Front Hardscape: A Virtual Design

Often, landscape designers and landscape architects will take real photos of the spaces they will be working on and layer tracing paper or vellum over those photos to sketch out their ideas. It's a great way to see how all those overhead drawings will turn out in perspective. I've done the same thing here for the developing front garden plan, only using Photoshop and Illustrator, to see what some of these walls and walkways might look like.

The materials aren't represented here--just the shapes. Here's what the front walk might look like:

And the walls and front stairs from a couple of angles:

I'd definitely like to someday have a gate/arbor at the entrance. And I'm thinking of using drystack limestone, like that pictured below, for the wall.

Of course, no design or material is set in stone just yet. I'm dreaming away. Ah, dreams. [The before photos are in the previous post.]

Front Garden: Brainstorm Part I

I've been dreaming about doing something to the front yard for a while, sketching out 1,000 plans, dreaming out the window, pondering. And though the resources (i.e., cold hard cash) still are not abundant, I'm beginning to get much closer to the Do It Time. I can feel it in the hot air.

The first part of the project will be to re-established a front wall. (Here's the one I took down during winter.) There have been times that I've wanted to wall the front yard in with tall walls and call it my private haven. I absolutely love courtyard gardens and walled front gardens, especially after my travels to Mexico and New Mexico. Oh, wow, that still sounds so nice.

But, I've decided that a smaller, more suburb-appropriate wall will make more sense. Just something about 2-3 feet tall and limestone to match the house. A little something to mark the barrier and give the space some architecture. The courtyard feeling will have to come later, as I plant shrubs, small trees and perennials to make a green hedge. I'm still looking for that enclosed private feeling, but I think it could be softer. If everyone in the 'hood had tall front walls, I'd be all over it, but it would be too out of place and isolating within the current fashion.

Last weekend, I staked out the potential wall, path and stair locations with wood and string. This string marks where I'd like the new front walk (pictured from the front door):

Unfortunately, the circular brick walk is history. It has its moments, but I'm more a fan of the straight, take-me-where-I-need-to-go walkway. There's definitely something to be said for dallying about a meandering path, and for making visitors pause to appreciate the garden. But, I just can't feel how it would work here, so I'm going with my gut.

Squint the eyes and you can make out the front wall here...

For the Birds

Lately, the hummingbirds, or at least one hummingbird, has been zooming about the garden like the Jetsons. I haven't been able to catch the critter on film, but I can capture a couple of the plants blooming right now that we've put in to attract hummingbirds .

There's the desert willow (on its second bloom of the summer):

The flame acanthus (just beginning to bloom):

The turk's cap (which seems to always be blooming):

And speaking of the desert willow, I trimmed a branch off today and found this beautiful praying mantis hiding amongst the long slender leaves:

My Great Outdoors

Our "natural modern patio" is being featured on Apartment Therapy as part of their "My Great Outdoors" series.

Cool!

Snake in Eden

This 3-foot long Blotched Water Snake visited our yard late last week. A beautiful creature that is always confused with cottonmouths. This one is non-venomous, but it flattens its head out to look more menacing when threatened. After a pause, it disappeared into the garden, probably on the hunt for gulf toads. Cool!

Tomatoes Suck

There, I've said it.

Yes, it's one of the New World fruits that changed the culinary trajectory of the entire world. Yes, they can be juicy, sweet, tangy and wonderful. And, yes, tomatoes are one of the most commonly grown fruits in the garden.

But I've decided that I am DONE with growing tomatoes. That may sound a little drastic, but year after year, I try to grow them, from 'Celebrety' to 'Early Girl' to 'Juliette.' And each year they fail me (or I fail them). I've come to now see them as a waste of my time.

If it's not the squirrels, nabbing every blushing pink tomato off the vine:

It's the stink bugs, sticking their probosci down into the tomato and pocking it with hard little bite marks:

My plants may get large:

But largely, they are a waste of water and time. Tomatoes, I am done with you, my friends. I will see you at the Farmer's Market. Until then...

Jingles

Uniting the lake and the sea, here's an uber-beachy windchime that I made using shells that were recently collected around Charleston, S.C. Jingles and cockles form the chimes, and a piece of driftwood from Lake Superior finally found itself to be useful. A fun reminder of two beautiful shores.

Purple Passion

I wish that I could take credit for consciously deciding that I'd plant all these purple flowering plants so that they would bloom together, but I can't. But boy, I'm really digging all these purple flowers blooming together right now. It's a bit hard to make out in the photo, but blooming from front to back is: Mexican oregano (Poliomintha longiflora), purple coneflower (Echinacea purpurea), society garlic, and small blooms on the desert willow (Chilopsis linearis).

The cooling effect of the purple is quite nice on these hot days, and this might be my first experience having a bunch of plants blooming the same color. It's very calming (mental note).

Surprisingly, the Jerusalem sage still has a few bright yellow flowers (far right), which is a nice counterpoint to the purples.

The Angel Oak and a Family Tree

On a recent trip to visit family in Charleston, South Carolina, I had the pleasure of standing beneath the canopy of a live oak that is possibly 1,400 years old. That's just about as old as two of the world's dominant religions (the two that seem to result in the most wars, I might add). The canopy of the Angel Oak, on John's Island, creates 17,000 square feet of shade. Its largest limb is 89 feet long. It felt like being in the presence of a very old, multi-trunked and -limbed elephant. A coastal Ganesh.

On the same trip, my parents and I were romanticizing the notion of families with tap roots that are buried deep into a place--a city or region where family members live and are drawn to over the years, decades and even centuries.

Though we are decidedly Southern in origin, my family is not like that. We've sprawled out all across this country and world, adventuring and moving to new places with each generation. We are the Ying to the Yang of those extended families that have stayed put in one town their entire lives. Often, I think we look at them in envy. What would it be like to orbit around a town where you and yours were born, lived and died? Would there be greater strength in the ties that bind you to your loved ones, or a deeper sense of satisfaction with your time on Earth? Where is home?

I used to hear that trees had deep tap roots and that the best way to water them is to turn on a hose and let it soak around the trunk for a long time. But more recently, I've learned that many trees don't have such things (aside from say, pecans). In fact, I hear that a large portion of many trees' root systems are spread out wide and shallow beneath their canopies. (Thus, deep watering across the entire 'drip line' of the tree is most recommended.)

These trees, such as this sprawling Angel Oak, are no less strong, necessarily. Many of them are just as likely to weather the hurricanes and challenges that time hurls their way over the millennia. So there we are. Tap roots work, but sprawling roots make for a strong tree, too. They are just different strategies for surviving in this diverse world.

Home, it turns out, can be a bigger place with a wider reach. It's the place where you find your loved ones--where their laughter echoes on the breeze, their singing emerges from the kitchen, and their arms reach out to embrace you.

Scenes from the Succulent Garden

The succulent garden is doing much better this season after we moved it under the peach tree. Almost everything seems to like a bit of shade in this crazy hot Texas place. Here are some close-ups, and a photo of the metal sculpture in which they sit. The sedums and such are beginning to get larger, flower and spread to fill in the space, slowly but surely...

This structure was made for me by a good friend as a fire pit. It didn't quite work as such in this garden, so I turned it into this succulent bed. Lots more to fill in!