Philip’s Garden Blog

Honeybees and bumblebees, hummingbirds and cedar waxwings, books in the teahouse and friends on the lawn, wildflowers and poppies dancing in the sun: this was the year in my garden.

A few years ago I decided to remove a number of perennial shrubs in my San francisco garden to recreate the feeling of the meadow garden I had known as a boy. My aunt and grandmother, whom we called Joan and Grammie, lived above a cove on the wild Mendocino coast north of San Francisco. My father one morning recounted a dream he had about his sister Joan where she was growing plants on a clothesline. I can well believe that if Joan had wished to have a clothesline garden, she would have achieved spectacular results. Joan did not let drought, deer or fierce ocean winds deter her. She remarked that in a garden such as hers the law of averages applied. If some of the cuttings survived and some of the seeds sprouted and managed to live despite the odds ranged against them, then all was good. When tamping the soil over a seed or around a cutting she would say “Now live and be happy”, and I suppose this sentiment also applied to people as well, for we had many happy times.

In this section of my garden which recieves dapped light from tall tree ferns Chrysanthemum paludosum and forget me nots ( Myosotis sp.)”knit” a border with poppies and wildflowers about to emerge.
 My aunt was proof that a garden need not cost anything at all in terms of monetary outlay. All was needed was an inventive and positive approach. We collected lupine seeds up and down the coast and a treat was an expedition to our “favorite nursery”, a ghost town appropriately enough called Casper, located above the cliffs. Here plants popular in the early 20th century such as Love in a mist( Nigella sp.) and Shirley poppies (Papaver rhoeas) had naturalized with native wildflowers.

It was just these informal effects of shimmering color and loose form that I set out to create, in a small hilltop city garden, using the planting method of seeds and naturalization. By closely observing plants that have naturalized in the wild, and giving them a similar situation, the garden began to behave as a wildflower meadow. Over these last few years the wildflowers and old fashioned cultivars have self sown and created the dense and diverse tapestry we first enjoyed on those wild gardens perched above the Mendocino cliffs.

Stepping stones collected from the cove and hauled to a few gardens since create a path from the lower to the upper garden.

“The Teahouse” is too modest to live up to its name, but it takes its tradition from a “Teahouse” my twin brother Patrick and I built for my aunt. Built of driftwood hauled up from the cove, that teahouse was inaugurated by a tea ceremony where my aunt and her friends all came in costume! Joan wore her Chinese brocaded coat and jade and Patrick and I wore the vintage karate jackets, bleached for the occasion, that she used to wear while cooking. A grand time was had by all!
The current Teahouse incarnation is used every day as a place to read a book or muse in the shade. Facing Southwest, it commands a borrowed view over the city to Twin Peaks. After the above image was taken, sweet peas climbed the plum tree with a heady fragrance.

Despite the loose, naturalistic form this is still a small city garden, so foxgloves which self sow in the front of the border or Clarkia in the lawn are dug up and transplanted to where I feel they would be set off best. Recently I gathered seeds from many of the plants such as Shirley poppies to ensure a continuous bloom for future seasons.

Once the poppy seedheads have dried, vents open below the crown. I gather the dried poppies and place in a paper bag with the seedheads down. The tiny black poppy seeds exit from the vents. I then store the seeds in envelopes labeled with the name to be planted in the Spring.

I have not shown all the aspects of my garden: the area we grow berries, strawberries and herbs, the garden of symbolic cairns and rocks, the view of the city beyond.

 I appreciate every type of garden, from a terrace garden filled with poetry, gardens with rare specimens such as Pinus montezumae, an enchanted pond grotto only achieved by hard work, a celebratory victory garden, sidewalk gardens which enhance the community, gardens of art and Martians, gardens which bring joy and change the world and so many more.

And so progresses the rhythm of the seasons, where in every turn is a new activity, something new to consider and the delight of the promise to come.

The panorama of Rome includes a melange of roof terraces enlivened by rustic pergolas with trailing vines, potted shrubbery and modern antennae; the roofscape is as though the traditional orti (market gardens) of the region has been raised on high above the city. Interspersed in this landscape of tiled roofs and terraces are domes, bell towers, obelisks and monuments, many of which are flood-lit at night.

Rome benefits from a mild Mediterranean climate, and the enjoyment of al fresco living is enhanced by the western breezes off the sea, known in Rome as Er Ponentino. Arriving in the Roman spring and extending into summer, these gentle winds cool the city and its citizens. Romans have for centuries climbed to their rooftop terraces to catch the breeze and enjoy a siesta ( from Latin sexta or sixth hour), partaking of a leisurely midday meal and rest.  Er Ponentino and the roof terrace are inextricable to the rythyms of the city.  Henry James  wrote of spring in Rome:  “There are days when the beauty of the climate of Rome alone suffices for happiness.”

Such reverie is forgotten in the days of the Sirocco, where Rome is subjected to the hot dry winds which carry from its origin the gritty bite of the Sahara.

Saint Ambrose (340-397 CE) in his advice to Saint Augustine wrote:  “Si fueris Romae, Romano vivito more…” (when you are in Rome live in the Roman style…)

In the many visits I have made to Rome, our best experiences have been when we have heeded this advice ourselves. In the image above the great dome of the Pantheon looms over our roof terrace.The Pantheon, constructed in 125 CE by the Emperor Hadrian is the best preserved of the ancient Roman monuments, and is considered one of the most influential structures in the history of western architecture. I think of the Pantheon as the hub of Rome’s Centro Storico, that historic district of old Rome which incorporates the Piazza di Popolo to the north, the Spanish steps to the East and Piazza Navona and neighborhoods to the West. It is a place of pedestrian only streets and surprising piazzas where the theatre of la passeggiata takes place:  Romans of all ages descend from their apartments and roof terraces to stroll in the cool of the evening in the convivial atmosphere.

Russell Page (1906-1985), the influential 20th century garden designer wrote of the Roman roof garden in his book, The Education of A Gardener, “…only in Rome does a miscellaneous pot-grown greenery seem to fit, perhaps because in this hilly town the flowery roof-top of one house is often the terrace of the one above.”

Viewed from the roof terrace Rome’s famed quality of light appears dense with diffused atmosphere; the city basking in an amber luminosity. The chiarascuro of light and shadow on the ochre colored walls gives the city a theatricality as though staged for an opera.

Above the pedestrian-only streets of the Centro Storico, the traffic and noise of Rome seems far away . The cadence of footfall, the passing of a flock of pigeons, low snippets of Italian conversation echo up from the cobbled streets below the terrace. Without automobiles, the sound of the city is like a kind of music; this I felt, was the way Rome sounded for centuries.

Rome has about 400 churches, each possessing at least one if not dozens of bells. This combined with schools, convents and other institutions with a bell or two, means that at nearly all hours of the day there is a bell ringing in Rome. On the roof terrace one can hear them from great distances; bells for the hour, for the quarter and the half, bells for the Angelus, bells that caused Francoise Rabelais to call Rome L’Isle Sonnante, The Ringing Island.

One does not need to rent an apartment with a roof terrace to enjoy this uniquely Roman experience. In the Centro Storico  there are a few rooftop restaurants where one can enjoy a Campari and soda or a leisurely meal. I was recently asked to describe my most memorable meal, ever. I immediatly thought of a lunch in Rome shown in the above image. In heat of the afternoon, the city surrounded us in a somnolant haze; the  gentle breeze and the distant sound of bells was our accompaniment on a rooftop terrace overlooking the eternal city, Rome.

Le harem dans le Kiosque  Jean-Léon Gérôme, 1870
In the vast estates and gardens of the European nobility, “follies” of Turkish tents and pavilions studded the landscape. Bal masques and tableaux vivants with Europeans in “Tatar” costume were among the lavish garden entertainments. Academic painters of the 19th century found a fascinated public who reveled in scenes of the seraglio, the exotic genre scene, the Odalisque.

Today such attitudes may seem incomprehensible.  Terrorism and jihad, the conflict between Sunni and Shia, the Iraq war and our own uncertain place in these events is deeply troubling. Compounded with this is an evolution in our own psychology that the “Orientalists” are guilty of the worst kind of colonialism and are in fact quite distasteful.

I would suggest that in examining the past in art and garden design we need to adjust our perspective from our own present view, and attempt to ”place ourselves in the shoes” of the artists and great thinkers of the time at question. What I have found is that the proponents of the “Orientalist” movement of the 18th-19th century were in fact attempting to expand the arts and knowledge of their time. It was an artistic movement of visual delight and indeed, respect for the culture of the Near East.

The defeat of the Ottoman empire in the battle of Vienna in 1683 presaged European primacy in the Balkans and the rise of the Hapsburg empire. The spoils of war, tents, textiles, musical instruments and especially, coffee, created a sensation among the Europeans eager for new products. In 1704 Antoine Galland published the first french translation of The Arabian, or “One Thousand and One Nights ”Les Mille et Une Nuits, contes arabes traduits en français and the passion for the Turquerie in art and fashion began. The piquancy of the style soon found a venue in European gardens.

In the Mysterious and almost surreal garden of Desert de Retz, a Turkish tent resides on “The Island of Happiness” amidst rampant verdure. Located west of Paris, the garden was designed between 1774 and 1789 by Francois Racine de Monville. A garden in the English manner, the property once had nearly twenty follies  such as pyramid, a temple to Pan, and a column house.

Designed in 1971 as guest quarters by the French design firm, Jansen, for the Shah of Iran, luxurious tents were placed near the ruins of Persepolis. Ostensibly to celebrate the the 2,500th anniversary of the founding of Persia, the whole affair populated by world leaders and the super rich was so over the top in extravagance that it is considered the precipitating incident which eventually led to the overthrow of the Shah and a causa belli for the Islamic revolution.

Turquerie and all its forms may seem out of date today, yet it is worthwhile considering examples from the past not only for their aesthetic appeal, but for understanding how social conditions, commerce and events shape the arts, and indeed our own gardens today.