I look like a teenager. All I need is some underwear to hang out the back. So I'm looking at other ones. But I digress. Recently I have been preoccupied with roses. It's a harmless obsession. Mostly. Yawn, you might say (and I wouldn't blame you). Roses. Been there, done that. How MUNDANE.

But I think there's a place for roses. You can't live without being seduced by the voluptuous blossoms, colors, scents. I've been investigating own-root roses due to the roses in my yard. The last owner of this house decided to put in three hybrid tea roses in an inhospitable area of the north side. When I moved in, there wasn't much left other than some dehydrated stems. Softy that I am, I watered them a bit. Then of course, Dr. Huey emerged. Dr. Huey is an Old Rose (1914) that is used as the understock of most grafted roses in this country. The good doctor is a good rootstock because he is vigorous, takes all kinds of abuse, and manages to give its life-sucking graft a boost. The graft usually grows all the better for the giving doctor's care, never mind that he is subjugated to the parasitic graft. The good doctor just keeps giving and giving his life force away. It would probably kill him except that first of all, he is obnoxiously tough, and eventually, especially in tough situations, the graft dies. The good doctor, in a way that displeases most people, doesn't die himself, but survives, and can produce canes from the roots.



Now Dr. Huey is a different animal than the hybrid tea. First of all, he is a vine, and can produce 10 feet of cane in a single season, given enough water, food, and space. Second, he can produce shoots from any piece of root left in the ground, which after a number of years of supporting a graft, can be quite sizable. Next, although the production of bloom is a prodigious and a rather beautiful blood red (like spilled blood from the battle of 1812), he blooms only in the spring (a photo of my plant in 2006 both photos above). His main violation, in my opinion, is that the flowers are scentless. This is an even worse offence than the mildew prone leaves, which become liberally coated with powdery mildew even in the warm dry climate of Albuquerque.

Now this is the reason I am looking at own-root roses. They might grow more slowly, and are smaller than grafted roses, but if something somehow kills the rose to the ground (i.e. an errant lawnmower, or a moody gardener...ahem), it will grow back the same rose, instead of being replaced by the irrepressible Dr. Huey.

There are tons of roses to consider, and I won't endeavor to discuss the multitudes of roses here. There are so many books out there on the various roses, not just the (boring) hybrid teas and floribundas, but the Old Roses: Bourbons, Albas, Rugosas, Damasks, Centifolias, Gallicas, Chinas, Hybrid Perpetuals, Portlands, Noisettes, Mosses, the list goes on and on. Then there are the English roses, Canadian Explorers/Buck roses, Musk roses, Romanticas, Medilands, Polyanthas, Miniatures, and more. People love roses, and have expressed this by breeding them. So if you want just one rose, or have room for just one rose, and have specific wants, you have to do your research.

In another corner of the garden, I settled on 'Madame Isaac Pereire'. This is said to be the most fragrant rose in history (100 Old Roses for the American Garden by Clair G. Martin). I have no shame in admitting that the primary reason for this choice was this claim of scent. It's size suggested that it would grow over the low wall, providing a hint of the courtyard to the passersby, and it grew in a lax and graceful habit. After 3 years, it did all this, but it's big downfall was the bloom's intolerance of the blazing heat of the west wall the shrub was planted against. The heat of summer came, just as the plant bloomed, usually just as the first flowers began to open. If I wanted any flowers at all, I would have to cut them to bring indoors. This was my initial intention anyway, but it was a major disappointment to have nothing but dried flowers in the garden. Sadly, Madame had to be removed (before you cry "foul!", let me tell you that I gave her to a rose loving friend of mine). There is a tiny root that was left behind of Madame that sprouted this past summer. I'm hoping it will continue to grow, and show me the error of my ways.

So my recent investigation has been to consider a rose that I can either plant in a container (to limit the space which to provide the rose its desired water and fertilizer) or a rose to graft onto Dr. Huey, and thus place him back into slavery. It is a fun obsession to imagine all the various roses that could be used: from the new 'Moonlight' a rose that is supposed to be an improvement on 'Iceberg' (although I don't see how that could be, other than the fragrance department, which 'Iceberg' is decidedly lacking), to the voluptuous and fragrant English roses such as 'Winchester Cathedral' whose white flowers are a delight to my nose, or lemony scented, shell pink 'Heritage', or the vibrant quartered flowers of 'Shakespeare 2000' (a shockingly gauche name). I considered grafting Madame Isaac Pereire onto Dr. Huey (would that make it 'Madame Isaac Huey?'). I'm tempted to grow a row of roses in large ceramic pots, surrounding an outdoor table, to scent my evening meals in the summer.

When all is said and done, however, it is more than likely that I will let the doctor have his way. He grows and blooms without any water from me. I suspect his roots go into my neighbor's yard and steals from their drip system.

Then I can move onto my next obsession. I've been investigating the various sempervivums at Squaw Mountain Gardens (and there are TONS), or the various agaves at Plant Delights (I wonder why there are so many agaves at this North Carolina nursery. It's just wrong), or the multitudes of lavenders at Goodwin Creek Gardens. I've just bought several books on conifers, of which I know next to nothing. There is always something around the bend.

It’s snowing today. This may not sound like much of a proclamation for much of the country, but here in the desert it is more than a little deal. After all, it is the desert. You know, defined by low amounts of precipitation. It rarely snows much around here, although this year has been an anomaly. To snow, there has to be water and it has to be cold enough. This year is weird. Last week was 60 degrees.

I was looking at some of my borderline plants and wondering 1. if they would make it, and 2. how miserable they are not being in their preferred environment. I mean how much am I torturing them by forcing them to live in this climate? Even if they make it, and aren’t particularly more miserable than they would otherwise be, they still look miserable. Although some of the Cistus looked fine, others looked awful, with brown leaf edges and a withered look. The Ceanothus had green leaves at the base, but the upper half of the branches were full of crispy brown leaves. The Teucrium fruticans looked more like a used Kleenex than it should. Maybe I should focus on hardier things. I’ll change my mind once spring comes, of course.

One plant that has surprised me is Trachycarpus fortunei, the Chinese Fan Palm. My friend Rick always frowns whenever he comes to visit. “I can’t get used to seeing a palm here,” he says, “It just doesn’t look right.” I remind him that this is my “California Dreaming” garden, and the whole intent is to make this little courtyard look like it’s somewhere else. He just shakes his head. I do have to admit that the plant likes water.


But the Trachy seems to do fine in the winter. It may burn a few tips of the young fronds, but it doesn’t seem to faze it too much. It grows very slowly through the winter, then picks up as the weather warms. The roof drips on it and freezes big clumps of ice to the fronds, which turn the dark color of frozen lettuce leaves. But unlike the lettuce leaves, these recover. I’m not sure how it’s going to do with all this snow, however.

It might lead to crown rot. In Palms Don’t Grow Here and other Myths, by David A. Francko, he warns of this happening. He suggests dousing the crown bud with a broad spectrum antifungal/antibacterial. I don’t like this idea. I think the environment has enough antibiotics in it and we don’t need more superbugs to infect our children. If these plants croak, I’ll replace them. Maybe with a hardier version of Trachycarpus fortunei. Or the hardier needle palm Rhapidophyllum hystrix. There’s a lot to trial from the Plant Delights catalog (search Palm), or from YuccaDo. I’m tempted also to try the Dwarf Sabal Palm, Sabal minor. Then there’s also the Mazari Palm (Nannorhops ritchiana) which is said to come from cold deserts. That should make it happy here.

(Warning: this is a houseplant entry.)

A friend of mine has a Christmas cactus that she’s had for years. She always invites us over for a holiday meal, and I’m always a little bit jealous of her cactus. It is big. It is probably about two feet across. It has glowing red flowers that look so festive – like, well, Christmas. It’s all propaganda, I’m sure, all this red and green, and calling it “Christmas Cactus” instead of Zygocactus. Just like Pointsettia. Except Pointsettia doesn’t have a catchy name for Christmas, just good P.R. Her plant is something like this:



I’ve been shopping for a Christmas Cactus recently. There are tons of varieties, not just red. There are white, pink, white with a red blush, yellow, salmon, sunset shades…but then I realize that I don’t have room for one. Or a dozen. In a variety of colors. Ahem. My windowsills are full.

I already have a plant that blooms for Christmas. I have to remind myself that if I have to choose (and I do have to choose) that I’d rather have this plant than a Christmas Cactus. Really. It’s actually one plant that I’ve divided a few times in the years that I’ve had it so there is a windowsill full of them. It blooms reliably every winter, with white and green flowers. Best of all, at night it fills the house with an incredible scent of vanilla and cloves. The various plants have been blooming for 3 months now, and it's February. It still delights me.

I have to admit to feeling a little smug about this plant. It’s an orchid. The secret is that it is easier to care for than any Pointsettia, and even a Christmas Cactus. It doesn’t wilt if I forget to water it for a few weeks. It blooms profusely despite. It doesn’t require any special techniques to have it bloom on time, as somehow the windowsill is fine. The Pointsettia and the Christmas cactus require careful control over day and night to get to bloom well and on time, and they aren’t fragrant. Best of all, it does well here in Albuquerque.

Its common name is “Lady-of-the-Night” orchid, or La Dama de noche as all Brassavola's are considered. My prolific plant is a hybrid Brassavola 'Little Stars' (B. nodosa x cordata), headier in fragrance than my species B. nodosa and more floriferous. When my first plant bloomed, and I sniffed it, I declared that if I had to choose one orchid to fill my windowsill, this would be it. I still would. But it doesn’t mean that I won’t be jealous of my friend’s Christmas Cactus.

My latest fixation has been rosemaries. Actually, this one comes and goes, with more coming than going. Of course, part of it has to do with my being a “Mediterraneophile” as David Cristiani (www.thequercusgroup.com) likes to call me. On my last trip to California, many of the rosemaries were in bloom. Some were simply covered with various shades of blue, so dense that the leaves were hidden. Some were prostrate forms, others had artistic spare twisted branches, others mounding and some strictly upright. Sigh. Fortunately, unlike Ceanothus, we can grow rosemary in Albuquerque.

Rosemary has a lot going for it. How many plants can you think of that has evergreen foliage, a moderate and garden-friendly size, is non-invasive, has incredible blue flowers, doesn’t need much water, takes pruning, and can bloom in the winter? I’d say that’s a tough bill to fill. To top it off, it is edible. And deliciously edible as well, although some varieties are better than others. ‘Tuscan Blue’ supposedly is a favorite among chefs with a strong influence of lemon in its leaves. As I’m writing this, my ‘Tuscan Blue’ rosemary has a scattering of cobalt blue flowers on some of its branches. It’s FEBRUARY. In Albuquerque! It also had some flowers at the new year. Remember January 1 this year? My garden was buried in 24” of snow, the miserable shrubs bent to the ground by the weight of it all. My 5 foot scrub oaks (Quercus turbinella) were 1 foot mounds of snow. The rosemary was flattened as well.



Feeling sorry for them, I waded into the branches, trying not to break anything (either the plant or myself) and pulled off the snow, handful by handful. To my surprise, the rosemary had a few bright blue flowers on their branches.

This was particularly surprising to me because ‘Tuscan Blue’ has been a bit reluctant to flower in my yard. It’s most likely due to the fact that I have it planted in a spot that doesn’t get full sun. It misses part of the morning. The ‘Tuscan Blue’ that I saw at High Country Gardens was absolutely covered with brilliant blue flowers, but it was growing in the greenhouse, and I want to grow mine outdoors.

The only downside to rosemary is that it isn’t quite fully hardy here. My ‘Tuscan Blue’ rosemary always gets some leaf tip burn every winter, and even some tips of branches die back. The photo above shows the flowers from today (not a lot, but heck, this is February), but a lot of tip burn. This is disappointing since it detracts from the flower show. I think that this sensitivity of the young foliage to winter cold is a problem for the blooming as well. I notice that rosemary still grows in the winter, developing its flower buds. The cold may freeze these off. When I grew ‘Arp’ it also had leaf tip burn, even though it wasn’t as obvious on the grey leaves.

I’m searching for the perfect rosemary plant. It must be tasty, resistant to winter tip burn, have brilliant blue flowers and be upright. If you look at catalogs or on-line (www.goodwincreekgardens.com is a good one), there are dozens of named varieties, each with its own version of form, grey to green leaves, and white to blue flowers. In Albuquerque, I have no aversion to the prostrate forms (as Ted does) but not only are they somewhat less hardy than the upright forms,but my yard simply doesn’t have the room for them (although after seeing the brilliant blue flowers of ‘Irene’ at High Country Gardens, I may try to sneak one in). My friend Dave has a plant that forms a nice mound of green, and in the spring is covered with bright blue flowers. Unfortunately, he doesn’t remember the name of it. I suspect it might be “Herb Cottage” as I think the nursery he bought it from was selling it at that time, and it does fit the description. It’s not upright enough for my uses, although in another garden such as his, it is great. Will has some plants in his yard that he bought from Home Depot as “Rosemary officinalis” as 1” tall sprigs. The plants are predominantly upright, show little winter tip burn, and are absolutely covered in pale blue flowers in the spring. They even rebloom decently in the summer. They aren’t the blue I’m looking for, but I can’t help but love them.

I tried a couple of new rosemaries last year, after a trip to Oregon’s The Thyme Garden (on-line at www.thymegarden.com) where I picked up one of ‘Gorizia’ (double sized leaves and flowers) and ‘Blue Spires’ (strictly upright and bright blue flowers). ‘Gorizia’ is planted against a north wall, but has shown no tip burn whatsoever. It didn’t fare so well with the snow, however, with several branches breaking. The flowers are a disappointing very pale blue, almost unseen among the leaves. ‘Blue Spires’ is indeed upright with bright blue flowers (not as dark as ‘Tuscan Blue’) and last year showed no tip burn in a pot. This year, after being covered with snow for several weeks, there is quite a bit of tip burn. I suspect that being in a pot above ground in an exposed South site has been a bit much for it. Still, through January, I could see small buds forming among the leaves. It may be the temperature fluctuations are less on the north wall, and this may prevent the leaf burn. This year I’m going to try a couple more: ‘Salem’ which is supposed to be hardier, upright and with deep blue (Forestfarm calls it fluorescent blue) flowers. ‘Frimley Blue’ is supposed to have grey leaves, upright, but I can’t find out what the flowers are like except “spotted.” I hope it’s better than ‘Arp’ which had grey leaves, grew so quickly that the branches flopped out, and had very pale blue flowers. I’m also going to try a semi-prostate (gasp!) rosemary called ‘Severn Sea’ which is said to form “graceful abstract shapes.”
I’ll keep trying until I find the perfect plant. In the meantime, anyone want a couple of ‘Tuscan Blue?’

As I finish my fifth studio, I’ve been contemplating the things I learned over the past few years as a student of landscape architecture. Sure I’ve learned about line weight, rendering, circulation, site analysis. I’ve learned about construction documents, scale, presentation. But I’ve also learned what I call the Tao of Design. Landscape architecture or religion? You decide.

1. It’s okay to make mistakes. In fact it’s great to make mistakes. It’s process.
2. When you go for something, really go for it. Get carried away.
3. Take breaks.
4. Where is your heart? Do what you love.
5. Follow your intuition.
6. How do you feel right now?
7. Be true to yourself.
8. Believe in yourself.
9. Be curious.
10. Be loose.
11. Be present. Where are you right now?
12. Meditate.
13. There are some things worth staying up late for. It’s probably not what you think.
14. Turn a glaring weakness into a feature.
15. Sometimes you can’t be afraid to spend money. The trick is knowing what to spend it on. But remember #1.
16. You can learn from every criticism. Even those you don’t agree with. Even those that are evil.
17. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
18. Ignore your limits.
19. There are many kinds of lines.
20. Indulge a whim.
21. Occasionally do things that have absolutely no purpose.
22. Have fun.
23. Balance the practical with the impractical.
24. Contemplate balance. Everything in moderation, including moderation.
25. Don’t be afraid to make a mess.
26. Don’t be afraid of your weaknesses.
27. Don’t be afraid of your strengths.
28. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.
29. Don’t forget about the big picture.
30. Don’t forget scale and a North arrow.
31. When working with a sharp knife or other sharp object, be careful.
32. Use the right tool for the job.
33. Every so often, take a few steps back and look. Then take a few more steps back and look again. Every so often, just walk away.
34. Know when to say when. Know when you are done, then let go.
35. Sometimes really bad ideas turn into really good ones.
36. Sometimes really good ideas turn into really bad ones. (remember #1)
37. Question everything (remember #9, #30)
38. Make use of whatever comes your way. “The answers to all our questions are hidden everywhere, just outside our line of sight – that is, until we open our eyes a little wider and begin looking around us instead of just straight ahead. Then they jump out at us from everywhere, displaying themselves in all their stunning simplicity.”*
39. Everything takes three times as long as you think it will. Except those things that take 10 times as long.
40. Don’t rush. If you are going to do it, do a good job.
41. Look at the opposite perspective. Look at things multidimensionally.
42. There ARE things more important than studio. (remember #24, #29, #30)
43. What are you saying? What are you really saying?
44. Things always look different after a good night’s sleep.
45. Life is full of suffering. But if we learn how to blend our sufferings and our joys we can then come to an understanding of life.
46. Remember to Save.
47. Let go of the precious.
48. Let go of negativity.
49. Let go of ego.
50. Let go of restraints.
51. Let go of fear. Be free.



*Towler, Solala. Tao Paths: Long Life. Kansas City: Andrew McMeel Publishing. 2002

It’s hard to beat Russian Sage (Perovskia atriplicifolia). What other plant has this beautiful lavender blue color, for months at a time, with such a rugged constitution? This plant tolerates, even relishes, New Mexico’s climate. It laughs at both the blistering heat of summer and winter’s cold and dramatic temperature fluctuations. Dry? No problem. Rabbits and deer don’t touch it. The colors are beautiful in New Mexico’s landscape, the grey leaves look right at home, and the clouds of blue echo the big sky. It has a nice scent to its leaves. It is so tough that when a moving truck (one the big ones) ran over a planting where I used to live, after pruning it sprang back and was beautiful in a couple months. It’s no wonder that this plant is so widely used here.

But it’s not a perfect plant. Some problems exist. It attracts bees like crazy, which I happen to like, but it’s not such a great thing around pools or patios. Fortunately the bees are so excited by their find that they generally ignore people. It also doesn’t grow well in shade.

That ruggedness is a double-edged sword. What makes it so easy to grow and adapted to our climate means that it can fend for itself. Even somewhere we don’t want it. The seeds from my neighbor’s plant come up in cracks in the asphalt and in my yard, and those tenacious plants in less hospitable environments than a garden can look ratty. A sidewalk planting of Russian Sage near my house was made several years ago. The wild space across the road now has Russian Sage growing through the Chamisa, the Sphaeralcea, and Solanums. It’s actually rather pretty, but it makes me wonder if it will start invading our open spaces, crowding out the native plants.

Even more difficult to control are the plant’s suckers. Russian sage suckers like it is trying to take over the world. My neighbor’s plant sends suckers between cracks in the concrete block and asphalt, between the boulders and rock mulch, spreading from its original corner to 12 feet or more. The plant is resistant to Roundup. Digging out the suckers is a waste of time: a whole afternoon digging a trench around the plant and tracing each sucker only results in more suckers two weeks later. Although the fragrance is nice when the plant is brushed against, pulling the suckers makes the fragrance too much of a good thing, and its stickiness is hard to get off the hands.

You can control Russian Sage somewhat by planting with underground barriers (but it doesn’t stop seeds). It is also a great plant for urban areas where the root zone is restricted and the plant performs beautifully despite the harsh conditions. But there’s more to life than Russian Sage. As attractive as Russian Sage is, the idea of Albuquerque as a monoculture is not particularly appealing.

Admittedly, there isn’t much, if anything, that can compete with Russian Sage’s combination of beauty, color, long period of bloom, and water thriftiness. The commonly planted Caryopteris x clandonensis varieties come close. The coloring of the plant is similar, although the leaves are less silver. The mounding habit has a grace of its own, and the plants bloom for a couple months. It self-seeds in irrigated gardens, but seedlings are easy to pull and the plant doesn’t sucker. It requires slightly more water than Russian Sage, and comes in various shades. It also comes in golden leafed varieties (sickly looking in our climate).

The genus Salvia has many options. Although the native Salvia azurea blooms for only a couple weeks in the late summer to fall, the flowers more closely match the true-blue of New Mexico’s skies, instead of the lavender tone of Russian Sage. As the plant ages, the bloom time lengthens. The leaves are more green than grey, and the plant has a lanky, weedy appearance. This can be rather easily camouflaged with careful placement, for example behind silvery Artemesia filifolia, or Artemesia ‘Powis Castle.’ In my garden it needs almost no water, and self seeds modestly. Salvia chamaedryoides has similar flower color in a small rounded plant that can spread slowly through underground stems. It flowers heavily in spring, then off/on through summer depending on water availability. Leaves are silver and the plants require little water.

Despite my resistance, I’ve fallen for Salvia ‘Indigo Spires’ (shown above). It blooms continuously from early summer to fall with deep indigo flower spikes a foot or more long and medium green leaves. It grows to more than four feet tall and wide. My hesitance is that it needs regular irrigation and garden conditions to look its best. It also wilts pathetically in the afternoon in hot western or southern exposures even with irrigation, but pops back once the sun is off its leaves. Salvia pachyphylla (and the closely related Salvia dorrii) has bright blue-violet flowers, but with the reddish purple bracts, it appears more purple than blue. Grey leaves, long bloom period, and low water needs recommend these plants. The hybrid Salvia ‘Trident’ has impressive violet blue flowers in candelabras and silver leaves. So far in my garden it bloomed in the spring and requires little water. It rebloomed in the monsoon this year’s particularly wet weather. Leaves are wonderfully fragrant, but not as lusciously so as its parent S. clevelandii. Salvia lavandulifolia also has beautifully fragrant leaves, and these are showy spades of grey leaves. This woefully underused plant has pale lavender wands of flowers in spring. These last three sages retain foliage in the winter: an advantage over Russian Sage.

Don’t forget about the smaller Salvias such as S. nemerosa which has various varieties (including the popular ‘May Night’), dramatic spring bloom (earlier than Russian Sage) and reblooms if cut back and irrigated. Remember also the common culinary sage (Salvia officinalis) with its grey leaves and lavender wands in spring. It retains winter foliage as well.

The various blue Penstemons don’t really fill the same niche as Russian Sage, but should be thought of if blue is desired. Penstemon linarioides can have similar coloration, with leaves from silver to green, and flowers from a powdery lavender blue to dark violet. It blooms in early spring, long before Russian Sage. Some varieties will rebloom in the summer monsoon season.

Veronica incana has similar color and form as Russian Sage, but in a much smaller plant. The broad silver leaves an inch or so long reflect light and mostly remain in the winter, sometimes turning reddish. The light violet spikes of bloom appear in early summer and last for a few weeks. It requires a bit of irrigation. Other smaller plants with a similar color as Perovskia are the catmints, or Nepeta. There are a variety of forms and sizes. Check out the selections at Digging Dog Nursery for a bunch of (irresistable) options.

Why not think of common Rosemary for a location similar to Russian Sage? Rosemary has a lot going for it. The late winter/early spring blue flowers can cover the plants for many weeks, and in more shades of blue or white. It forms a similar size as Russian sage and requires little water, but remains green in the winter, rarely self-seeds and doesn’t sucker. Commonly found varieties include ‘Tuscan Blue,’ which has the deepest blue-violet flower color and green leaves, and ‘Arp’ with grey leaves and pale blue flowers. Worth searching for are ‘Irene’ with weeping habit and gorgeous violet flowers (unlike the pale flowers of the common ‘Prostratus’), ‘Blue Spires’ with sculptural upright growth and bright blue flowers, and ‘Gorizia’ with double sized pale blue flowers and green leaves. Some rosemaries reflower in the summer, given water.

I’m looking forward to seeing how Teucrium frutescens performs in my garden. This meditteranean shrub has oval silver leaves and a long blooming period of blue flowers similar to rosemary. Its rather open habit gives the shrub a delicate appearance.

It’s hard not to be impressed by the beauty of Russian Sage. After all, I can’t help but think that the ecologically toxic Lythrum in Minnesota is beautiful, too. But we have other options. Just as a single design is not appropriate for all spaces, we have many options. We may as well use them.

Magazines, for me, are one of the joys of life. There are some magazines that I have been reading since shortly after I was able to read. At that age I wondered why the editors bothered with trivial things like “Creating Strong Families!” or “Easy Ways to Teach Kids about Etiquette.” What a waste of space. What I wanted was more PLANTS!,GARDENS! I have home magazines, garden magazines, home design magazines, tropical fish magazines, spa magazines, orchid magazines and, of course, a multitude of dedicated plant and gardening magazines. But all of them are there to give me more PLANTS! GARDENS!

Some years ago, the neuroses got the better of me, and I started cataloging them. They are organized by year, and filed in order. If there is an issue missing, I know it. Maybe it’s an obsession, but at least it’s a harmless one. More harmless than buying every plant that catches my eye – but that’s another story.

Almost daily, I go to my magazine collection and randomly pull out an issue to thumb through. It’s like having an expanding Tarot deck. What will today bring? Ah, it’s Hellebore day. Today I should think more about modern design and glass in the garden. Today is a reminder of Tropicalismo.

Today’s cover blared: “Secrets of Southwest Gardens! (exclamation point added).” Secrets? Inside there were pretty pictures, and “elements” of typical Southwest gardens such as “Walls” and “Portals” and “Fountains” as well as more ambiguous “Eccentricity.” Where are the secrets? It had me thinking about other magazine articles: “Southwest Garden Secrets,” “Garden Design Secrets,” “The Secrets to Growing Great Roses,” “Four Great Garden Designers (learn their secrets),” and so on. I do realize that these are marketing schemes, but really now. Just like French cooking, there are secrets to Southwest gardening (e.g. shading seedlings, when to plant, irrigation), but what are the real secrets of great gardens?

Here’s my tip on the real secret of great gardens. Brace yourself. This may come as a shock, but this is something our clients need to know. Here it is: A great garden is hard work. “WHAT?” a magazine editor cries out, “that will never sell!” Well, the truth is a bitch, ain’t it? What our clients need to know is that there are a couple of ways to come by that hard work.

The first way is the most common way. That’s by trial and error. People first realize that they want a better garden. They go to the home improvement store and buy a few pretty plants. But after a few months, things don’t look as good as those magazine photos. They buy a few more plants. They move things around. Then build structures. Paving. Oops, forgot about irrigation. Oops, forgot about lighting. Oops forgot about drainage. And things are okay, but something is not quite right, and it’s very expensive to change paving and structures. It’s hard work to move all the plants out and work on land form, or drainage. But it’s less work than clearing out mud from the house. Then things get planned out, and sometimes it is good, sometimes it is not. Sometimes people realize they need to learn more about design, work on it, and things turn out great (or not). Don’t ask me how I know all of this.

Another way is to buy the work. Hire a professional, who has put in a lot of hard work in thinking about design. “Oh, but it is sooo expensive.” Is it more expensive than trial and error? How do you choose someone (“landscapers” as I have learned, have variable work quality and may have no design experience)? Is the guy at the home improvement store good enough (I’ll be polite and not tell you what the chances of that are)? What about those books with pre-made garden design (sure, if you want a cookie cutter design that may or may not work)? Time to do some research.

Either way, it’s a lot of work, and that’s not talking maintenance. Of course a house can be bought that already has a great garden. There is also an easy way out. And it looks like it. That ain’t no secret. ‘Nuff said.