About Us
Our work strives to create beautiful, functional and diverse landscapes that fit within the unique ecological framework they are part of. Using natural materials and native plants whenever possible, we aim to build and maintain low maintenance landscapes and gardens that will attract birds and pollinators and be inviting and engaging to the people who live there.
Journal
Inklings of Spring
Spring has been flirting with us recently, tantalizing warm, still days and melted sidewalks. The snow melts atop south facing earth and the ground softens a little. Technically it’s still deep winter in northern Minnesota, equatorial spring isn’t far off, but a far cry from anything resembling conventional spring. This morning thick snowflakes fall gently, reminding us of winter's hold on our part of the world. But look closely, there’s change afoot. The pine siskins have arrived in cheerful noisy flocks. They forage in the old spruces and lilacs in the backyard. They seem eager to get things moving towards spring. I noticed them all at once when I stepped out a few days ago. Many people head to warm locations these days as winter stretches on. But it’s happening, slowly the pulse of spring starts to beat. Salix alba, the golden willow, is aflame with bright yellow twigs. While the young stems have been a yellow hue all winter, they seem to radiantly glow in spring with impending growth of early spring catkins. Salix discolor, the pussy willow, stands out now too with their furry catkins. They fade into the background soon after. This is the first time I’ve noticed each clump is a different color. Shades of brown and brick red. Remarkably easy to propagate from cuttings, I try to find different colors as I snip the twigs. The dark eyed juncos will soon arrive, and waxwings will show up in droves, cleaning up last year’s frozen fruit off mountain ash and apple trees, making room for spring blossoms. The days grow longer. While most are tired of the long winter season, my mind is bustling. I spent January and February mapping out my flower bed space and calculating my seed starting calendar. My window is filling up with newly seeded flats and chrysanthemum cuttings. Ranunculus poke up through the potting mix and little green leaves, shaped like hands, wave hello. Every day I mist the flats and look for signs of germination. I pause over the tray of lavender. Several years ago, I noticed a patch of lavender happily growing in a roadside garden on a side street in town. Lavender is not normally very hardy in zone 4a. The woman who planted it here tore up the grass in the boulevard, between the sidewalk and the street. She planted the strip full of many different kinds of flowering plants. Over the years I’ve watched the lavender grow, spread, and thrive despite its harsh location just inches from the road. Snow, salt and sand pile on all winter and the freeze/thaw cycles of spring threaten tender growth and root systems. Yet, the lavender growing here persists, year after year. Right around now, just as the snowbank is starting to retreat, I stop and collect a handful of dried flower heads. The aromatic oils are still pungent in the dried material. Once home (with gloves), I crush the flower heads and grind them across screens to allow the little black seeds fall through. The seeds go into damp paper towels, in plastic bags and into the fridge for two weeks, to mimic real spring. They usually start germinating before the two weeks are up. With every seedling that appears I am in marvel at this tough patch of lavender that keeps on going through harsh winter after baking summer, along the roadside, freely flowering and making new seed, year after year. I have always felt a greater sense of kinship and familiarity with the plants I start from seed. To witness the whole process, from germination, to flowering, to seed set, is to be present for life itself. It can begin the process of getting to know the natural world around you. Of being called to make observations. Acquainting yourself with seedlings and recognizing them in the garden against weeds. And looking up once and awhile to hear the story on the wind- the arrival of the birds, the thinning of the air to give way to a new season ahead.
Learn more
January: The Design Process
It is late January, thick flakes of snow fall on the street outside, and the snowplow scrapes up and down the road, all day long. The sunlight is dim though it is midday. Deep winter is the ideal time for consideration of the season ahead and new projects take shape at my second floor desk, overlooking the street. The design process is equal parts art, science, and psychology, plus the ability to look forward in time to understand what the planting will ultimately become. Gardens are a highly personal thing for us and people have a wide range of preferences in aesthetics. I had a client who loved the wild aspects of her property, ‘barely tended into organized chaos’ was our approach, based on her wishes. Another couple liked their highly built landscape to be minimalist and scrubbed clean with high levels of order. Most people are somewhere in between. I have observed over the years that people are seeking an extension of themselves in their landscaped spaces. An extension of their values, their indoor aesthetics, land ethics, or a collection of their favorite color palette and plants. People know how they want to feel when they’re in the garden. And it’s different for everyone. They want a semblance of harmony, to feel relaxed, to be inspired, to be energized, serene, curious… These are all states of mind that a garden can and does invoke. When thinking about a new project it’s important to consider the overall site and what provides the backdrop. The predominant trees and shrubs and native plants in the adjacent areas. I always start by researching the overall ecological system and native plant community that a given site is part of. Field Guide to the Native Plant Communities of Minnesota The Laurentian Mixed Forest Province is a great resource for understanding the bigger picture of the landscape. Find that book here. Field Guide to the Native Plant Communities of Minnesota Different habitat types tell a unique and diverse story. From upland wet forest sites to Lake Superior lakeshore, each property will be favorable to some and unforgiving to other types of plant species, so knowing what factors you’re dealing with is essential. A property in town is a little different as it already sits in a built environment, but the house, overall area, sun exposure, and especially the history all tell a compelling story. Once I narrow down the particulars of a site; sun and wind exposure, soil moisture, and overall style of gardens desired, I pour over county maps, soil surveys, and species lists, and follow up research is sometimes necessary. I like the following reference books for specifics on plants’ cultural requirements, size, and growth habits. Trees and Shrubs of Minnesota, by Welby R. Smith Trees and Shrubs of Minnesota Dirr’s Hardy Trees and Shrubs, by Michael Dirr Dirr's Encyclopedia of Trees and Shrubs Growing Perennials in Cold Climates, by Mike Heger and John Whitman Growing Perennials in Cold Climates: Revised and Updated Edition: Heger, Mike, Lonnee, Debbie, Whitman, John: 9780816675883: Amazon.com: Books After drafting suitable plant lists, I think about conversations with the homeowners. Peer between the lines and find the angle they are looking for in their design. I think about what suits them. What suits the house. There are all the design rules in there too but the heart of it really is in what belongs. What plants belong and how the assemblage weaves together with the people AND the place. Familiarity with plants and how they behave in a given application has lent itself to an intuitive understanding of what to use. They sort of jump out at you, as if to say “pick me!” As garden designer Jinny Blom put it in her book The Thoughtful Gardener, “There is satisfaction in learning enough of a new subject’s specific coded language to allow access to its mystery. Once I grasp the essence of what’s being expressed, it opens new doors of perception and that makes my working life a very satisfying one.” Afterwards comes concept drawings, planting plans and so forth, but this quiet time of contemplation, this winter dormancy, is a crucial element in the dance of it all. The counter balance to the bustle of the work season. When inklings of gardens come into being, when paper lists become living spaces. Spending time drawing plants helps to study them and familiarise yourself with their habit.
Learn more