Some time ago I wrote about a client who told me that no matter how beautiful his house might be on the inside, in the end, it is his cave. I am quite sure he chose the word cave, as he feels his winter is tantamount to a forced hibernation. Garden people have strong feelings like this-me included. I do make an effort to live through the winter, as best I can; more to follow on that. The upshot-I move to a diferent kind of making- as in small sculptures from natural materials. Some of these bits are left over from other projects. The shells in this topiary were left from my shell tower construction. The trunk sticks came from a spring centerpiece I no longer needed, but couldn’t quite throw away. Some materials I buy specifically for interior arrangements for the home. I buy little pots all year long for these projects. Who doesn’t have a small space somewhere that could be enlivened by a little dose of nature? A little dose of nature- hand conceived and built-this helps brighten my winter.
Eucalyptus is not native or hardy in Michigan, but its sturdy broad leaves remind me of boxwood- super sized, that is. Eucaylptus takes well to being preserved; the lush and lively look pictured above will last a very long time. The delicate cedar whip stems are arranged around a stout stick under a rubber band, and then glued. The trunk has interesting texture, does it not? Preserved reindeer moss covers the top of the clay pot. The moss is set low enough such that the terra cotta pie crust edge can still be seen.
Making anything with one’s own hand is so satisfying. My friends Lauren, Buck, Marianna, Jane, Lynn, Julie and Janet-they cook. Fred’s twice a year chili extravanza-he runs a marathon for a solid two days over it; I have been a lucky recipient. Some sew, others compose. Gerhardt has not only resumed, but embraced his interrupted calling as an artist, after 30 years directing an Art Academy. At 70, he is just firing up. What and how all of them make things energizes me. Myself-I love what these small sculptures teach me about scale, proportion, texture, color, line, mass; what I put together stays with me, when I have a garden project to design.
The hard wood of kiwi vine is extraordinarily beautiful. No two lengths are ever the same. Though I designed a number of these small sculptures with whitewashed eucalyptus and painted terra cotta pots, each one is different. As I compare them, I see the importance of line in a composition. I see that a signature, an arrangement of lines, is unique, and significant. Where I might apply this in my work-who knows. But I have seen this, and I will remember.
This delicate preserved foliage is the devil to work with-just ask Pam. But stuffed densely into a foam form, each individual wispy stem contributes to a mass and an overall form that engages the eye. The black dogwood stems are loosely gathered up and glued in. The lesson here- observing and working with the natural inclination of any natural material- makes for a graceful object.
This lone silver plate candlestick I inherited-I do not remember why. For years it has been on a shelf, looking at me. The whitewashed eucalyptus unexpectedly looks good with this formal metal trunk. Every material needs the right spot to shine.
Rob will show up from a buying trip with pots in hand-these are actually densely fabricated paper mache. A wispy and dense natural material seemed like it might make a good companion. Though my first choice would be for a topiary plant firmly rooted in the ground, in a landscape, I don’t mind this slight and skillfully made interior bound reference. Making is much about doing justice to whatever greatly interests you.
This deep purple is not a natural color in eucalyptus, but it does so celebrate the natural color of the black dogwood trunk. Have I ever seen black twig dogwood before this past fall-no! A first rate grower in Wisconsin sent me bunches of this dogwwod this past November. Regularly I see things from the natural world I have never seen before- my surprise and enchantment may fuel the winter crop of topiaries.
This winter, Pam constructed each and every one of our topiary sculptures. From my sketchy designs, she has created some very beautiful sculptures; she has a sure and an inspired hand. She is able to take an idea and confidently interpret from her own experience and eye. I am sure you can tell she is a first rate gardener, on winter leave.
Though I shopped this past January for the holiday, and most everything was here this past August, I am never ready for what it really takes to change seasons. Have you ever? Even the corgis have that slightly appalled look on their faces. I am certain that the 10,000 square feet I have to deal with is secretly multiplying in the dead of night. It seems that everything needs to get moved-at least twice. Spaces have to be cleared-and of course cleaned-before they can be re-imagined. Sometimes it seems like my imagination will never ignite. When that everything involves stone, steel and lead, I have been known to daydream about being in the stamp-collecting business.
Rob likes everything imaginable in front of him all at once. The disaster that is his desk-loaded with messages, invoices, catalogues, notes, and all manner of other bits, spreads to the floorspace like a slime mold on steroids. This week he has been working away on the last of my leftover Halloween candy; the combination of his blood sugar level and his natural propensity to disorder defies description. Suffice it to say, I am living in a universe tending towards dissolution. 
The greenhouse fernery, so gorgeous a week ago, is now bulging with all those things that have lost their homes, and have no place to go. An impossibly delicate terra cotta pot with applied roses from Espace Buffon in Paris is one of a hundred fragile items crowding my office conference table. What floor space is still available makes walking through any room, objects in tow, nervewracking. Should anyone out there know of a small scale hovercraft rated for interior use, please let me know. 
The rear portion of the shop is a cavernous garage-at least it seemed that way when I bought the building in 1995. Today every square foot has something going on, and not in any particular order. The arrangement of boxes so neatly shelved and stored has become completely unglued. The corgis treat this space like a formula one course, fraught with hairpin turns and unexpected obstructions. Great fun for them-not so much for me. This space needs to be shovelled out soon, such that we have room for the crew and materials necessary to construct of all our winter and holiday decor. 
Progress has been made; certain big gestures are in place. Every box I unpack, I hope I remember what I was thinking when I bought ,works out. My idea of holiday has everything to do with materials and references to the garden. This part is simple. It takes a great deal of concentration to shop materials from 30 or better vendors such that you end up with a cohesive collection; this is only the beginning. Remembering what I had in mind over 10 months ago-even my notes don’t ring any bells. The materials pile up faster than I can do display; just this morning a semi truckload of twigs arrived. At this moment, the driveway is impassable. 
Next week Thursday November 12th is our deadline. We host an evening holiday preview and shopping soiree for our clients. Our 4pm to 9pm event ran until 11:30 last year. We serve a little something to eat and drink; lots of people come, and we have a great time. We aim for picture perfect, we are 6 days out and counting. I don’t see how we will be ready this minute, but somehow we will get there. Stop in, should you have a chance.
As fond as I am of ferns for shady spots in a perennial garden, there are plenty of tropical species too handsome to pass up. I have a client whose pair of Australian tree ferns flank her front door every summer; they have spent the winter in the greenhouse for the past six years. On a smaller scale, Victorian parlor ferns and Boston ferns prosper in a shady spot outdoors over the summer, and make a decent show in a cool light place indoors over the winter. Every fall we fall heir to a number of plants clients have no place for, but can’t bear to compost. Won’t we take them? Try as I can, I can’t say no to a plant in need of a home. Added to these were a number of ferns Rob grew in pots at home this year. As the dwarf crested ferns we planted 2 years ago in this antique French fountain are clearly very happy, Rob decided a fernery was in order.
Once Rob gets a theme going, he has a sure hand putting a vignette together. The fern collection is kept company with lichen encrusted sticks from Oregon and carved wood mushrooms from Belgium. The giant fronds of what we call Macho ferns from his yard arch out some 30 inches, and cascade gracefully to the floor. We have turned on our heat, but an industrial building from the 1940’s heated with old Modine greenhouse furnaces stays decidedly cool.
A chartreuse dracaena named “Janet Craig” that grew vigorously over the summer in an oak barrel is brought inside. Its fountain like habit of growth is fern like, but the texture much more simple and dramatic. I find shade loving tropicals are indispensible for growing shade containers that are fresh and lively-different than the usual. This plant will winter well here; it will make a fine centerpiece for a shade pot next summer.
A pair of woven wood chairs and a table are drawn up to the fountain wall covered in baby tears. The elements of water and moss add to the woodsy look of a fern room. I cut a hole in the ceiling here large enough to handle the roof of an old Lord and Burham greenhouse. A shop devoted to all things garden would seem lacking without water, and a space to grow plants.
As the room starts to fill up with plants, the space begins to feel like a conservatory. It is no wonder people go to great trouble and expense to have glass houses, or grow lights in the basement. I perfectly understand that feeling of being shut in, once I am shut out of the garden. These ferns make me think about having plants at home over the winter. 
We find a home for the other bits as well. A pair of variegated Algerian ivies are so striking in a pair of old faux bois planters. A spike encircled with Cuban oregano organizes a collection of small agaves and echeverias; Rob is calling this the arid zone. An old varigated ivy single ball topiary in need of a haircut will get a winter home somewhere in this room. The climbing fig that covers the walls completes the green picture. 
An old French wire garden table and chairs provide seating. A pastel self- portrait I did 30 years ago shares the wall space with specimens of butterflies, bugs and moths. Objects of meaning to me – as in, the clay bust I made of Julius Caesar in the third grade, letters from my Mom while I was in college, a collection of early twentieth century American fish plates-all the quirky things that have held my interest or been significant to me at one time or another, have a home together. The souvenirs of my life. Though the word souvenir now brings to mind postcards or paperweights from some tourist attraction, that was not always the case. The word souvenir, translated literally from the French, means “the act of remembering”, or “that which serves as a reminder”. There are times in my garden when the season or the light or the rain is just right such that memories will come strongly to mind.
At the time of its making, only seven planets were known. Though it is a beautiful relic from a culture and time vastly different than mine, it is a reminder that one’s world is only as large as one sees to making it. 
The sun, represented with a human face sporting a wry, quizzical , perhaps world weary expression, is as much a fine piece of art as it is some unknown person’s memory and concept of the natural world.
