Strawberries in snow

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For some time, I've been fascinated by Arbutus (also called Madrone), Arbutus menziesii, a native plant to the Pacific Northwest and Northern California regions, growing in many gardens around here. Its European cousin, Arbutus unedo, is aptly called the Strawberry tree, because of the big, inedible berries it carries during the autumn. It is evergreen, and the bright red and unripe orange berries make a merry sight, looking like furry pom-poms hanging from the branches. It is supposed to flower in the spring, but here it seems to have both flowers and fruit at the same time; just two days ago I was watching five green hummingbirds drinking nectar (or at least trying to...) from its bell formed, white flowers. I can't really decide what I think about this shrub; it is a bushy, not very stylish plant, but it still makes me childishly glad with its strong coloured berries and hanging flowers. It definitely brightens up wilder parts of the garden, and it probably would be nice to have one growing under one's kitchen window.

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Arbutus berries in snow

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Magnolia buds in snow

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Otherwise, we received seven inches of snow the last couple of days and our life has taken "snow-mode"; the schools have been closed for several days and the grown-ups are staying at home, if possible. Of course, this small amount of snow would not have stopped anyone from their daily chores in Finland or Sweden, but here, as this happens so seldom, it definitely feels like we are in a state of emergency. As we haven't lost the power and have good outdoor gear for the children, I quite enjoy these snow days, sliding down the slopes nearby with our small sledges together with the kids.

... snow falling on cedars...
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The remains of a holly farm

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In 1902, a holly farm was established in Yarrow Point, a narrow peninsula north of Bellevue on the East side of Lake Washington. At some stage, this farm was the largest supplier of holly in the United States, providing cheerful materials for Christmas decorations and wreaths for the whole country. Holly farming at Yarrow Point ended in the 1960’s, and the area was gradually built over with houses. The street name of Holly Lane reveals where the farm was situated.

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Some of the original hollies still remain, huge and beautiful with gnarled, thick trunks, and branches carrying bright, red berries. It is wonderful to see them as main attractions of the gardens they stand in, hopefully for many years to come.

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To pick up the theme, many house owners at Yarrow Point have planted holly hedges, some of which are now over 4 meters (12 feet) high, providing birds with excellent hiding and feeding places throughout the winter season. In these times of total eradication of all old - both houses and gardens - when new residences are built, it is lovely to see these examples of appreciation for the local history in Yarrow Point.

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Gas Works Park in Seattle

An update: On January 2, 2013, Seattle’s Gas Works Park, a significant example of Richard Haag’s innovative landscape architecture, was listed in the National Register of Historic Places. For more information, see The Cultural Landscape Foundation.

A tiny note in my favourite garden magazine, Gardens Illustrated, inspired me to seek out Gas Works Park in the North side of Lake Union, near Seattle city centre. I had heard about this park earlier, as it is a very popular place for 4th of July celebrations, kite flying and other summer activities, but I had somehow never got to this side of town.

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Gas Works Park has a hundred year old history connected to the industrial evolution of Seattle. Dating from the first decade of the 20th century, this plant manufactured illuminating gas made from coal, and later also city-gas used for cooking, refrigeration, and heating homes and water. It also had equipment for producing “Gasco charcoal briquettes”, toluene, solvent naphtha, sulphur, xylene and resin tar; products that now are strongly associated with soil and land contamination everywhere in the world. Production of city gas at The Seattle Gas Company’s production plant ended in 1956 when Seattle converted to natural gas.

The former exhauster-compressor building, now a children's play barn, features a maze of brightly painted machinery. Unfortunately, no children were around, just some homeless people, sleeping by a fire on the pick-nick area.

The site of Gas Works Park, a 20 acre point on Lake Union, was acquired by the city of Seattle in 1962. The park was designed by Richard Haag, a prominent Seattle landscape architect also known for his work at the Bloedel Reserve. A massive soil cleaning effort was needed to create the park, and it was opened to the public in 1975. This act finally fulfilled the vision of the Olmsted Brothers, who already in 1903 recommended that “…the point of land between the northeast and northwest arms of Lake Union and the railroad should be secured as a local park, because of its advantages for commanding views over the lake and for boating, and for a playground.” What the Olmsted Brothers could not have imagined is the long road of development that lead to the final result.

The sundial at the top of the mound was created by two local artists, Chuck Greening and Kim Lazare. The viewer’s shadow tells the time of day and the season - an optimistic feature for a park in Seattle...

The Gas Works Park with its structures tell a lot about our attitudes towards the nature and its resources during the last century; how we went from seeing them as something to exploit and abuse, to appreciating the nature as the basis of sustainable life. Also, it is an important part of the history of how we build our parks; a development that has gone from beautifying the nature through control and planning, to seeing the nature as valuable in itself; and now to considering even the man-made and industrial (an opposite to the traditional meaning of parks) as worth of our attention and preservation.

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The remaining Gas Works buildings are on the National Register of Historic Places, and the park is also a Seattle City Landmark.

 

A later update: I just read in the Seattle Times that the Gas Works Park is one of the most popular parks for weddings in Seattle, and that already now in January, many weekends are already fully booked. Sculptural, monumental, impressive - all words that I would connect with this park, but romantic? Not in my eyes... Avant-garde? Yes, and I would love to see a wedding here. Another small detail; I just found Katie Campbell's book "Icons of Twentieth Century Landscape Design" (2006), where she takes up the Gas Works Park as one of the 29 landscapes that have dramatically changed the way we look at designed outdoor spaces. Very interesting, I really need to visit this park again when the weather warms up.

Quote of the Day

One kind word can warm three winter months.

- Japanese proverb -

An Edwardian treat in Victoria, BC

The garden gate at the Prior House Inn.

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It is always intriguing to see how deep footprint the Britons left even in the far flung parts of their empire. There are many things the little town of Victoria, BC shares with the state of Victoria, my favourite part of Australia; both were named in honor of the same Queen, both were prosperous due to a gold rush from 1850 until the first World War; and due to this, both had a building boom that left them with an excellent stock of Victorian and Edwardian buildings and private houses. And both still celebrate their British roots in a visible manner with afternoon teas and games of cricket.

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The gardens at the Inn; I love the circle of ferns under the large beech tree.

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To give our recent trip to Victoria a bit more local touch, we stayed at the Prior House Inn, a Tudor-style manor from 1911-1913 that was built by Edward Gawler Prior, a former Premier of British Columbia. It is a designated heritage building, with beautiful, oak clad interiors and exteriors with granite rock terraces and balustrades of stone. The English style gardens have beautiful borders combining perennials and shrubs and they have received several awards; they were beautiful even now, when almost no flowers were out. As the weather was typically damp and grey, what a treat it was to stay in the rooms in the evenings and read in front of the fireplaces. A little bit of old England, far away in the Western coast of Canada.

The Butchart Gardens

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Being "Thanksgiving orphans", as our American friends called us, is not a completely negative thing; it leaves you to do whatever you want during these traditional family gathering times. We opted for a long weekend in Victoria on Vancouver Island, in British Columbia in Canada. I had visited Victoria once before when I was five years old with my parents and siblings, so I felt quite nostalgic, seeing before my eyes all the old family photos, with three young children dressed in typical 70's clothes skipping around in the gardens of Vancouver Island. One of them, the Butchart Gardens, has after all these years become something of a family legend, and I don't know how much I really remember or how much I just think I remember after seeing the pictures for so many times. Anyway, I was very keen on a new visit, or maybe a "reality check" of the gardens, more than 30 years later.

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The sunken garden in the old limestone quarry.

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The Butchart Gardens consists of 22ha (55 acres) of differently themed gardens, restaurants, shops and other entertainments. They are a well-known tourist attraction and receive more than a million visitors each year. The gardens were first created as a part of the Butchart family home, but already by the 1920s more than fifty thousand people came each year to see them, many of whom by car (this gives a hint of how prosperous this part of the world must have been then!).

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The Butcharts were, what could be called the nouveau-riche of their time; Robert Pim Butchart was a former dry goods merchant who became a highly successful pioneer in the cement manufacturing industry in North America. The West Coast of Canada had rich limestone deposits that are vital for cement production, so he built a factory at Tod Inlet on Vancouver Island and in 1904, established a home there with his family. As the lime deposits were exhausted in the quarry near their house, his wife, Jennie, decided to turn the enormous hole in the ground into a sunken garden, much in vogue during that time. An old black-and-white film in the visitors centre showed this operation, where thousands of tons of top soil were brought in by horse and cart and used to line the floor of the abandoned quarry. It was quite amusing to imaging all the fun they must have had, playing around like this, doing what they loved with their newly-earned money.

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Reflecting their world travels, the Butcharts added a Japanese Garden in 1908 and an Italian Garden some years later. A Rose Garden replaced a large kitchen vegetable patch in 1929. In 1939, the Butcharts gave the Gardens to their grandson Ian Ross (1918–1997) on his 21st birthday. Ross was involved in the operation and promotion of the gardens until his death 58 years later; the ownership of the gardens remains within the Butchart family. In 2004, the gardens were designated as a national historic site.

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From the Japanese Garden; the wet climate of Vancouver Island is perfect for growing moss.

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All this adds up to the central experience of the gardens now; they are a huge business, meticulously maintained and orchestrated to serve the masses visiting them every year. Just driving in to the large and well-organized car park gives a feeling of what is to come; then passing through the shops and entertainment areas, now lavishly trimmed with Christmas decorations of all kinds and colours, rips off the hope of seeing something personal or individual. The gardens are still beautiful, even in the middle of a dark November day; the sunken garden is still as amazing a gardening idea as it was for a hundred years ago. But I really would have hoped that all the kitsch would have been left out (I am leaving it out from my blog, well aware that it changes the impression you get as a reader). Of course, the gardens were designed to impress from the beginning, but is there such a need to overdo it? The gardens should be left to tell their story, unusual and eccentric as they are, and I am sure (or I hope...) that garden visitors still would come in thousands to see the impressing floral displays in their wonderfully beautiful natural environment.

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Oh, I could not resist - the giant sized Three French hens from the Twelwe Days of Christmas displays found in the gardens in December. What a delight...?

Oh, the THINKS you can think!

Gertrud McFuzz from "Yertle the Turtle" by Dr. Seuss.

I've always loved the rounded, droopy figures that fill Dr. Seuss's imaginative world, not to mention the playful and rhythmic verse of the texts. His many books, the first of which were published for more than half of a century ago, have been loved by millions and millions of children in the English speaking countries. As it happens, my children now enjoy reading their "inherited" Dr. Seuss books, bought in the 1960's and 1970's in Australia and Canada by their respective grandparents.

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"Dr. Seuss trees" on the middle left.
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One day, driving through our area, my youngest one pointed to some conifers, calling them for "Dr. Seuss trees". And really, around here, there are lots of different drooping conifers, with their branches and tops hanging in the wind; varieties almost unseen in Scandinavia, where I come from. Of course, conifers are native to this part of the world and having them in all their different forms in gardens is completely natural. But I can't help to think about the theme that I did not write my Master's thesis about in Art History, as it proved to be all too complex and difficult within the limits of the thesis. What I was thinking about was how the imaginary world in children's books effects the way we make our gardens. More specifically, I wanted to specialize in the "classic" books in Scandinavia, as Astrid Lindgren, Tove Jansson etc, and analyze the plants and descriptions of gardens in them and compare with the most popular plants and features in our gardens. Now, looking at my plan, I completely understand why my professor politely shook her head and told me that this was far too complex and difficult task for me to take on and that I should keep to something more substantial. I still think that I should have specified my topic better; kept to one author only, and made something of it. As it is, I wrote about an early example of a woodland cemetery designed by one of the pioneers of modern garden design in Sweden...

Gumnut babies by May Gibbs, Australia.

Sov du lilla videung by Elsa Beskow, Sweden.
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Anyway, I still find it interesting to think about the plants and gardens in children's books. When the writer illustrates his or her own books, it makes the preferred plants and sceneries even more explicit. A good example of this is the classic Swedish children's author Elsa Beskow with her richly illustrated books, most of which are from the beginning of the 20th century. Her books are full of images with idealized Swedish nature, together with small figures dressed as strawberries, mushrooms and other native plants and flowers. Actually, this must have been something of a trend at that time, as during the same period in Australia, May Gibbs wrote and illustrated books about Gumnut Babies with very similar images and figures, but now with Australian nature and plants. Or otherwise, think about all the flowering cherry trees in Astrid Lindgren's books; is this a reason why the Swedes love them so much (even if she did not illustrate her books herself)? And Moomin Mother by the Finnish Swedish author Tove Jansson, always tending her roses and edging her flower beds with seashells (which actually was a common thing to do in middle class gardens in the 19th century in Sweden and Finland)? Many Finns do love roses, so there might (and just might...) be something in to this.
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Moominmamma's garden by Tove Jansson, Finland.

So, the question remains: what kind of images of plants and gardens do we grow up with? Do these images plant themselves in our minds and express themselves later in our choices of plants and when we are planning our gardens? A fascinating area, I think, and I would love to see a well-illustrated book about this, if not by myself, then some other book-loving gardener.

A fine, free expression of democracy

A fenceless front garden from early 20th century in Yarrow Point, near Seattle.

I have always considered the fenceless and open front gardens very "American", if such expression can be used in this huge and diverse country. But first now, after reading an interesting new book From Yard to Garden, The Domestication of America's Home Grounds, by Christopher Grampp (2008), did I understand what an important part the open front garden has played in the garden history here.

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In his book, Grampp gives a detailed history of how the American gardens developed from agricultural spaces devoted to family sustenance, via urban utility yards supporting basic domestic operations, into outdoor family rooms used mainly for leisure activities. The fence forms a part of this development; as the gardens no longer housed animals that needed to be kept within it, the fences lost their function. And as the time went by, the fences became neglected. They were then seen as a reminder of the past, a symbol for something outdated and thus less desirable.

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Fenceless front garden in Clyde Hill, Bellevue, near Seattle.

It is interesting to read in Grampp's book about how the fenceless front garden slowly became a symbol for the whole American lifestyle and democracy. In 1913, J.H. Prost, who was the Chicago Superintendent for Parks, wrote that "Unsightly and vine-covered fences or clipped hedges planted on the property line to divide the neighbor's yard are an expression of poor and selfish taste." Landscape architect Frank Waugh, went further in the 1930's as he wrote:

" I am glad that it is neither necessary nor fashionable for all my neighbours to shut themselves and their gardens up in high brick walls. This is nothing more or less than a fine, free, physical expression of democracy."

In his new book, Grampp does not connect this thinking to Modernism in general, but it really is an excellent example of the modernist philosophies of that time; form follows function (no function=no form) and that the past was imperfect, while the future holds a promise of a better life (which naturally was totally understandable, as the reality of life during the recession of the 1930's was everything but easy). Even in Sweden during this time, garden designers and architects promoted openness in the gardens, but they had a more nationalistic attitude; the Swedish landscape and nature was seen as the ideal to which the private garden should submit to. A fenceless garden never grew very popular, and it became reality only in some of the "purest" Modern areas, as Stora Ängby near Stockholm, where the front and back gardens flow seamlessly into each other (Modernism is called Functionalism in Sweden, often shortened to "funkis"). But generally, fences during this time in Sweden were very low and the gardens opened to the streets and surrounding nature.

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A typical, low garden fence in stone and iron from the 1930's, in Nacka near Stockholm.

Grampp describes in the third part of his book how the fences in USA now are becoming higher and more popular; a similar development can even be seen in Sweden for the moment. People yearn for more privacy, which partly is an expression of the new needs and thoughts of how we should and want to live our lives. And as we have become more individualistic, the ways we express our thoughts in our gardens, as well as in all other areas of our lives, have become more diversified. (Or do we just follow ever changing trends, faster and faster? hopefully not). I just hope, that without letting go of our individuality, we would spare some thoughts for the origins of these open front gardens, before we totally fence us in to our small, private worlds.

Seasonal delights

Isn't it wonderful to "meet" a plant that you have been reading of but never experienced in real life? Well, this morning, I walked past one of the houses here and was greeted by a strong but delicate scent wafting towards me from a whole row of flowering Sweet Olives, Osmanthus fragrans. As it's common name indicates (in this case, quite correctly), it belongs to the family of olives, Oleaceae, and the word Osmanthus is derived from Greek osma, meaning "fragrant", combined with anthos, meaning "flower". The fragrance is similar to some of the winter flowering jasmines, which belong to the same plant family. Coming from the Nordic latitudes, I've always considered any plants that are either green, flowering and/or scented during the winter months a complete luxury. So this evergreen plant that fills all these categories, and in addition to that, flowers for months here in Seattle, will definately be up there on my list for must-have plants for my future garden.

Camellias, which are other winter-flowering favorites from my time in Melbourne, are beginning to flower here now. The Sasanquas with single blooms are out, with their frilly yellow pillows of stamens brightening up the grey and cloudy days. Here, they can start flowering as early (or late...) as in September or October and bloom off and on throughout the late fall and early winter. After them, the Japonicas will start blooming sometimes as early as Christmas, but more commonly in January. The mild, almost frost free climate in the Northwest suits well these beauties from China and Japan, and like so many other influences from there, have been a feature in local gardens here for more than 100 years.
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Fading away

Beautyberry, Callicarpa bodinieri

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Just a short stroll at the tiny little beach park quite near us once more reminded me of the extraordinary beauty of grasses, especially when seen back-lit in the low sunlight of the late autumn. I just can't keep my fingers out of them, I have to touch and caress the feathery, soft axes. There were also several bushes of Callicarpa bodinieri, known as the Beautyberry. I've always been a bit uncertain about the steely purple colour, but the berries contrast quite well with the orange and yellow tones of this season...KThese days of bright sunlight are invaluable, just getting out there in between the rainy days is a treat for the soul. And what a sweet little City Hall and Police Station, don't you think?

Dry axes of unidentified grass...

City Hall and Police station by Lake Washington.

I don't know if I can ever learn to like Berberis, even if it makes a good splash of colour this time of the year.

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The last roses of the season, looking like they want to drink up the fading rays of sunshine.

Cotoneaster, another more than common plant (I'm not sure of the variety here), by a fence towards the water.

Bellevue Botanical Garden

On Tuesday, my older daughter's school class had field trip to Bellevue Botanical gardens. I volunteered to help, and took the opportunity to take some pictures of this quite lovely garden located on the East side of Seattle and Lake Washington. It was a wonderfully foggy day, a complete contrast to my trip to the Olympic Sculpture Park a day earlier.


Spreading on an area of totally 53 acres, Bellevue Botanical Garden has all the "display elements"of a traditional botanical garden; the Northwest Perennial Alliance Border, Waterwise Garden, the Japanese Yao Garden, Alpine Rock Garden and summer displays of dahlias and fuchsias. In addition to this, it has large areas of woodlands, meadows and wetlands, much of which are unlandscaped and in their natural state. Especially the tall conifers, as western red-cedar, Douglas fir and native schrubs give a hint of how the wilderness further around Seattle looks like today and how it used to look like here earlier.
As it is situated in the middle of sprawling suburban area, the Bellevue Botanical Garden give the visitors and locals a wonderful possibility for recreation. For the festive season, it will be lit with 500 000 electrical lights, a fact that the volunteering ladies happily advertised while I was there, telling that this is the most popular event during the year. Feeling like a complete bore, I am very sceptical of this kind of waste of energy - looking like a floral Las Vegas does not quite satisfy my garden design appetite... Despite this, the gardens are well worth a visit while in Seattle.

Olympic Sculpture Park in Seattle

Yesterday, I had a wonderful morning at the Olympic Sculpture Park on the shores of Elliott Bay in Seattle city centre. It is an impressive park, built on 9 acres of former industrial land close to rail lines, huge piers and diverse office buildings. More than that, it provides the only direct access point to the sea within Seattle city centre, and forms a continuation for the Myrtle Edwards Park North of it. The Olympic Sculpture Park was created with large donations from Seattle personalities, and is operated by the Seattle Art Museum. The aim was to return the site as much as possible to a functioning ecosystem, while providing a unique setting for outdoor sculpture and public recreation.

The park has a very strong form, consisting of what I experienced as "wedges" connected by a pathway leading to the seashore. As the SAM website states, the project’s lead designers, Weiss/Manfredi, developed an Z-shaped configuration connecting three parcels into a series of four distinct landscapes. According to it, this design "afforded a wide range of environmental restoration processes, including brownfield redevelopment, salmon habitat restoration, native plantings and sustainable design strategies". I did not quite catch all this while sauntering through the park; I only experienced three different areas, one up near the pavilion and the Serra sculpture, the second in the mid-level with the extensive lawn areas and the third at the seashore. I would never have understood that the waterfront (as seen above), so near a heavily trafficked city and a harbour, would be a salmon habitat restoration area. However, I think it's design reflects nicely the form of the piers south from it, built in an steep angle from the waterfront in order to hold better against the waves.

Like in so many contemporary parks, an important goal was to use native vegetation in the planting, not only because they are an integral part of the restoration effort, but also because the dense native vegetation is more sustainable and helps retain rainfall above the soil surface. As native plants often take years to establish and the park is still very young (it opened in January 2007), it still was very open and much of the vegetation seemed to the struggling in the exposed and quite harsh environment. The "bones", that is, the structure is there, but to get it to be more than that and become a real park, the Olympic Sculpture Park needs time, and maybe also some editing considering the planting palette. For example, the ferns used as undervegetation seemed to be longing for the trees to grow and shade them. Even snowberries, that usually are tough as anything, seemed to be struggling (picture below). Also, as it is late autumn, all the meadows were shorn very short and could not be experienced as they ought to, but it merely looked as the park consisted of huge areas of lawn.

And what about the sculptures? Check out the pictures. My favourite was probably the huge "Eagle" by Calder, looming like an ancient, red dinosaur between the city and the sea (picture above with the pavillion behind it; one other favorite place of mine, Moderna Museet in Stockholm, also has huge Calder sculptures in front of it). "Wake" by Richard Serra (further above) is made of huge sheets of curved steel welded together to a slight s-curve. It's monumental scale feels totally in proportion with it's site here, and in my mind, reflects the huge tankers anchored in the bay waiting to be unloaded. Dennis Oppenheim's huge "Cones" (below, in front of Teresita Fernandez's screen "Seattle Cloud Cover") give a playful note to the strictly contemporary park design - a nice touch of humour which all too often is forgotten in these high-profile landscape designs.

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