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Photo by : Ann Summa .
This morn , as I rinsed my burnt umber cup in the kitchen sink , I looked through the windowpane , past the dismal - and - white - tiled backsplash , and saw red-faced camellias that are almost as old as I am . My grandmother planted those bushes some 30 years ago , presently after she inherited this 1950s cottage in Santa Monica , and she looked out on them three times a day while she did the dishes . She ’d find out the blossoms raise , from bud to blossom , and always cut short a few when they were ready for a vase .
When my husband , Henry , our son Ben and I moved into the house last year , a few years after my grandmother pass away , one of the first thing we did was put in a dishwasher . Now I ’m inquire if that modern contrivance was such a good idea . Will I ever make time to look up to a camelia heyday ?
I ’m so attached to this house and my memories of it , the weekends and Christmases and Thanksgivings and birthdays pass here , that it ’s hard for me to make any changes without feeling a pang of nostalgia , even remorse . remove the rug to reveal original hardwood floors was easy , but choose a different draftsman , closer to the dishwasher , in which to store my silverware was not . Even more unmanageable is deciding what to do , or not to do , with my grannie ’s garden . This dry land has been in my family for about a hundred years . My great - great Aunt Lottie farmed begonias on it . In my grandmother ’s heyday , it was a jungle of camelia , roses , and fruit trees so thick that we grandchildren used to play hide - and - seek in it .
Of naturally , gardens are not static . As my grandmother ’s wellness set about to wane , so did her garden . And by the meter I moved in with my raw kinsfolk , there was little left : just a across-the-board expanse of lawn , sprouting more weeds than grass , and my memory board . The roses were still here , but without the path they used to line . They looked like a scraggly allée leading nowhere . The camellias were sputter , and failing , to hide the concrete rampart behind them . The citrus fruit Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree were expand , though , against one paries . And the magnolia had grown to majestic proportions , providing a bite of shade and a branch strong enough to patronise Ben ’s swing .
Neither Henry nor I had ever had a garden before , having spent much of our adult lives in Manhattan , and we were naively thrilled with the challenge . Although I did n’t need to stir up any of the existing plants , I could n’t wait to sum new 1 . So last spring we threw ourselves into learning everything we could about the vines , shrubs , herbs , tree , and bulbs that grow here in geographical zone 10 . We started planting whatever grabbed our phantasy : some nasturtiums here , sunrise - glories there , a few buddleia , stephanotis to aim up a perch . It was our year of uncovering , of getting to live our demesne , our sensitiveness , our capability , and our limitations .
Our problems were never horticultural . The fourMelianthus majorfilled out nicely against the back wall . The sweet pea climb the trellis we propped against the garage . TheVerbena bonariensisdid indeed rise above the small patch of French and English lavender . I even allow Henry prune Grandma ’s strawberry guava Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree with his novel Fiskars beltway lopper , and it seem much good for it . We incline a few endearing plants . But we never made a garden . After all that elbow grease , we were still confront with an overwhelming 93 by-63 foot piece of monotone country in dire need of cohesion and focussing , a headmaster plan .
Henry and I were wary , though , of hire someone to take over entirely . We wanted our garden to be our garden , a position where we could toy , experimentation , and make relaxed — not some untouchable intent . While scout L.A. in search of stories for this powder magazine , I had become conversant with the study of Barry Campion , and I bonk what she had done in other people ’s backyard , lay - back , realistic garden that managed to verbalize their proprietor ' sense of trend . But I had always take over that hiring a professional meant contribute up control . So when I learned that Campion ’s firm pop the question simple one - hour consultations , for only $ 100 , I straightaway scream to place one up .
When I spoke with Campion on the earphone , she suggested that Henry and I first draw up a tilt of ideas and interrogative sentence , and print range of a function in books and magazines that invoke to us . During this exercise , we found that we wanted many of the same things : a ( smaller ) lawn for Ben , some shade for the two redheads in the family , a veg garden , a cutting garden , way bordered by interesting flora , a secluded session domain . Though it was clear that Henry would be willing to scrap everything to accomplish our goals , I wanted to work around what my grandmother had lovingly planted so long ago .
A few weeks afterward Campion arrived on our doorstep . dress in casual knickers , study boot , and a T - shirt , she seemed more hands - in - the - dirt gardener than haughty artiste . And she spent the first part of the merging listen to what we wanted and demand about our site : its sun ( full ) , ground ( extremely wad slime ) , and specific problem ( two beagle who pass water everywhere ) . Then , as we walked through the yard , she began progress to suggestions . " The first affair I would do , " she offer diplomatically , " is soften the penitential look by planting hedges in front of those concrete walls . " Yes , with child . I could n’t have agreed more . Her 2nd musical theme , however , was not what I want to hear . " This magnolia tree is planted in a really foreign spotlight , " she said gently . " How would you feel about getting free of it ? " I cursorily defend my grandmother ’s choice : " It provides shade , and you could look out onto it from indoors . Besides , it ’s the only tree diagram we have with branches big enough for Ben ’s jive . " I understood Campion ’s position ( part of me even agreed ) but I was n’t ready to permit go of what Henry send for my " generational issues . " We did , however , go in front and hire her to draw up a design .
Two week later it come on my doorsill . I stop everything I was doing , quickly opened the gasbag , spread the pattern , and hungrily scanned the drawing . Ah , she wants to amplify the terrace area . skillful . And the lawn will end with a lovely hedging - lined semicircle . Oh , and she put a logic gate here to keep the bounder bear . That ’s smart . A wonderful curved course with prominent borders on both sides , and a sitting surface area in the back . My vegetable plot must be here and I guess that ’s the cutting garden . It was look great . And when I figured out that " ex " did n’t mean a tree would be eliminate ( it stands for " existing " ) , I knew I ’d hire the proper someone for the line of work . Campion had created a brilliant plan that not only crop around my nanna ’s magnolia , but also in reality made the tree the beating heart of the entire garden .
Henry and I have since meet with her again to go over every inch of the blueprint . We can now visualise the voluminous path through lush , cool - hued planting , the cornstalks that will rise above the other vegetables in my potager , the hide smirch where we ’ll stretch out with the theme on Sunday afternoons . We can picture Ben chasing the beagles around the lawn , and almost hear the fountain gurgling at one end of the patio . None of this exists yet , nor will it for quite some metre . We did n’t buy an clamant garden ; we bought a road map . There ’s still grime to better , an irrigation organization to install , sod to wander out , seed to start . We will do these thing , little by little , when we have the time , and the money . horticulture is supposed to be about process , after all . And I can put off even longer the determination to uproot and move Grandma ’s rosebushes .
