Carolyn Hestand Kennedy

Famous Trees of Texas

Check out my new website and read about my adventures finding the Famous Trees of Texas!

CarolynHestand.com

 

Phases and Stages

Pass-along plants are a garden tradition. My friend Jane personally dug up and potted for me some of the plants from her wild, yet well-tended garden masterpiece. She hand delivered echinacea, lyre leaf sage, cosmos seed, vinca ground cover and more. These were assertive, self-propagating and sustaining plants, which my garden desperately needed to begin moving toward lower maintenance. I couldn't have been more thankful.

Yet, this lovely gift came to me in a time of non-gardening.
We had connected by sharing our life stories, which had many similarities. She had meant this gift to lift me up, but at that point, life felt too heavy.

I had turned my attention toward financial survival, emotional healing and getting dinner on the table. I could not muster the energy to plant all these treasures. I set some of the pots in my border where I thought they might go. And they sat there.

And sat there.
And sat there.

For a while, spring rains kept them going, so I didn't even have to water, but of course that didn't last. As summer approached, one mild burst of energy arose and I moved them to the shady backyard, so they might survive a bit longer out of the frying Texas sun, until I could plant them.

But I didn't.
I didn't do anything.
I let them sit there in the backyard. I didn't plant them. I didn't even visit them. I felt guilt, but that didn't stop me from totally letting these plants die. Each and every one of them completely croaked.

My imposter syndrome kicked in hard.

I'm supposed to be a gardening professional. How could I let ALL these plants die??? GIFTS from a dear friend who dug them up with her bare hands!
What kind of horrible slacker am I? I completely failed at receiving a beautiful gift that would have connected our two gardens forever.
At that point, there was nothing I could do, but accept the sting of regret.

I'm not sure how much time passed before some of the echinacea sprouted in my garden. The seed heads of this native plant are enjoyed by birds and some must have fallen around as the plants were dying in their pots.

At first I barely noticed the little clumps of leaves, but eventually the flower spikes rose up and bloomed, just as my roses were finishing. By now, more seeds have spread and these strong perennial plants have returned year after year. The other day when I was outside, a neighbor walked by remarking on their beauty and I was reminded of their story.

Some of the lyre leaf sage appeared in the backyard as well. When I recognized the leaves, I thought: Oh, I guess I'm not such a terrible person after all. This cycle of garden life redeemed me.

Jane has moved on to another life phase (cue Willie Nelson) and without her, that garden is no longer what it once was, but little pieces of it live on both there and here. I still regularly struggle with a sense of failure because I am not gardening with the intensity and devotion I once had. The unkempt mess of my so-called garden is barely worthy of a photograph these days, but there is still wisdom growing there.

Neighborhood rose garden

On a street nearby my house, there is a high place in the road that allows a glimpse of an impressively well kept backyard garden. For years I have been peeking over the fence to check in on this hidden collection during my neighborhood walks. I finally remembered to snap a few photos in the midst of its springtime glory.

What a delight to see such a robust grouping of blooms, which requires so much devotion to maintain! I love the crisp-edged geometry and simple, organized design of the raised beds, which allow some control over our heavy clay soils. Who was doing all this, I wondered?

Craning my neck over the fence on a regular basis, I have never noticed an unhealthy plant or even a single yellow leaf in this garden. August and I appreciated how the gardener is allowing this old tree stump to naturally decompose on the sidelines.

One morning, I had a chance to meet the gardener as he was planting hellebores on the side of his home and I was able to let him know how many times I had been inspired by the beautiful work he has been doing singlehandedly.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: The practice of gardening provides perspective on our place in the universe and makes it clear that we are not at the center. In our brief conversation, it was obvious that this humble gardener had internalized that lesson. I hope he won't mind that we climbed his fence to pay homage.

Terrible gardener

When I look at the long list of my own garden disasters I smile to myself, thinking of this story about my former boss, who had a mischievous sense of humor. 

He told us how he was leading an evening tour around Wave Hill and one of the group kept chiming in about plants in her own garden. 

"Oh, when I tried that, it just died after one season."

"I'm always having trouble getting those to flower!" 

 

 

He was attempting to show and tell them interesting details about the thriving specimens that were right there in front of them, but she wouldn't let up whining about her botanical frustrations at home. 

 

"Last year I planted those and they never came up!" 

 

Exasperated, and noting the other tour members' visible annoyance, he finally said with a smile,

 

"You're a terrible gardener"  

 

He chuckled as though he were just teasing her. This apparently shut her up.

My roses were beautiful this spring, finally reaching a mature size that fills out the border I envisioned. Look how tiny they were in this post when I first planted them!

You can't easily see the signs in these pretty pictures that all is not well, though it was already visible: the twisted, thorny clusters and burnt looking foliage of Rose Rosette Disease.

Incurable and transmitted via the eriophyid mite, this condition means that your roses must be pulled out roots and all. Easy Does It™ 'Buff Beauty,' and Apricot Drift® all have to go. I doubt I would repeat any of these varieties, but I will plant more roses at some point.

This doesn't exactly make me a terrible gardener, but I feel like one. It's not my fault that those stupid mites hopped on and infected my plants, but it would've been more responsible of me to have taken care of them in a timely manner. They're still sitting there all fried looking making a significant contribution to the trashed nature of my garden right now. Volunteers are welcome to help me put them out of their misery.

Full circle

In 2004, I got laid off of my graphic design job in New York and slowly realized that getting kicked out meant I had the chance to try doing something I really cared about for a living. Attempting to gain any information I could about horticulture during this transition period, I attended a memorable lecture by landscape designer Julie Bargmann of D.I.R.T. studio.

I was impressed by the challenge with which she started each project: Nothing leaves the site. Rather than hauling away the bad stuff to contribute to yet another waste site somewhere else, she insisted on keeping all materials to be incorporated into the design, to create less environmental impact and also to preserve the history of the place.

As a former art student, it was validating to learn that she got her start as a sculptor and moved on to landscape design later in life. Her artistic influence was evident in her compelling concept imagery and creative presentation style.

I got really excited when she showed images of a project in the Turtle Creek area of Dallas. I spoke to her after the talk and told her that's where I had grown up. I later wrote her an email asking her thoughts on how to make a shift into a career in horticulture. She wrote back with her advice: There is no one way to do it. There are so many organizations who need help. Volunteer. Try everything. It wasn't long after that I started my internship at Wave Hill.

When I began working for Clint Horticulture at the end of spring, I was surprised to learn that the project that I heard Ms. Bargmann speak about at that lecture is one of the properties we maintain. Experiencing first hand this place she had described let me feel the gravity of the progress I've made. The hope and aspiration from back then became a tangible reality and I was filled with the deepest gratitude.

Thomas Rainer in Texas

 

My mentor at Wave Hill, John Emmanuel, always said that the books you are called to read provide your instructions for life.

 

At a time when it is easy to become despairing about the loss of wild spaces, Thomas Rainer and his co-author Claudia West have hopeful ideas about a horticultural renaissance. Acknowledging the enormous pressure that has been placed on plants and those who work with them, they have outlined practical strategies for utilizing living things to "hedge against the uncertainties" of nature.

Their book, Planting in a Post Wild World, details techniques that look to nature for guidance in bringing aesthetics as well as sustainability to challenging urban settings. Loaded with intelligent yet accessible ideas, diagrams and gorgeous photos, it is both a vital reference point as well as a source of inspiration. 

Since discovering his blog, Grounded Design years ago, I've been a follower of Rainer's writing. At the risk of sounding like a gushing lady fan, I feel genuine excitement reading, and many times laughing at concepts expressed with humor, that get me thinking about what the act of gardening means. Also, I love when writers share the work of others so I can maintain a steady stream of books and blogs to devour. His thoughts broaden my comprehension of how we can make a significant contribution through the work of horticulture.

 

Can you tell I was excited to meet one of my favorite garden writers?

One resonant opinion was a post where he suggested an amusing, if a bit depressing experiment to see multiple examples of the typical American landscape. Google the term: Yard of the Month. (Try it).

In yearning for a more diverse aesthetic in contrast to the vast lawns and meatball shaped shrubs of these examples, he expressed concern that a totally wild look could potentially turn off much of the public to using native plants in fear of the messy effect of an abandoned lot.

 

 

If they don't look good, Rainer asserts, no one cares about natives. Horticulturists know that including biodiversity in our landscapes is important. Grasping the value of thoughtful and attractive design means more receptivity to these virtuous concepts. After reading that post, I was hooked and eventually read the entire blog. 

In my own blog files, there is more than one unpublished attempt at writing about him. Thrilled to learn he would be speaking in Texas, I packed up my kiddo and took off on a road trip to Nacogdoches. Meeting him in person provided a better chance to share what his work has meant to me. 

 

Roaming around town before the lecture, we noticed beautiful weeping Taxodium on the edge of the Gayla Mize garden and spent some time exploring in the woodsy park.

The small venue gave me an opportunity to directly express my gratitude. I immediately said hello and mentioned that, at last summer's Cultivate'17 conference, I had the opportunity to see Claudia West speak. She was vibrant and full of enthusiasm about the techniques masterminded by her mentors. She provided an excellent overview of these designed communities, grouping plants by their levels of aggressiveness and combining them in careful percentages to create sustainable plantings.

When I shook her hand afterward, I joked that I hadn't needed to scribble down the specific plants she detailed during the lecture, since few of them would thrive in the brutal heat and blackland prairie soils of my home.

Fellow Texans: we have work to do!
Regional trials and experimentation are needed to use these effective principles.

 

Why not have a garden on the roof of a gas station?

I've always appreciated the contrast of reading versus gardening – thought versus action. Reading is done in isolation, while sitting or reclining. To dig holes, plant, and water you must be upright, and often outdoors. Seeing a horticulturally minded author speaking connects the two activities, facilitating personal interaction with the written material. Information delivered vocally connects you instantly to the ideas and follows different neural pathways than reading it. 

The High Line was completed just before I left NYC in 2010. Now it is one of the most visited sites in the city. A project on which Rainer and West collaborated made the request to create a design that encouraged a similarly devoted visitation. This setting must also survive seasonal flooding and shallow soil volume, not to mention maintenance by untrained mow-and-blow landscape crews. Rainer explained that the demands of this project illustrated the immense expectations we are now placing on urban plantings and became the reason for writing Planting in a Post-Wild World.

Highlighting key points from the book, Rainer tailored several ideas specifically to Texas, showing slides from Houston floods and noting plants in the landscape just outside the lovely windowed space.

 

Encouraging us to consider the way we keep many garden plants on "life support" by constantly fertilizing, irrigating and amending soils, Rainer and West suggest instead to think in terms of designed plant communities with multiple layers of interest and protection.

Pointing to the local movement in food culture, he expressed a concept close to my heart: encouraging the use of regional plants not only to handle the particulars of climate, but also to embrace the specific heritage of the site.

In a city that loves to plant azaleas, which struggle in the sweltering summers and poor soils of north central Texas, I crave plantings that give my city its own unique flavor and style. It started wheels spinning in my mind about ways we can provide a sense of place by using plants to blur the homogenous effect that is plaguing our urban and suburban areas.

 

Azaleas, like this one from the Gayla Mize garden in Nacogdoches, are better suited to the piney woods of east Texas than Dallas.

Many thanks to Assistant Professor of Horticulture Jared Barnes, at Stephen F. Austin State University, who brought this compelling speaker to the Lone Star State. Horticulture is truly awesome. 

It was extremely satisfying to learn and be filled with hope and conviction by a speaker with wisdom from the field, a functional approach and a strong viewpoint from years of writing. 

 

Thanks also to my son August, for his good behavior during the 2 hour lecture.

In closing, I couldn't better convey the optimistic spark I felt than to quote directly from the book's own conclusion:

"The time is right for a renaissance of horticulture. Designed plant communities require an ecological understanding of plants, but even more, they need designers with an eye for combinations, a flair for color, and an intuitive sense of natural harmony. They need gardeners who can find a place to plant, even among skyscrapers and row houses. They need plant lovers who understand that we don't need to go to a national park to have a spiritual experience of nature; we can have such experiences in our backyards, parks and rooftops.

If it is true that the next renaissance of human culture will be the reconstruction of the natural world in our cities and suburbs, then it will be designers, not the politicians, who will lead this revolution. And plants will be at the center of it all."

Let us support these two visionaries in spreading this powerful message.

 

 *

 

For your further reading and listening pleasure, below are some of my favorite links to provide familiarity with Mr. Rainer and Ms. West:

This terrific Q&A in the NY Times with Margaret Roach of A Way to Garden in the NY Times is a good introduction to the concepts in the book.

This wonderful podcast interview by Margaret Roach with Claudia West got me excited about Carex.

What If There Was No Landscaping?  You know you've found a great blog when the comments are worth reading.

Because it shows his sincere love for plants, I loved Spring Inspirations: What I’m Planting this Year. I chuckled at a kindred spirit after reading this line: "The color on this Iris is so spectacular; I get chest pains just thinking about it."

Pleasure Garden is a rare entry showing us his home garden. Many of us can empathize with his feelings of vulnerability at publicly exposing his landscape. I personally relate to his description of an "assembly of plants," acquired inexpensively, rather than actually designed.

Why I Don't Believe in Low Maintenance Landscapes  If the act of gardening is a relationship, then low maintenance gardening is code for “I’m just not that into you.”

“Sucking is the first step to being sorta good at something.”  Amen.