Of course I would not find these plants at Faddegon’s or Gades, my favorite local nurseries. But that is not the point. Watching the presenter toss off the names of so many plants I know nothing about, I realized that even within my own zone, there are hundreds of plants I do not know. I started late and, like my college boyfriend who took up the violin in his twenties, I am confronted by reality. Had I another lifetime to arrange, I would apprentice at ten to a Master Gardener and get a job in a nursery as soon as they would hire me. Then I might know something.
Unfortunately, I followed watching the “Smart Plants” video by picking up the latest issue of Horticulture. Here I read an interview with Claudia West, described as “a planting designer who looks to natural plant communities to inform and inspire her work, which combines evocative beauty and real ecological functions.” And I realized that both my second profession as “garden designer” rather than “planting designer” and my garden, whose ecological function is admittedly low, are out of touch with what is needed when you are Planting in a Post Wild World, the title of West’s co-authored 2015 book.
The trouble is I agree with West when she describes our current condition as one of “mass extinction, warming climate, global urbanization and socio-environmental injustice.” And I accept her dictum that “In the context of these realities, planting can no longer just be ornamental decoration.” It must instead serve the goal of rebuilding abundance and ecological function while offering people meaningful opportunities to connect with plants.
I can’t replant my own bit of ground at this point in my life, nor can I re-start my second profession and become a Claudia West disciple. What I can do, however, is promote her basic principles through writing and speaking. So here they are.
Community: plants are social beings, not isolated art objects. West applies the “core principles of natural plant communities” to all her designs. This means no bare earth, no single beauty set off in mulched circles, but rather every nook and cranny filled with plants that work together in designs that shout lushness and abundance. West notes that to make these designs work, she and her colleagues must “constantly expand our understanding of every plant’s behavior, longevity, competitiveness and strategy of self-proliferation.” [so much to know]
Ecological function: there are dozens of species and cultivars of Echinacea, for example, many of which, West points out, are “garden worthy and gorgeous.” “But,” she adds, “when I look at the ecological value of these there are differences between cultivars and even species” in terms of their value for pollinators. [there goes two of my basic garden design principles]
Design: people determine so much of what happens to plants. Humans cannot be left out of the calculation if “planting designers” want to re-store the planet. So plantings must appeal to the public. West points out that “in a world where plant-blindness is widespread, turning up the visual volume of planting is the key. Our toolbox is full of effective design strategies that showcase the best qualities of ecological plants and create deeply emotional, immersive nature experiences for people.” [well, at least as a garden designer I tried to emphasize the psychological experiences for humans of interactions with plants]
West is emphatic in reminding us that “planting design is not just an art. Planting is also a science-based profession rooted in the evolutionary history of plants and their ecosystems. Acknowledging this reality is the only path to developing resilient plantings that require less human life support.” It is not enough to have simply an eye for color and texture and habit and how plants play together.
Oh, to be ten again and poised to participate in this revolution. Oh, to be young enough to choose the path that leads to the profession of “planting designer.” To be able to toss out the ideas of “garden worthy” and “gorgeous” and to embrace the concepts of ecological function and plant communities. To be that kind of smart.
This year, for the first time, I have felt some consequences of the aging process. Gall bladder surgery, a recurring problem with my right hip and left leg, an ear that feels constantly full of water have plagued me this summer and fall. On our recent visit to D.C. both Sara and I agreed that next time we will “uber” it rather than walk the long blocks that, this trip, separated our hotel from the various museums we wanted to see and left us only wanting to sit and drink.
I am grateful that it has taken this long for aging to seriously set in, and I intend to do everything I can to get more function back, but reality is reality. I am not going to get to be a “planting designer.”
Still West has encouraging words for the home, and older, gardener who may not be able to participate in the revolution. “Buy more plants,” she exhorts, laughing but also quite serious. Those of us with established gardens can help restore the planet simply by filling the gaps in our gardens with “beautiful, productive plants. Just layering more plants into your existing garden alone will create more abundant planting with higher ecological value.” And she adds that “in the face of climate doom and an avalanche of new pests and diseases, nurturing an abundant garden proves that, although things will change, life will go on.”
I gladly embrace the directive to “buy more plants” and to prove through my garden that life will go on no matter what damage we humans do to the planet. I am filling in the gaps, incorporating natives, and reducing the lawn. But, in the last analysis, I am still a garden designer, hooked on “garden worthy and gorgeous.” At least I know something about that.
