The owners of this inner-city garden came to me a couple of years ago with just one request: could they please have a lawn, no matter how small. Just a pocket of green grass for their young children to play on.
What had been a lushly planted courtyard now felt cramped and overgrown. In a small garden every inch counts, and we needed to open the space up.
Michelia trees, which have a fragrant white flower in spring, now form a screening planting at the back. Bricks were taken up and reused for a new layout. By pushing the beds back to the boundary I found space for a new lawn:
The new plantings require little maintenance, withstand the hits from children playing, and will add increasing levels of privacy as they mature.
The new design has found the space that was lacking earlier, and has given the owners just what they wanted: an smart new area for family and friends to spread out.
When I first visited this 100 year-old cottage, the back garden was dominated by a massive pohutukawa tree which grew right against the corner of the house:
Apart from posing a risk to the house, the tree also took up the sunniest corner of the pocket-handkerchief garden. The owners had already decided it had to go.
The new design puts a sunny, sheltered, terrace where the tree once stood. Three Corten panels with a pohutukawa design are now framed in the side fence, with a herb garden tucked in beneath:
The new terrace, path, and lawn are edged with beautiful old bricks salvaged from the cottage’s earthquake-prone chimney:
The owners were keen to grow edibles, so a new raised bed against the sunny side of the garage is now a flourishing vegetable garden, with a passionfruit vine already bearing fruit:
On the shadier side, a lush border planting of Chatham Island forget-me-nots, clivias, ligularia, and bromeliads is doing well. Along the back fence, we planted for the long term with the slow-growing Nikau palm.
The owners now say that they enjoy spending more time in the garden, both working and relaxing.
I took a pair of bright red Adirondack chairs and a red front door as my cues when I was given the brief to re-imagine the garden of this newly renovated house. Pastels were out, and a strong, lush planting went in.
Where two new downstairs bedrooms opened to the side of the house, we widened and levelled the path to create a sunny terrace. This now leads to wide steps down to the lawn. The planting through here was completely replaced. The striking white bark of silver birch trees now rises from a layer of white-flowering grasses and shrubs. I selected a mixture of natives and exotics, each species able to withstand the wind and deliver something special.
The tired clay pavers on this terrace (below) were replaced with concrete to match the new work elsewhere. The brush fence came out, new raised beds were added, and the planting refreshed. New trees will eventually create a light screen for more privacy.
The lawn was levelled and replaced, and new raised beds wrap around to meet the wide steps.
At the front, the clients wanted a colourful planting right to the footpath on one side of the driveway, so I suggested we take out the unused sloping lawn on the other side as well, and plant it out to match.
Where there are existing mature trees, it can be a hard call to remove them and deal with the short-term loss of greenery, so it was great that the clients were willing to do this. As a result we achieved a bold, cohesive look that will keep getting better as the new trees and shrubs fill out.
The photos show the garden just 10 months after planting. The owners were delighted to see tui feeding on the flax flowers in the front garden within a year of planting, and often receive compliments from passersby.
As we swing into spring, the incredibly showy magnolias are bursting into bloom everywhere, and I admit there’s not much that can beat a full sized Magnolia x soulangeana in full cry. But I’d like to sing the praises of a less glamorous plant, one that is probably considered old-fashioned and doesn’t feature on too many professional garden design plans.
This shrub goes by the names of Japonica, Japanese quince, or flowering quince. Botanically it is known as Chaenomeles speciosa, which grows to about 2 metres, or Chaenomeles japonica, generally smaller at around 1 metre.
I have a soft spot for this quietly unassuming shrub.One of my earliest ‘plant’ memories is of admiring the beauty of its deep pink flowers along a bare stem, inextricably linked with images of ikebana and Japan.
This specimen grows out on a roadside corner near my house, completely neglected and half tucked into some other bushes. But every year for at least 2 months from mid-July onwards, it flowers away beautifully. The flowers seem to cling on effortlessly through wind and rain, and last longer than the blossoms we’ll be getting on the ornamental cherries soon.
I like this shrub better if it is left alone to form its rather rangy, some would say scraggly, shape – when I’ve seen it tightly clipped it doesn’t look right. So it’s not for every garden – I would recommend it for an inconspicuous corner of a larger garden, planted amongst other shrubs, where it can disappear into the background for summer and autumn, then cheer you up enormously over the winter and spring. Make sure to clip off long stems and bring them inside.
The most common colour is deep pink, however you can also find shades of lighter pink, orange, and the white and green flowers shown below.
I would always go for the dark pink myself, probably from the nostalgia of that childhood memory.
I’ve just spent the autumn searching Wellington for trees with good autumn colour, and have compiled a shortlist that should cheer up anyone who thinks that we only have year-round green as our backdrop. We’re never going to match Queenstown for picture postcard autumn displays, but you can definitely get a touch of gold, red, and orange into your garden between April and June. All of the photos in this post were taken around Wellington. As I took them, I really appreciated how the low sun at this time of year gives wonderful back-lighting to the foliage, bringing out the colours.
Maples (the Acer family) are one of the best small garden trees you can grow here. There is a huge range in the growth habit (upright, spreading, weeping), height, and foliage colours available. A favourite of mine is Acer palmatum ‘Senkaki’, shown below, which having dropped the last of its golden autumn leaves is now stunning with its bare red stems revealed in full. Other cultivars will turn orange and fiery red. Just make sure that you give a maple some shelter from the wind and from hot afternoon sun. Both will damage the fine foliage.
The Gingko tree (Gingko biloba) is another beauty. The specimen below is in the Wellington Botanic Garden and the fan-shaped leaves are still holding this wonderful golden colour in late June, just past the winter solstice. The summer leaves are a fresh green. Although slow-growing, this tree will be large. Look for Gingko ‘Jade Butterflies’ which is a miniature version that is said to reach about 3.5 metres in height. Plant in a sunny position.
Look how the leaf veins radiate out from the base, rather than from a central midrib. The gingko leaf has been found in fossils dating back 270 million years.The gingko is a living fossil and any other trees related to it are long extinct.
Ornamental cherries ( Prunus ) are dotted all over Wellington, not least because some self-seed readily and have got into the margins of the native bush, where they betray their presence with fiery autumn tones. You can expect good, late autumn colour from many of the Prunus species, plus of course the spring blossom. Look at Prunus ‘Shirotae’, also known as ‘Mount Fuji’ which seems to tolerate the wind quite well. Plant in full sun.
On a grey day, doesn’t this liquidamber (also known as American Sweet Gum) stand out against the native bush behind! This is an outstanding tree for long-lasting and vivid autumn colour. It won’t get too large here – 15 year height is approximately 8m.
People often think that to get proper screening you need a high, evergreen hedge or shrub border. Deciduous trees can be very useful instead – providing screening and shade in summer and allowing filtered sunlight through in the winter. There is the bonus of the seasonal changes bringing life to your garden. And who amongst us hasn’t enjoyed kicking their way through piles of autumn leaves! Although some of the trees shown here are quite large, don’t forget that if you go for maples there are many that will stay as small as one-two metres high and grow in a container.
Finally, a shout-out to the trees that nearly made this not-at-all comprehensive list. Birch trees, ( Betula species) , example shown below.
Golden elm ( Ulmus procera ‘Louis Van Houtte’ – you need plenty of room for this one but it’s a good hardy tree for exposed sites.
Cercis candensis ‘Forest Pansy’, the claret ash Fraxinus oxycarpa ‘Raywoodii’, and the magnificent copper beech Fagus sylvatica purpurea all deserve a mention. And if you really, really can’t plant a tree, perhaps you have a brick wall or garage that needs covering. Here is the Boston ivy Parthenocissus tricuspidata doing its thing:
The owners of this garden wanted a classically edited look to set off their beautiful new lawn and terrace. Black and white were to be the accents in a largely green palette.
Combinations of straight lines, spheres, contrasting foliage, and layered hedges, all add subtle complexity to the design. In spring, white tulips, cherry blossom, and Mexican orange blossom will flower profusely, before the garden returns to its crisp simplicity. The rogue element is provided by a trio of small kowhai trees and potted lemon trees – there’ll be a seasonal splash of gold as well!
Ok, so this is going to be a departure from my usual subject matter on ‘Gardens I like’, as a couple of months ago I spent 2 weeks visiting Iran. We had a fantastic trip with Intrepid Travel, travelling from Shiraz in the south up to Tehran in the north. I found the landscape and gardens fascinating.
Between towns and cities we drove for hours through dry, brown, desert. Mountains that had weathered away to nothing but rock jutted out of vast river plains, but the rivers have long since gone. It wasn’t hot, but the air was so dry we swigged water constantly from our water bottles. A bag of small sweet oranges bought from a streetside seller was shared around on the bus, and is one of my favourite food memories.
I saw a flock of sheep being driven through a carpark next to the 2450 year old tomb of Xerxes, and in true Kiwi style wondered just what they were off to eat, as I couldn’t see a blade of grass anywhere!
I have emphasised the bare landscape because it was crucial to how I came to understand the Persian garden. Travelling through a monochromatic palette of browns with no evidence of water makes you crave the colour green. Finally seeing water and green foliage comes as an almost physical relief. It means shelter, shade, and food. It means life.
In a barren landscape, even a single tree can have a powerful presence. Here is a photo of an autumnal tree which was the only one for miles around. Talk about creating a focal point.
Echoing this, at a mosque in Esfahan, the impact of this golden tree combined with the blue and gold tile work was just exquisite.
The season was very late autumn/early winter, which meant that in many places leaves had fallen and flowers were well finished. But one could still imagine the fierce heat of summer and see how the courtyard gardens are such a secluded haven from the harsh environment without. The Persian courtyard doesn’t embrace the surrounding landscape, it retreats from it to make a private and comfortable space. In a place where water is precious, it is honoured with the central position in the design.
In the restaurant courtyard above, there was everything you could wish for. A pool with a fountain, flowers, fruit trees, comfortable seating. A large overhang to give shade in summer, but also areas to sit out in the sun in the cooler months.
In the courtyards I often saw roses, pomegranate trees, and figs. Pots are used extensively, always beautifully arranged, although the Iranians are tough on their potted plants. Potting mix is clearly considered completely unnecessary – with disbelief I saw roses growing quite happily out of solid clay inside the pots.
It was lovely to see these pansies growing in old crates, in the setting of another courtyard garden. You can glimpse the pool and Persian carpets in the background, both key ingredients.
I’m not proposing that we should all start re-creating Persian gardens and courtyards down here in New Zealand. But I was struck by how, having had several thousand years to think about it, Iranians have developed a style that is entirely appropriate to their climate, culture, and lifestyle. Their gardens protect you from the heat and dust of the wider landscape, and provide peace, shade and privacy. There are symbolic meanings attached to many of the elements, but the gardens also work so well on a practical level.
Here we often have the luxury of beautiful outlooks and views which we seek to maximise. But any good garden will also have an area on an intimate scale where you can sit outside and feel sheltered and private. We can give more thought to developing our own genuine vernacular, to how our gardens sit in the landscape, how they function, and hopefully we can, given time, develop a distinct New Zealand style with solutions as beautiful and recognisable as these.
One thing I love about Wellington at this time of year (and it’s not the wind) is that we get this amazing burst of spring wildflowers.
The photos above are deceptive. The only way you’d be able to pick a posy in this wildflower meadow would be if you were wearing an abseiling harness. Our wildflowers are found on the steepest of all the hillsides. These cliffs frequently shed crumbling rock onto the roads below and are held up in places by chicken wire, installed by abseiling workers, in an effort to protect the drivers beneath. That’s how steep they are.
Still not impressed? This cliff faces south and is about 100 metres from the harbour, so is exposed to nasty cold southerlies and salt spray. Its wonderful, and surprising, what will grow here!
I could get all philosophical here about transience, survival, or beauty in unlikely places. But really I just want to point them out and say ‘enjoy’.
A park situated on a hill, that is a memorial to war, and that needs paved areas capable of holding thousands of people for ceremonial occasions, could easily feel bleak, windswept, grim, and uninviting.
But the new Pukeahu National War Memorial Park in Wellington, which opened in April, is a terrific example of landscape architecture. The designers have taken a difficult site and complicated brief, and created a place of meaning, amenity, and beauty.
Landscape architect Megan Wraight and architect John Hardwick-Smith are to be saluted for their response to the key principle of the design brief, which was ‘to create a landscape for memorial that evokes, supports and hosts commemoration’.
Pukeahu (the name translates as sacred hill) feels both contemporary and historical. Sombre and respectful, yet welcoming and highly useable. It is a thoroughfare yet also feels like a discrete space. It encourages reflection without feeling oppressive. It is also quiet, despite State Highway 1 passing directly underneath through the beautiful new Arras Tunnel.
Prior to the new park being built, the 1932 Carillon and War Memorial were sadly marooned on the hill, presiding over a roundabout, 3 lanes of highway, and a general wasteland. Finally there is now an area that dignifies and anchors these buildings, that makes sense, and that draws people to the site.
This is a successful balancing act in so many ways. The ratio of hard to soft surface feels just right, the proportions of Anzac Square feel perfect in relation to the Carillon tower, there is plenty of detail and interest, it feels neither cluttered nor bare.
Symbolism abounds at the foot of the Carillon tower. A haunting bronze sculpture of Hinerangi by artist Darcy Nicholas stands facing the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior, and towards Aoraki Mt Cook far off in the South Island. The tassels on her cloak are tears for those lost in war, and the poutama designs are the pathways soldiers took in their journey to the spirit world. You can also see the poutama pattern in the adjacent pavers, symbolising the stairway to the spirit world.
Three magnificent boulders, sourced from Mounts Taranaki, Ruapehu, and Tongariro, are engraved with images that take us far back into the mythological past.
The planting is a pleasant surprise, with a nice range of both natives and exotics. Rather than being a strictly NZ native zone, the plan is for other countries to use their own indigenous plants as they contribute their memorials to the site. Hence the gum trees and grevilleas around the Australian memorial.
Plants are used in symbolic ways (olive trees for peace, pohutukawa, rata, and kowhai as the quintessential New Zealand trees), and also for their flowering times. The red carpet roses and white hebes will be in flower for Anzac celebrations, whilst Flanders poppies and renga-rengas will be out for Armistice Day in the spring.
I particularly like the way the trees are staked – using large lengths of manuka, which are beautiful in their own right. What a good idea to make a feature out of a necessity.
The Australian Memorial stands at the opposite side of the square from the Carillon, and its height is a nice counterpoint to the Carillon tower. The fifteen red columns represent the red centre of Australia. As visitors wander amongst them they find black granite panels engraved with Maori and Aboriginal art, and the names of parts of the world where New Zealanders and Australians have jointly served in war or peacekeeping.
The mingling of the red paving with the grey represents the two countries and their intertwined history. This memorial will only get better as the eucalypts grow up and over the columns – lets hope they withstand the Wellington wind.
What I love about this park is that it is not only a pleasant space to stroll about, but that it contains many layers of meanings and symbols which reward your closer attention. The history of the site is acknowledged and incorporated into the design. For instance, the pleasant grass terraces that, on a practical level deal with the rise of the hill on either side of the main square, also refer to a time when Maori developed gardens here in pre-colonial times.
A child on a scooter, a student cutting across to get to campus, a family with a picnic. People can use this park in a recreational way without feeling like they are being disrespectful. But on my visits I have also seen many people wandering through the Australian Memorial, reading the inscriptions, climbing the steps to the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior, coming away perhaps having learnt something new. There is a special atmosphere at this sacred hill. It does ‘evoke commemoration’. The designers have indeed achieved their objective.
For information in this post I have relied upon the booklet that was published for the official opening on April 18th 2015, and I thank Wellington City Council and the Ministry for Culture & Heritage for this. More information is available at the website: http://www.mch.govt.nz/pukeahu-national-war-memorial-park
I saw pictures this week of the 2015 New Zealand Home of the Year, and went right back to the 70’s. There were the split levels, raked ceilings, and exposed timber, and to complete the vibe, there were the indoor plants. Macrame plant holders holding Tahitian Bridal Veils. Vines creeping through the house. I loved it. There was not a single white phalaenopsis orchid to be seen – what a relief! For at least a decade there seems to have been a law saying that expensive white orchids were the only plant allowed inside the house of anyone with a modicum of good taste.
I’m glad to see indoor plants returning, as I got started on my ‘indoor garden’ some years ago and have found it very rewarding. It started with a small potted palm from the supermarket, bought to put in front of an unused fireplace. I added a couple of ferns, a streptocarpus and some begonias. Then I needed an African violet because I’ve always loved their sparkly flowers. My daughters brought home tiny cacti from school fairs. I went to an orchid show and brought home 3 large cymbidium orchids…and so it went on.
I just repotted the hare’s foot fern, and gleefully showed the family the ‘hare’s feet’ which now look more like alarming hairy legs. Another eccentric member of the collection is the stone plant, which after 3 years has managed to double in size, to 4.5cm across.
Last year I came across a lovely book called ‘The Unexpected Houseplant’ by Tovah Martin. (Timber Press, 2012). I highly recommend it – its full of fresh and inspiring ideas. Following one of her suggestions, last year I planted Iceland poppy seedlings into individual pots, and when they reached flowering stage I brought them inside, along with some primulas, and they lived happily on the coffee table for several months. Gorgeous. Tovah is American, so all the seasons and directions are back to front and upside down for us down-under. You just have to remember that when she says a plant should be near a south-facing window, she means the warm side of the house, not the Antarctica-facing south windows we have here.
As winter approaches and we retreat indoors, I’ve started planning the next round of indoor garden projects. The poppies have been potted and are living outside for now. Hyacinth ‘Delfts Blue’ bulbs are sitting in their special bowl in the cupboard under the stairs. They’ll come out when they start sending up shoots. Last year they got off to a flying start, then the flowers failed miserably, possibly due to being too warm, so this year I’m trying again and will probably just turn off the heating and tell the family to put on extra jumpers….seems fair.
I have filled a trifle bowl with gravel, water, Daffodil ‘February Gold’ and Crocus ‘Purity’, and will hopefully get a bowl full of flowers in a couple of months. The process may be known as ‘forcing’ bulbs, but I’m happy to just ask politely and hope they respond.
If the trifle bowl experiment doesn’t work, I have a simple fallback plan. Bunches of daffodils from the local dairy.
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