Northern Gardens

Northern Gardens

In May 2020, I began creating the Northern Gardens by expanding the narrow beds along the foundation into a large, sweeping S-curve. At first, I used dozens of hand-me-down hostas to establish the new bed, gradually replacing them with shrubs and flowering natives.  Each year, the Northern Gardens have expanded, creating large new beds around the perimeter of our small suburban property. Six years on, the gardens are now getting taller, and filling in.

Distinct from the playful color palette of the Southern Gardens, the Northern Gardens showcase a more subtle palette of whites and greens (and volunteer pinks), that culminate in crimson berries and fall foliage.

At the western edge of the Northern Gardens, a sunny meadow invites you to walk amongst the bluestem grasses, prairie coneflower, and beardtongue. Red chokeberries stand tall in the garden, slowly creating a visual barrier to what lies beyond.

Within just a few steps, a tall cluster of white birches stands several arm’s lengths opposite a multi-stem serviceberry, beginning to create a sense of seclusion. Here, the garden surrounds you; here, your gait slows.

Just ahead, a mature red mulberry drapes its broad canopy over the gardens, allowing only speckles of morning sunlight to the fairy candles, ferns, and doll’s eyes below. Further beneath its branches, the garden mimics the richness of a woodland floor. The ground is soft and alive. It tousles through your fingers like hair, wild and unkempt.

The gardens are edged with logs, some from the black walnut tree we lost in a terrible storm in ’25. Yet, the snag still remains, slowly decaying, just visible atop the white snakeroot, feeding wildlife even in decline. Here, the garden gives you pause. In the shade of the Mulberry, observing the delicate fronds of maiden-hair ferns and creamy goat’s beard plumes, a vine-covered doorway appears.