Drawing the Eye Through the Garden

Using repetition and focal points to draw the eye through the garden makes it seem larger. We combined both techniques last fall and fulfilled a dream of many years by filling the middle space between the deer exclosure and the garden house with bulbs. We’ve tried small experiments in the past, such as planting Grape Hyacinths, but these were quickly nibbled to the nubs before they even had time to bloom.

Instead, there are Daffodils, which deer will not eat. In May, there will be blue Wood Hyacinths, though their fate in the deer stomping grounds is uncertain. Some escapees from the garden bloomed without incident in this space last year, so we were encouraged to try them.

There will also be pink Bleeding Heart, as I continue to remove the progeny of my original plant from the White Garden. Deer don’t like them, but they did get nibbled last year. Bleeding Heart are so prolific that it isn’t much of an effort to move them out back.

And, there are now enough Hellebores in the garden to try some outside the exclosure. We’ll find out this year whether or not the deer leave them alone.

The focal point is, of course, the garden house in the distance. We already had clumps of daffodils throughout the garden, so we used the new bulbs to build a visual connection from the existing garden to the garden house. This part of our property has a nearly-closed tree canopy come summer, so we concentrate our efforts on plants that bloom in the spring.

In a more formal space, the parallel lines of path edges can be used to pull the eye towards an urn, armillary sphere, sundial, etc., mounted on a column or plinth. In very small gardens, forced perspective can be created by angling the edges of the path towards one another. This creates the illusion that there is more depth than actually exists.

An Apple a Day

Within the past year, I’ve been trying to improve my food choices, both for health reasons and to control my weight. In the course of substituting apples for chips and cheese crackers (it was the crunch I craved), I’ve rediscovered a childhood fondness for fruit.

For years, we’ve muddled along with our single McIntosh apple tree, one of a pair planted by my parents 60 years ago. They were supposed to be semi-dwarfs, but the tree now towers above our house, exploding in blooms and scenting the entire yard each spring. This tree is a major food source, not only for us, but also for our resident woodchucks, as well as blue jays, squirrels, and chipmunks.

Since we put up the deer exclosure, we now load up bags of surplus fruit and carry them out into the woods. But last year, a rampant infestation of gypsy moths devastated our property and we had no mature apples at all. Here’s hoping the old tree can recover.

Tomorrow, Dan and I will plant the second of two dwarf apple trees we’ve decided to add – a Harleson (also called Harrelson or Haralson). I’d never heard of this type of apple, but why would I? Like Dan, it’s a Midwesterner. I was once able to find a case of these to buy for Dan’s birthday and he still talks about it as the best present ever. I have to agree they taste great.

My choice, a Winesap (photo) tree, went in last week. It’s interesting how gardeners can look at a skinny stick in the ground and see a canopied tree covered with blooms or fruit. What would gardening be, if it weren’t for our dreams of a flourishing future?

In my mind’s eye I have enough time, and a small enough orchard, to tend to the new apple trees properly. But even if I don’t, they, like their older sibling, will be productive enough to fill our larder and satisfy my need for a good crunch at least once a day.