Where the Wild Things Are

The other day I was asked if I would ever return to landscaping. My gut reaction was a resounding, "No." I am just the kind of person who likes to keep moving forward. Whether it is relationships or employers, it has been my experience that once you leave, it's best not to look back. That's not to say I have burnt bridges everywhere I've been - no, I've stayed on good terms with all of my employers and most of my ex's - it's just been my experience that whatever prompted me to make a change, has likely...not changed. So when it comes to landscape design: I've been there, I've done that and, even worse, the break-up was a bitter one. I was fortunate to be offered a position in the publishing industry but the decision to leave my business was not easy. Oh, how I cried and lamented to anyone who would listen, you would have thought I had lost a job rather than having just earned one - and in a way I guess, I had. For 15 years I had been working towards a higher position in my field and suddenly was walking away from it all.

Lately though a few conversations have opened my mind to the idea of returning; one of my favorite clients called to let me know she and her husband have finally begun construction of a large addition they had been planning and wanted to know if I would redesign their landscape, and I had the opportunity to interview a contractor who understood the importance of design. I was so thrilled to discuss it that I could barely stay on topic for the article. My exuberance on the phone prompted my editor to ask what the craziest job I had ever designed was. I told him about the cemetery we designed; the folly we built to disguise a hot tub; the time I squeezed a tiny pool into the setbacks of a ridiculously small property; about the clients who requested a professional horseshoe pit; another whose property had to accommodate a go-kart track; a dog rescuer who wanted a habitat for her huskies; and some disturbing requests to bury pets, relatives ashes and childrens' afterbirth (we would dig the hole, I said, but they were on their own to place it in).

A folly built to offer privacy for a hot-tub in a tightly packed development

A Tuscan-themed patio for a townhouse as seen from the vineyard planted on the hill

A patio designed around a 12' fountain the clients purchased before deciding they needed a patio

A patio built to allow the clients access into the hot-tub from their backdoor without any steps

A patio built to offer three distinct use spaces for a busy family of seven

Of course many of the projects I was involved with were crazy simply due to their size, scope or outrageous budgets, some of the wildest though are those that never were. There have been many in my career that failed to come to life - the multilevel patio on Maple that they never built, the firepit in Cranberry that we overbid, the terraced steps and rill on Foxcroft that were eliminated to meet zoning requirements, the vanishing edge pool which I left the company before seeing built - and the sad thing is that I know where each of them "should" have been and what they "would" have looked like. I keep their designs, I drive by to see if any work has been done or what another's end result was. Two of the most recent such failures though cut especially deep because they were lost when I was operating my own firm. It is easier to excuse the loss when you are just a cog in the wheels but when you are the driver, well, you only have yourself to blame.

The first one was a lesson hard learned early in my business. I was contacted by a builder whose client had asked him to solicit a landscape project along with some work he was doing. I met with the homeowner, made suggestions they like and was told budget wasn't a concern (first mistake). When the design was complete I gave it to the contractor for mark up (second mistake) but was told he would be meeting with the clients without me (final mistake). The contractor came back with word that they were shocked by the cost of everything they requested, I offered to make revisions but he said they were still considering it. Weeks went by without an answer and I was helpless to communicate with the client. Finally, I was told the client had chosen another concept. Fine, I said, just give me back my design...again weeks went by....and again I had to ask.

You are a mean one, Mr. Green.

Eventually my design was returned but several months later as I was standing at a suppliers counter watching photos scroll by on their computer screen I saw my design - or rather the landscape constructed using it - slide by. I never found out who the offender was, the clerk at the counter only knew the images were provided by another customer, but I was sick to my stomach over it. I had been used, lied to and cheated in only my first few months in business.

My isometric sketch may have been crude, but there was no mistaking the photo on screen

I experienced heartbreak again in my last year. A woman contacted me looking for something different, something unlike her neighbors, something with unusual shapes and high-quality materials, a fireplace, an outdoor kitchen, a pergola and a pool. I designed a project with all that - and it even met her budget! The sun deck was placed to allow tanning outside the large shadow cast by the home, the patio accommodated the 12-person table she special ordered and the raised beds meant no railing would block the views. I was actually scheduled to present some additions she had made to the proposal when she returned from a trip overseas ...but she never did or at least she never returned my calls. I have no idea what happened to her and to this day nothing has been built in her yard. In this case, I'm not even sure if I did something wrong, I just know that it would have been beautiful.

I hope one day you get that beautiful patio, Dr. Rim.

These stories put me right back on the fence about my career as a designer; on one hand I was able to create beautiful ideas, on the other I lost them to competition, cost or mis-communication. See, that is the thing about being a designer, you are not able to just be an artist - you are also a salesperson, an estimator, a logistics expert, a weatherman and sometimes a counselor. Your best ideas can be rejected, your process is dirty and in some cases your medium can die. Frankly, I'm just not sure I am ready for that again.

Wren in Rome

We have been experiencing bone chillingly cold weather here in the Northeast these last few days, the kind where code blue alerts are issued and the newscasters tell you to keep all companion animals inside. Our home is not known for being particularly well-insulated - it is nearly 200 years old with windows as thin as a silver dollar, in fact, the other morning I awoke to a thick layer of ice on the inside of the one window not sealed with plastic for the season - but on these nights as I snuggle into bed with my four dogs and a cat surrounding me, my heart goes out to anyone with less, be they human or animal.

My mother called to tell me that the other night my dad found a dead cat  frozen in one of their barns. It was a stray but it still upset my father who, though he is a hunter and farmer, would have done everything he could to provide a warm bed and food for this animal had he known it was in need. I know the feeling; if I could welcome every deer, rabbit and fox from the fields into my home on these bitter cold nights, I would.

Common sense, of course, tells me that is not possible, save for one little bird - sometimes as many as three - who have decided to call our home theirs. Peer into the rafters of our porch most any night and you will see them nestled together, out of the wind or rain and as warm as any wild creature can be. We call them the "Tuckies," as in, they tuck themselves in each night but they are properly known as Carolina Wrens.

Thryothorus ludovicianus 

These cheerful little song birds seem to enjoy the company of humans or at least not mind it much. We first met on a spring day several years ago when one decided our patio heater would make an excellent nest box. It stands roughly 7 feet tall, is constructed of steel, kept on a screened porch and not used so it really was a practical choice. Day in and out we watched as the little bird filled the enclosed basket with twigs, string and dog hair. Being from a patriarchal family I assumed the nester was female but soon found out home decorating was a duty handled by the man of the species, as was singing.

For weeks he would stand on the lawnmower or grill just outside our window and warble his heart out, "teakettle-teakettle-teakettle," in search of a mate. He must be a multitalented fellow because before long there was a brood of chicks requiring constant care from both mother and father. To and fro they flew, bringing in bugs and taking out waste. Once the little fluff-balls learned to fly (that was an adventurouse day for our dogs) we assumed our empty-nesters would move on but they stayed for the summer and then into fall, never seeming to mind our, or our dogs, comings and goings.

We worried about their fate during hurricane Sandy until - I don't remember why - one of us looked up into the rafters high above and saw a familiar fluffy form. We continued to see them on and off throughout the following year and through another nesting cycle. One evening after a long absence of sightings I was watering plants out front when I heard the familiar song. He/she serenaded me from the fence - not more than 10 feet away before flitting up into the front rafters. We were delighted to know they were still safe, and had simply moved from back porch to the front for the summer. Many nights we would creep out to peer up in the rafters, and sometimes quietly cheer the arrival of new visitors. 

Winter is upon us and the Tuckies can again be found on the back porch each night. They have realized we are the sort of neighbors that don't "lock our doors" and have found some way to enter another of our porches, this one enclosed in glass. At first we thought it was a mistake, that one had flown in through an open door and become trapped, but this weekend they had to be released on several occasions. The porch, slightly warmer than the outdoors must be a favorite hibernation location for the plethora of spiders and insects we suffer from as the Tuckies can be seen repeatedly hopping into the rafters and snatching up some tasty morsel. The last time I opened the door, my guest could not be persuaded to leave. He/she paid me no mind as I stood mere feet away holding the door like a dutiful Walmart greeter. After finishing a meal it found its own way out again and I suspect it won't be long before they are sleeping on that porch during the coldest of nights (don't tell my cat). "Snow birds" indeed.

I cannot tell you why but it does my heart good during these brutal nights to look up and see these tiny birds huddled into the eaves of our home. I often think of a Bible passage particularly meaningful to me, being both a gardener and a worrier: "Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." Matthew 6:25-34 

Even as I worry about the lack of work, frozen ground and the next fuel bill I am reminded that someone, somewhere is looking after me just as I look after these little lives and I am overjoyed to fit into the grand scheme if only through the shelter I can offer.