Proudly presenting the Tour's 2017 gardens
Below you will find the lovely descriptions of all eight gardens on this year's Tour, including four that are completely new-to-Tour.
As we worked to pull together this incredible selection of sites, we saw a theme emerge: Secret Gardens. Many of this year's gardens lie hidden behind walls and fences, hidden to the casual passerby. Now, only as part of the Whittier Garden Tour, can you discover their unique beauty and thoughtful design. The owners have put incredible intention and care into their development, and you will be sure to discover many elements that you may wish to emulate in your own gardens.
(Addresses and maps will be given out to ticket purchasers, along with the programs and swag bags.)
As we worked to pull together this incredible selection of sites, we saw a theme emerge: Secret Gardens. Many of this year's gardens lie hidden behind walls and fences, hidden to the casual passerby. Now, only as part of the Whittier Garden Tour, can you discover their unique beauty and thoughtful design. The owners have put incredible intention and care into their development, and you will be sure to discover many elements that you may wish to emulate in your own gardens.
(Addresses and maps will be given out to ticket purchasers, along with the programs and swag bags.)
Garden 1 - NEVER BEFORE ON TOUR
“If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.” – Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
This romping garden is a study in vitality and diversity. More than 150 varieties of perennials nestle in this front yard, and an unseen hand has begun the Sisyphean task of labeling them (with Latin and common names) to educate admirers as they stroll past. As a child on Long Island, New York, Dianne Fishel grew up with plants: in second grade, she bought herself some seed packets, and one of her chores was to weed the garden. Now a certified Master Gardener, Dianne is a transplant most recently from Georgia, where she and husband Michael had only just put the finishing touches on a lush garden before uprooting again. They found this house buried in a thicket of overgrown neglect, but saw its incredible garden potential, and over the course of the last year and a half have tilled, whacked, and recrafted the grounds from subsoil to treetop. “I like variety,” admits Ms. Fishel, displaying a flair for understatement in addition to plants. The owners are also dutiful environmental stewards: this garden is neonicotinoid free, and its lushness belies a strong water-conscious ethos.
In the front yard, subsurface drip irrigation lines feed a who's who of plants with fairly low water needs once established: resilient sages, fragrant lavender, and bouncy penstemons set off a meandering flow of “crystal river” Turkish veronica west of the front walkway; iceplant and woolly thyme stream away to the east. The giant spruce and its mahonia slippers in the southeast corner of the yard are among the few remaining denizens of the previous landscape. The square pavers that escort visitors through the east side yard of heavy dry shade – the most challenging terrain for local gardeners of all stripes – feature embedded iron trinkets and are thought to be original to the property.
The sunlight-flooded rear yard is a surprise for its expansiveness and further variety, although many of the front yard plantings are reiterated here to provide continuity. You'll find orange poppies, pink soapwort, and purple verbena and liatris accents all over. Established clusters of lilac and woody undergrowth along the perimeter shelter young fruit trees and frame a progression of beds planted for different purposes, including cut flowers, medicinal herbs (well over a dozen in one section), and fruit production. The large water feature in the center offers sound screening and visually reorients the garden from north/south to a more east/west axis, while resolving a drainage problem posed by the slope of the site. Other pockets of the yard offer flexibility to change plantings from year to year or seasonally, from the Victorian-style curved diamond planter and walkway in the northwest, to the raised stone vegetable boxes, to the freeform flower beds leading away from the main deck. The latter area boasts over a thousand spring bulbs, including hyacinths, tulips, grape hyacinth, and allium. In truth, the Fishels are still experimenting and observing how their various charges respond to the changing weather, light, and whims of their keepers. We should all be so lucky to have caretakers so willing to embrace new circumstances.
“If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.” – Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
This romping garden is a study in vitality and diversity. More than 150 varieties of perennials nestle in this front yard, and an unseen hand has begun the Sisyphean task of labeling them (with Latin and common names) to educate admirers as they stroll past. As a child on Long Island, New York, Dianne Fishel grew up with plants: in second grade, she bought herself some seed packets, and one of her chores was to weed the garden. Now a certified Master Gardener, Dianne is a transplant most recently from Georgia, where she and husband Michael had only just put the finishing touches on a lush garden before uprooting again. They found this house buried in a thicket of overgrown neglect, but saw its incredible garden potential, and over the course of the last year and a half have tilled, whacked, and recrafted the grounds from subsoil to treetop. “I like variety,” admits Ms. Fishel, displaying a flair for understatement in addition to plants. The owners are also dutiful environmental stewards: this garden is neonicotinoid free, and its lushness belies a strong water-conscious ethos.
In the front yard, subsurface drip irrigation lines feed a who's who of plants with fairly low water needs once established: resilient sages, fragrant lavender, and bouncy penstemons set off a meandering flow of “crystal river” Turkish veronica west of the front walkway; iceplant and woolly thyme stream away to the east. The giant spruce and its mahonia slippers in the southeast corner of the yard are among the few remaining denizens of the previous landscape. The square pavers that escort visitors through the east side yard of heavy dry shade – the most challenging terrain for local gardeners of all stripes – feature embedded iron trinkets and are thought to be original to the property.
The sunlight-flooded rear yard is a surprise for its expansiveness and further variety, although many of the front yard plantings are reiterated here to provide continuity. You'll find orange poppies, pink soapwort, and purple verbena and liatris accents all over. Established clusters of lilac and woody undergrowth along the perimeter shelter young fruit trees and frame a progression of beds planted for different purposes, including cut flowers, medicinal herbs (well over a dozen in one section), and fruit production. The large water feature in the center offers sound screening and visually reorients the garden from north/south to a more east/west axis, while resolving a drainage problem posed by the slope of the site. Other pockets of the yard offer flexibility to change plantings from year to year or seasonally, from the Victorian-style curved diamond planter and walkway in the northwest, to the raised stone vegetable boxes, to the freeform flower beds leading away from the main deck. The latter area boasts over a thousand spring bulbs, including hyacinths, tulips, grape hyacinth, and allium. In truth, the Fishels are still experimenting and observing how their various charges respond to the changing weather, light, and whims of their keepers. We should all be so lucky to have caretakers so willing to embrace new circumstances.
Garden 2 - NEVER BEFORE ON TOUR
“Almost every person has something secret he likes to eat.” – M.F.K. Fisher
If you wanted to create a real, honest-to-gosh French potager garden – the smart, unfussy, quietly ordered kind of garden that is at the heart of traditional French cuisine – you would do well to study this one. In a potager garden, although aesthetics are important, nearly every plant is destined to contribute to the kitchen pot; trees are selected not only for their form but also to yield the right fruit within the local harvest period, or to blossom at the right time to ensure cross pollination with their brethren. While there may be several plants of the same type, currants, say, there will probably be several different varietals, not only for the broader eating experience but also to guard against the vagaries of weather, pests, or afflictions that strike some species harder than others from year to year. Other useful plants, like medicinals or aromatics, are interspersed rather than relegated to separate areas, and allowed to spread, within reason, to find their own equilibrium with the surrounding neighbor plants. The potato famine of Ireland, and many of the environmental afflictions caused by our current domestic reliance on too few crops, might have been averted if these farming cultures had maintained the rich diversity of plant life exemplified in a potager garden. Why was French cooking the vanguard of the world's excellent food for centuries (famously awakening Julia Child's palate and life calling)? Surely the butter has something to do with it, but also the knowledge of the edible plant world that reveals itself in every dish: why a strawberry or lettuce leaf picked moments ago is superior, which plants supply a sweetness to counteract tart tastes without adding sugar, why one should wait until the fruit is mature on the tree rather than picking it too green so it can be shipped without bruising. These are things that American foodies are relearning, thanks to leaders like Alice Waters (of Chez Panisse in Berkeley, CA) and Michael Pollan (whose body of excellent writing includes The Omnivore's Dilemma).
Susie Linville, the curator of this fine garden, absorbed these lessons without being explicitly taught, although she cites Waters and Pollan as influences. Growing up on a farm in Ohio, and also helping in her grandmother's garden, she watched with dismay the shift to subsidized, petrochemical-reliant monocultures that dominate the American farming landscape today. She and her husband arrived at this house in 1984, observing the land and managing the plants they had inherited (blackberries from the miner's cottage that once stood to the east wandered under the fence and still remain). The front garden retains an enormous spruce tree from eons ago, now anchoring a flowing river of creeping jenny and “golden Alexandria” strawberries flanked by plantings of resilient perennials. But in 2009, retiring and with time to devote to their garden, they undertook “the big conversion” in the rear yard, installing the current structure: an undulating circular gravel track surrounding a small fruit orchard, surrounded by beds of plants intended to provide food for the table as well as beauty to the eye, and a lovely trickling fountain into a small pond that offers pollinators a welcome drink (the fish remain here year round and help keep down mosquitoes). Then the gardeners set to work, digging in a dizzying variety of berries (two kinds of elderberries, at least six kinds of currants, raspberries, thornless blackberries, several varieties of strawberries), medicinals and herbs (lavender, winter savory, thyme, angelica), fruit trees (two different green gage plums, Montmorency cherry, apricot, other cherries, apples, Chicago hardy fig, chokecherry), and grapes gracing the sun-drenched northern wall. The raised stone vegetable beds in the northeast are planted anew each spring in tidy rows of lettuces, kale, tomatoes, tender herbs, peas, beans...who's hungry? It's no surprise that in selecting plants, the owners' chief criteria is “what tastes good.” They needn't be concerned, though; the entire garden is a feast for all the senses, and you are welcome to pause here and drink it all in.
“Almost every person has something secret he likes to eat.” – M.F.K. Fisher
If you wanted to create a real, honest-to-gosh French potager garden – the smart, unfussy, quietly ordered kind of garden that is at the heart of traditional French cuisine – you would do well to study this one. In a potager garden, although aesthetics are important, nearly every plant is destined to contribute to the kitchen pot; trees are selected not only for their form but also to yield the right fruit within the local harvest period, or to blossom at the right time to ensure cross pollination with their brethren. While there may be several plants of the same type, currants, say, there will probably be several different varietals, not only for the broader eating experience but also to guard against the vagaries of weather, pests, or afflictions that strike some species harder than others from year to year. Other useful plants, like medicinals or aromatics, are interspersed rather than relegated to separate areas, and allowed to spread, within reason, to find their own equilibrium with the surrounding neighbor plants. The potato famine of Ireland, and many of the environmental afflictions caused by our current domestic reliance on too few crops, might have been averted if these farming cultures had maintained the rich diversity of plant life exemplified in a potager garden. Why was French cooking the vanguard of the world's excellent food for centuries (famously awakening Julia Child's palate and life calling)? Surely the butter has something to do with it, but also the knowledge of the edible plant world that reveals itself in every dish: why a strawberry or lettuce leaf picked moments ago is superior, which plants supply a sweetness to counteract tart tastes without adding sugar, why one should wait until the fruit is mature on the tree rather than picking it too green so it can be shipped without bruising. These are things that American foodies are relearning, thanks to leaders like Alice Waters (of Chez Panisse in Berkeley, CA) and Michael Pollan (whose body of excellent writing includes The Omnivore's Dilemma).
Susie Linville, the curator of this fine garden, absorbed these lessons without being explicitly taught, although she cites Waters and Pollan as influences. Growing up on a farm in Ohio, and also helping in her grandmother's garden, she watched with dismay the shift to subsidized, petrochemical-reliant monocultures that dominate the American farming landscape today. She and her husband arrived at this house in 1984, observing the land and managing the plants they had inherited (blackberries from the miner's cottage that once stood to the east wandered under the fence and still remain). The front garden retains an enormous spruce tree from eons ago, now anchoring a flowing river of creeping jenny and “golden Alexandria” strawberries flanked by plantings of resilient perennials. But in 2009, retiring and with time to devote to their garden, they undertook “the big conversion” in the rear yard, installing the current structure: an undulating circular gravel track surrounding a small fruit orchard, surrounded by beds of plants intended to provide food for the table as well as beauty to the eye, and a lovely trickling fountain into a small pond that offers pollinators a welcome drink (the fish remain here year round and help keep down mosquitoes). Then the gardeners set to work, digging in a dizzying variety of berries (two kinds of elderberries, at least six kinds of currants, raspberries, thornless blackberries, several varieties of strawberries), medicinals and herbs (lavender, winter savory, thyme, angelica), fruit trees (two different green gage plums, Montmorency cherry, apricot, other cherries, apples, Chicago hardy fig, chokecherry), and grapes gracing the sun-drenched northern wall. The raised stone vegetable beds in the northeast are planted anew each spring in tidy rows of lettuces, kale, tomatoes, tender herbs, peas, beans...who's hungry? It's no surprise that in selecting plants, the owners' chief criteria is “what tastes good.” They needn't be concerned, though; the entire garden is a feast for all the senses, and you are welcome to pause here and drink it all in.
Garden 3
“The next minute she was in the room. . . bringing with her a waft of fresh air full of the scent of the morning.” – Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
An infectious mirth pervades this garden, whose owner freely confesses, “I like things that make me laugh.” For starters, Val Yates has suffused the place with playful art, from the carved creatures by local artist Lueb Popoff adorning a tree stump in the front yard (“nothing noble; just the neighborhood animals”) to a sculpture of astonished-looking stacked fowl at the corner of the front deck, to the backyard, where visitors are nonchalantly greeted by a life-sized crocodile, giant tortoise, and grazing rhino. Like the owner, they come from elsewhere, but are fully at home here. From the first of the sunny months to the last, the garden also offers fragrances to tease a smile from passers-by: after the burst of spring bulbs and crabapple blossoms, late-blooming lilac and creeping phlox scent the air, waiting for linden flowers in May, then yielding to honeysuckle vines, mock orange, and roses blooming through the rest of the summer. While the sun bathes hanging baskets on the wraparound front porch, in the rear yard a dense arbor of crabapple, linden, honeysuckle, philadelphus, and clematis together ward off the heat, sheltering a mix of creeping woodruff, nettles, ferns, hostas, allium, and other shade-loving undergrowth. Not wanting to be left out of the fun, the resident cats can romp in their own fully-enclosed outdoor play space along the western fence, while the dogs enjoy fairly free reign of the rest of the rear yard – but not the hot tub, nestled into the flagstone patio and hidden from the alley by lichen-covered boulders and a bamboo patch. It is easy to imagine an impromptu theatrical performance in this setting, the curved brick portico on the rear of the house flanked by tall columns like a Grecian stage: let the comedy begin! A stern owl sculpture eyes the back gate, turning away from the performance, keeping watch over this secret garden.
While retracing your steps, consider how this place is at once irrepressible and yet restrained: the cat enclosure, yes, and the precise pergolas and stone-encased hot tub. But there is more: the fortress-like tree canopy over the northern slope tends to trap cool air in the summer months; the hanging baskets are self-contained planters; and the river stone planters surrounding the footbeds of curbside street trees and two stumps in the front yard (one a blank canvass awaiting Mr. Popoff's ministrations) are all free-form methods of restraint. Wild imagination within safe boundaries: your inner child delights.
“The next minute she was in the room. . . bringing with her a waft of fresh air full of the scent of the morning.” – Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
An infectious mirth pervades this garden, whose owner freely confesses, “I like things that make me laugh.” For starters, Val Yates has suffused the place with playful art, from the carved creatures by local artist Lueb Popoff adorning a tree stump in the front yard (“nothing noble; just the neighborhood animals”) to a sculpture of astonished-looking stacked fowl at the corner of the front deck, to the backyard, where visitors are nonchalantly greeted by a life-sized crocodile, giant tortoise, and grazing rhino. Like the owner, they come from elsewhere, but are fully at home here. From the first of the sunny months to the last, the garden also offers fragrances to tease a smile from passers-by: after the burst of spring bulbs and crabapple blossoms, late-blooming lilac and creeping phlox scent the air, waiting for linden flowers in May, then yielding to honeysuckle vines, mock orange, and roses blooming through the rest of the summer. While the sun bathes hanging baskets on the wraparound front porch, in the rear yard a dense arbor of crabapple, linden, honeysuckle, philadelphus, and clematis together ward off the heat, sheltering a mix of creeping woodruff, nettles, ferns, hostas, allium, and other shade-loving undergrowth. Not wanting to be left out of the fun, the resident cats can romp in their own fully-enclosed outdoor play space along the western fence, while the dogs enjoy fairly free reign of the rest of the rear yard – but not the hot tub, nestled into the flagstone patio and hidden from the alley by lichen-covered boulders and a bamboo patch. It is easy to imagine an impromptu theatrical performance in this setting, the curved brick portico on the rear of the house flanked by tall columns like a Grecian stage: let the comedy begin! A stern owl sculpture eyes the back gate, turning away from the performance, keeping watch over this secret garden.
While retracing your steps, consider how this place is at once irrepressible and yet restrained: the cat enclosure, yes, and the precise pergolas and stone-encased hot tub. But there is more: the fortress-like tree canopy over the northern slope tends to trap cool air in the summer months; the hanging baskets are self-contained planters; and the river stone planters surrounding the footbeds of curbside street trees and two stumps in the front yard (one a blank canvass awaiting Mr. Popoff's ministrations) are all free-form methods of restraint. Wild imagination within safe boundaries: your inner child delights.
Garden 4 - NEVER BEFORE ON TOUR
Once I spoke the language of the flowers,/ Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,/
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings.... – Shel Silverstein, “Forgotten Language”, Where the Sidewalk Ends
Some people are drawn to carefully planned and precisely plotted gardens, but sometimes a gardener has to let the plants say where they want to go. Or, to put it Dede Baskerville's way, “if they grow there, they get to stay.” For the past eight years she and her husband Bob have been constant gardeners, finding what works and what doesn't largely through trial and error. The orientation of their home and garden means that, except for the always challenging dry shade on the north edge of the house, every patch of ground receives some direct sun, and some deep shade, for different lengths of time depending on the season. It's a real challenge to find plants that can cope with such changeable conditions, much less take advantage of them and thrive. In the front garden, the plants that have done best tend to have tough dispositions and generally small leaves, purely by happenstance here but similar to a trick used in landscape design to enhance the feeling of depth in a small area (because smaller leaves trick the eye into thinking a plant is further away). A pygmy spruce tree has rooted in well near a dainty footpath and lavender to the right of the front entry; to the left hot splashes of chartreuse and burgundy from plants including golden creeping jenny, spirea, sandcherry, burning bush, and huecheras contrast with the restrained palette of the house. Along the north-facing side yard, a large serviceberry keeps company with mixed perennials like weigela and feverfew, with evergreens for texture. The tall aspen tree guarding the garage is only a few years old, clearly enjoying its position and lack of competition for morning light. Two tangles of clematis nod at each other from opposing stations at the garden gate, framing the view of the prominent central flower bed that features a mix of early-, mid-, and late-summer bloomers. First come dense stands of hellebores, followed by clusters of peonies, geranium, and weigela, slowly giving way to penstemon and roses, which do surprisingly well given the shade cast by the large boxelders and capacious hopa crabapple tree. Filling in the gaps are a variety of hardy perennials, such as viburnum, ninebark, sweet woodruff, pyracantha, and mahonia. The sunniest spot in the yard is the semicircular cook's garden abutting the garage, where the Baskervilles plant kale, chard, and tomatoes, along with pantry essentials including parsley, tarragon, oregano, thyme, rosemary, lemon thyme, savory, and sage. Where do those plants want to go? Into the kitchen and then back out here, for a summer supper on the deck overlooking this intimate oasis.
Once I spoke the language of the flowers,/ Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,/
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings.... – Shel Silverstein, “Forgotten Language”, Where the Sidewalk Ends
Some people are drawn to carefully planned and precisely plotted gardens, but sometimes a gardener has to let the plants say where they want to go. Or, to put it Dede Baskerville's way, “if they grow there, they get to stay.” For the past eight years she and her husband Bob have been constant gardeners, finding what works and what doesn't largely through trial and error. The orientation of their home and garden means that, except for the always challenging dry shade on the north edge of the house, every patch of ground receives some direct sun, and some deep shade, for different lengths of time depending on the season. It's a real challenge to find plants that can cope with such changeable conditions, much less take advantage of them and thrive. In the front garden, the plants that have done best tend to have tough dispositions and generally small leaves, purely by happenstance here but similar to a trick used in landscape design to enhance the feeling of depth in a small area (because smaller leaves trick the eye into thinking a plant is further away). A pygmy spruce tree has rooted in well near a dainty footpath and lavender to the right of the front entry; to the left hot splashes of chartreuse and burgundy from plants including golden creeping jenny, spirea, sandcherry, burning bush, and huecheras contrast with the restrained palette of the house. Along the north-facing side yard, a large serviceberry keeps company with mixed perennials like weigela and feverfew, with evergreens for texture. The tall aspen tree guarding the garage is only a few years old, clearly enjoying its position and lack of competition for morning light. Two tangles of clematis nod at each other from opposing stations at the garden gate, framing the view of the prominent central flower bed that features a mix of early-, mid-, and late-summer bloomers. First come dense stands of hellebores, followed by clusters of peonies, geranium, and weigela, slowly giving way to penstemon and roses, which do surprisingly well given the shade cast by the large boxelders and capacious hopa crabapple tree. Filling in the gaps are a variety of hardy perennials, such as viburnum, ninebark, sweet woodruff, pyracantha, and mahonia. The sunniest spot in the yard is the semicircular cook's garden abutting the garage, where the Baskervilles plant kale, chard, and tomatoes, along with pantry essentials including parsley, tarragon, oregano, thyme, rosemary, lemon thyme, savory, and sage. Where do those plants want to go? Into the kitchen and then back out here, for a summer supper on the deck overlooking this intimate oasis.
Garden 5
“[W]hen its beautiful old walls shut her in no one knew where she was. It seemed almost like being shut out of the world in some fairy place.” – Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
What secrets has this garden overheard, in the course of its 140-year history? For the most part, it's not telling; the dignified, nearly stern face of the house and its solid brick garden wall marching up the 9th Street hill behave like a fortress, spurning casual spies. But once the gate is open, as it is for you today, all is softness and light, a spilling of confidences among friends. The graceful, multi-trunked hawthorn tree bids you welcome as you enter; the sweep of her branches guides your gaze toward the surprisingly spacious and gently tiered hillside spilling down toward you. There are hints of stern order, prior regiments of landscape architecture sighing as they relax into the ground. You may note the artwork scattered here and there which softens the effect, “Jupiter's Rings” by Eric Ober, James Vilona's “Lorena & Doug” seated on a bench, and small metal sculptures by the previous owner, artist Sandy Litchfield. But this apparently laid-back garden in fact has some very active sentries on duty.
Mark Ringer and Christine Hrenya, both engineers by training, bought the house and grounds one January nearly two decades ago, while it was still asleep for the winter; they had never gardened before. Although the main plan, with the pond-like pool, broadly sloped terraces, and craggy boulders was all here, the new administration made the decision to allow a more natural, “more garden-ey and less landscapey” ethos prevail. They've encouraged some of the established specimens to flourish, like the trumpet vine hugging the west wall, the mixed perennials flouncing across the lower planting beds, a stand of mixed understory trees and shrubs leaning over the pool, and the hawthorn tree and her neighbors, viburnums old enough to hold a master's degree. The clusters of mixed hens-and-chicks that cling to the boulders edging the planting areas have been brooding here for a while. But the garden also nourishes newcomers: young fruit trees where older trees have recently fallen, vegetable starts in the opposing riverstone-lined planting beds, and a clutch of baby strawberry plants at the base of the bee hive, housing several hundred new neighbors. The bees have had a good first year here, Ms. Hrenya devoting a good deal of time learning about their needs and preferences, and if you move slowly about them you'll have no trouble.
In a large hive, sentry bees monitor the entrance to ensure that only familiar bees have access, but their defenses were overwhelmed last fall when a bear decided to help himself to the honey. The beekeepers were alerted to a problem thanks to automated temperature monitors (both in and outside the hive) which sounded the predawn alarm; they estimate that the bear consumed over ten thousand calories in that one sitting, downing about six pounds of honey.
That's right: the scientists in charge of this garden have somehow managed to let meandering clematis and honeysuckle do their unstructured thing over a free-standing walkway arch, but also to measure the energy theft committed by a larcenous bear. Their honeybees convert nectar to ambrosia through a process inimitable in a laboratory, but the owners monitor the optimal conditions for doing so in the hive. The eastern vegetable planters are covered by a custom-built cold frame in the coldest months to grow tender greens; the miniature greenhouse is vented automatically on sunny days to prevent overheating, thanks to another temperature monitoring system Mr. Ringer installed. If you look carefully, you will see signs of the drip irrigation system and a few spraying heads, all on a timer, of course. And the compost bin midway along the east wall? There's a temperature sensor in there, too. “It's fascinating to see the flux,” enthuses Mr. Ringer. Adds Ms. Hrenya, “we get bored if we're not learning – if we're not challenged.” Live and learn, this garden exhorts, live and learn.
“[W]hen its beautiful old walls shut her in no one knew where she was. It seemed almost like being shut out of the world in some fairy place.” – Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
What secrets has this garden overheard, in the course of its 140-year history? For the most part, it's not telling; the dignified, nearly stern face of the house and its solid brick garden wall marching up the 9th Street hill behave like a fortress, spurning casual spies. But once the gate is open, as it is for you today, all is softness and light, a spilling of confidences among friends. The graceful, multi-trunked hawthorn tree bids you welcome as you enter; the sweep of her branches guides your gaze toward the surprisingly spacious and gently tiered hillside spilling down toward you. There are hints of stern order, prior regiments of landscape architecture sighing as they relax into the ground. You may note the artwork scattered here and there which softens the effect, “Jupiter's Rings” by Eric Ober, James Vilona's “Lorena & Doug” seated on a bench, and small metal sculptures by the previous owner, artist Sandy Litchfield. But this apparently laid-back garden in fact has some very active sentries on duty.
Mark Ringer and Christine Hrenya, both engineers by training, bought the house and grounds one January nearly two decades ago, while it was still asleep for the winter; they had never gardened before. Although the main plan, with the pond-like pool, broadly sloped terraces, and craggy boulders was all here, the new administration made the decision to allow a more natural, “more garden-ey and less landscapey” ethos prevail. They've encouraged some of the established specimens to flourish, like the trumpet vine hugging the west wall, the mixed perennials flouncing across the lower planting beds, a stand of mixed understory trees and shrubs leaning over the pool, and the hawthorn tree and her neighbors, viburnums old enough to hold a master's degree. The clusters of mixed hens-and-chicks that cling to the boulders edging the planting areas have been brooding here for a while. But the garden also nourishes newcomers: young fruit trees where older trees have recently fallen, vegetable starts in the opposing riverstone-lined planting beds, and a clutch of baby strawberry plants at the base of the bee hive, housing several hundred new neighbors. The bees have had a good first year here, Ms. Hrenya devoting a good deal of time learning about their needs and preferences, and if you move slowly about them you'll have no trouble.
In a large hive, sentry bees monitor the entrance to ensure that only familiar bees have access, but their defenses were overwhelmed last fall when a bear decided to help himself to the honey. The beekeepers were alerted to a problem thanks to automated temperature monitors (both in and outside the hive) which sounded the predawn alarm; they estimate that the bear consumed over ten thousand calories in that one sitting, downing about six pounds of honey.
That's right: the scientists in charge of this garden have somehow managed to let meandering clematis and honeysuckle do their unstructured thing over a free-standing walkway arch, but also to measure the energy theft committed by a larcenous bear. Their honeybees convert nectar to ambrosia through a process inimitable in a laboratory, but the owners monitor the optimal conditions for doing so in the hive. The eastern vegetable planters are covered by a custom-built cold frame in the coldest months to grow tender greens; the miniature greenhouse is vented automatically on sunny days to prevent overheating, thanks to another temperature monitoring system Mr. Ringer installed. If you look carefully, you will see signs of the drip irrigation system and a few spraying heads, all on a timer, of course. And the compost bin midway along the east wall? There's a temperature sensor in there, too. “It's fascinating to see the flux,” enthuses Mr. Ringer. Adds Ms. Hrenya, “we get bored if we're not learning – if we're not challenged.” Live and learn, this garden exhorts, live and learn.
Garden 6
"Things are crowding up out of the earth. . . And there are flowers uncurling and buds on everything and the green veil has covered nearly all the gray. . .” – Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
Nearly every element of this garden contributes to an overall mood of good cheer, from the perky apple tree in the front yard (often decorated in seasonally appropriate ornaments), to the rainbow of flowers setting off the cheerful house, to the grinning proprietress and her zealous dog, Snoopie. They all enervate the original Eben G. Fine House, built in 1890, having resuscitated this English-style garden from what “looked like a used car lot,” according to owner Mary Settegast. Over the past twenty-five years, as Ms. Settegast has grown into a confident gardener, she has allowed some of the plants to flourish naturally, as with many of the handsome mature trees punctuating the grounds, the slender yellow wild tulips that have spread throughout, and the cascading silver lace vine adorning the rear fence. In other areas, she has used a firmer guiding hand, maintaining a mature rose garden, creating a primrose path along the western border, and clustering lupines and peonies in beds surrounding the small central lawn. The front garden receives a healthy dose of annuals in the spring, including bright green sweet potato vine to set off the similar hues in the hostas, huechera, dianthus, and ferns. Perennial flowers dominate the rear yard, including hydrangeas, basket o' gold, mock orange, “glomerata” campanula, hellebores, nemesia, and fall-flowering anemones. Each commands attention at different points of the season, and Ms. Settegast has a maternal eye for them all. Finding an emerging clump of ferns this spring, she bent low to examine the unfurling fronds, marveling, “I love this stage. You can watch them change almost minute by minute.” It's a sentiment any parent understands.
The dainty gate in the east fence is as friendly as it looks, and has been used often by the family next door as their children have sprouted up, popping over for a game of croquet or evening picnic. Other neighbors have had a hand here, too, contributing to the communal compost pile located on the alley side of the fence, and the white-painted wooden sculptural fence and coordinating trellis are the work of internationally-known artist George Peters. The blue building across the alley with similar accents is Mr. Peters' studio, in fact, and some of his other work is visible from the front yard of Garden 7.
"Things are crowding up out of the earth. . . And there are flowers uncurling and buds on everything and the green veil has covered nearly all the gray. . .” – Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
Nearly every element of this garden contributes to an overall mood of good cheer, from the perky apple tree in the front yard (often decorated in seasonally appropriate ornaments), to the rainbow of flowers setting off the cheerful house, to the grinning proprietress and her zealous dog, Snoopie. They all enervate the original Eben G. Fine House, built in 1890, having resuscitated this English-style garden from what “looked like a used car lot,” according to owner Mary Settegast. Over the past twenty-five years, as Ms. Settegast has grown into a confident gardener, she has allowed some of the plants to flourish naturally, as with many of the handsome mature trees punctuating the grounds, the slender yellow wild tulips that have spread throughout, and the cascading silver lace vine adorning the rear fence. In other areas, she has used a firmer guiding hand, maintaining a mature rose garden, creating a primrose path along the western border, and clustering lupines and peonies in beds surrounding the small central lawn. The front garden receives a healthy dose of annuals in the spring, including bright green sweet potato vine to set off the similar hues in the hostas, huechera, dianthus, and ferns. Perennial flowers dominate the rear yard, including hydrangeas, basket o' gold, mock orange, “glomerata” campanula, hellebores, nemesia, and fall-flowering anemones. Each commands attention at different points of the season, and Ms. Settegast has a maternal eye for them all. Finding an emerging clump of ferns this spring, she bent low to examine the unfurling fronds, marveling, “I love this stage. You can watch them change almost minute by minute.” It's a sentiment any parent understands.
The dainty gate in the east fence is as friendly as it looks, and has been used often by the family next door as their children have sprouted up, popping over for a game of croquet or evening picnic. Other neighbors have had a hand here, too, contributing to the communal compost pile located on the alley side of the fence, and the white-painted wooden sculptural fence and coordinating trellis are the work of internationally-known artist George Peters. The blue building across the alley with similar accents is Mr. Peters' studio, in fact, and some of his other work is visible from the front yard of Garden 7.
Garden 7 - NEVER BEFORE ON TOUR
“He had to stay home from school, so he read about wizards, and secret gardens, and a little engine that could.” – Lane Smith, Grandpa Green
Judy Amabile purchased this stately house from a friend who moved after 35 years, but extensive renovations and the requisite heavy equipment took their toll on the yard. What you see now is a remarkable fresh start, envisioned and installed by local landscape designer Jerri Davis. In the front garden, a stalwart ash and mature linden tree shade the proper porch and its planted beds, offset by tidy boxwoods, which over time will fill out and make the front entry a little bit formal. The mixed perennials guiding visitors around the porch to the rear yard are a model of cooperative companion planting, like amiable classmates. Hydrangea, hosta, hellebores, black snakeroot, lilac, and weigela are all answering the roll call, including some unusual variants with surprising foliage. A youthful scrum of creeping woodruff sprints down the slope to the side gate, stumbling at the feet of a climbing hydrangea pulling itself up onto the fence. They pass the baton to a bed of mixed groundcovers leading to generous sandstone planter boxes, where Ms. Amabile takes advantage of the open sky and raises sun-loving vegetables in the warmer months. The woolly thyme seeping around the flagstone path practically begs to be pet, as does the large stone rabbit lounging near the corner of the garage. Sharp eyes will find any number of such creatures back here, including more bunnies, a wild boar, a pair of ravens, piglets, a lamb, and is that a flying pig up there? “They help us keep our sense of humor,” Ms. Amabile explains, with a wry smile. A wizened cherry tree (which survived the renovation process) stoops, like a tutor, over her new charges in the sunny southwest corner. Chartreuse elderberry (one of three species of elderberries in this garden), cushion spurge, “Dark Towers” penstemon, roses, peonies, and clematis are all in their assigned places, intermingled to provide a pleasant mix of colors, textures, and blossoms through the course of the seasons. There are a few touches of the house's history here, as well: the rear gate, repurposed from interior doors in the original house, and the mobile installation under the generous rear porch by local artist John Lace, which incorporates the weights once needed to move the heavy window sashes. Like any healthy community, this garden comprises a bit of everything, old and new, serious and flippant, animal, vegetable, and mineral.
“He had to stay home from school, so he read about wizards, and secret gardens, and a little engine that could.” – Lane Smith, Grandpa Green
Judy Amabile purchased this stately house from a friend who moved after 35 years, but extensive renovations and the requisite heavy equipment took their toll on the yard. What you see now is a remarkable fresh start, envisioned and installed by local landscape designer Jerri Davis. In the front garden, a stalwart ash and mature linden tree shade the proper porch and its planted beds, offset by tidy boxwoods, which over time will fill out and make the front entry a little bit formal. The mixed perennials guiding visitors around the porch to the rear yard are a model of cooperative companion planting, like amiable classmates. Hydrangea, hosta, hellebores, black snakeroot, lilac, and weigela are all answering the roll call, including some unusual variants with surprising foliage. A youthful scrum of creeping woodruff sprints down the slope to the side gate, stumbling at the feet of a climbing hydrangea pulling itself up onto the fence. They pass the baton to a bed of mixed groundcovers leading to generous sandstone planter boxes, where Ms. Amabile takes advantage of the open sky and raises sun-loving vegetables in the warmer months. The woolly thyme seeping around the flagstone path practically begs to be pet, as does the large stone rabbit lounging near the corner of the garage. Sharp eyes will find any number of such creatures back here, including more bunnies, a wild boar, a pair of ravens, piglets, a lamb, and is that a flying pig up there? “They help us keep our sense of humor,” Ms. Amabile explains, with a wry smile. A wizened cherry tree (which survived the renovation process) stoops, like a tutor, over her new charges in the sunny southwest corner. Chartreuse elderberry (one of three species of elderberries in this garden), cushion spurge, “Dark Towers” penstemon, roses, peonies, and clematis are all in their assigned places, intermingled to provide a pleasant mix of colors, textures, and blossoms through the course of the seasons. There are a few touches of the house's history here, as well: the rear gate, repurposed from interior doors in the original house, and the mobile installation under the generous rear porch by local artist John Lace, which incorporates the weights once needed to move the heavy window sashes. Like any healthy community, this garden comprises a bit of everything, old and new, serious and flippant, animal, vegetable, and mineral.
Garden 8
"My garden is my most beautiful masterpiece.” – Claude Monet
If Claude Monet and Frank Lloyd Wright had met for a moment at the same table, it would have been on the deck of Charlotte and Ralph Sorenson’s home. Sharing a glass of wine, they would look east over a bank of blooms and trees lining the flowing stream, Boulder’s historic Farmers Ditch. Monet would see his bridge, draped with vines. Charlotte’s interest in art history reveals itself throughout the garden. To echo the arch in the bridge and to serve as a reminder of a similar lakeside space on the campus of Wellesley College where she studied, Charlotte designed a curved stone seat integrated with the wall of the serenely flowing ditch. The Sorensons also added a waterfall under the arched bridge. Falling water. Wright would have approved. “I love it all,” Charlotte says of her home and garden. Twenty-five years ago when the Sorensons moved into this home from Cambridge, MA, the yard was not framed with a fence; there was no arching bridge or side deck or patio outside the guesthouse. Local landscape architect Catherine Schweiger drafted a landscape plan that beautifully integrated these features. Growing through a hole in the deck is a Japanese tree lilac that, together with the Korean lilacs and the roses that edge the deck, perfumes the air. Ancient cottonwoods and a magnificent concolor fir shade the north garden filled with peonies, day lilies, hostas, periwinkle, clematis, red-twigged dogwood, specimen grasses and more. The front garden is home to three bristlecone pines, a Washington hawthorne, a rare hemlock and “bridal wreath” spirea. Skilled local gardener Stephanie Miller helps with the upkeep of Boulder’s Giverny.
"My garden is my most beautiful masterpiece.” – Claude Monet
If Claude Monet and Frank Lloyd Wright had met for a moment at the same table, it would have been on the deck of Charlotte and Ralph Sorenson’s home. Sharing a glass of wine, they would look east over a bank of blooms and trees lining the flowing stream, Boulder’s historic Farmers Ditch. Monet would see his bridge, draped with vines. Charlotte’s interest in art history reveals itself throughout the garden. To echo the arch in the bridge and to serve as a reminder of a similar lakeside space on the campus of Wellesley College where she studied, Charlotte designed a curved stone seat integrated with the wall of the serenely flowing ditch. The Sorensons also added a waterfall under the arched bridge. Falling water. Wright would have approved. “I love it all,” Charlotte says of her home and garden. Twenty-five years ago when the Sorensons moved into this home from Cambridge, MA, the yard was not framed with a fence; there was no arching bridge or side deck or patio outside the guesthouse. Local landscape architect Catherine Schweiger drafted a landscape plan that beautifully integrated these features. Growing through a hole in the deck is a Japanese tree lilac that, together with the Korean lilacs and the roses that edge the deck, perfumes the air. Ancient cottonwoods and a magnificent concolor fir shade the north garden filled with peonies, day lilies, hostas, periwinkle, clematis, red-twigged dogwood, specimen grasses and more. The front garden is home to three bristlecone pines, a Washington hawthorne, a rare hemlock and “bridal wreath” spirea. Skilled local gardener Stephanie Miller helps with the upkeep of Boulder’s Giverny.
Highlights last year's Tour
all photos courtesy of George Lange
