“Dogs and gardens don't mix.” I was sure that the gardener in “The Secret Garden” novel stated this, but I couldn't locate the quote. Well, I declare it!
A few years ago, I was summoned to revamp a garden. It encompassed less than 200 square meters, enclosed by a hedge and featuring a degree of complexity with pathways, a sizable raised flower bed, a two-tiered patio, and a struggling lawn that the client had been attempting to nurture for years. Regrettably, the garden presented two critical challenges that I had naively believed I could manage. Spoiler alert: I couldn't… At least one of them.
First, the absence of sunlight. The garden faced northwest, surrounded by buildings and perpetually shaded by the dense canopy of an enormous Atlas cedar (Cedrus atlantica) towering at its center. With the exception of a brief period around the summer solstice, the garden was always dark.
Then there was the dog. An overexcited Border Collie that ceaselessly raced along the entire perimeter of the garden.
I meticulously devised and executed my garden plan, starting with the plant selection. For areas of complete or near-total shade, I planted clusters of Dryopteris erythrosora (autumn fern) and Liriope muscari “Monroe White” (white lilyturf). In slightly brighter zones, I opted for Epimedium sp. “White Hart” (barrenwort) and the renowned Anemone x hybrida “Honorine Jobert” (windflower). Finally, for those spots that enjoyed a few hours of genuine sunlight, I introduced hydrangeas: Hydrangea petiolaris vines against the house wall, a grouping of Hydrangea arborescens “Annabelle”, and a magnificent Hydrangea quercifolia (oak leaf hydrangea) specimen, over two meters tall, positioned as the focal point in the sunniest section of the garden.
With the exception of the ferns, all the blossoms were white. White the resin pots I placed in a few spots on the patio, white or almost white the gravel I used in lieu of the struggling lawn, which could never thrive under those conditions. Anything that could aid in reflecting light and infusing a touch of radiance into that dark garden was put in place.
And the dog? He was not overlooked. In configuring the garden, I took all his paths into account, ensuring that I never obstructed them with flower beds or structures. The irrigation system pipes were concealed and I even crafted a path of stone slabs instead of gravel in the areas where I knew he would dash about.
Unfortunately, the garden did not survive to its one-year anniversary. Shortly after completion, the dog dug up pots, trampled flower beds, uprooted plants, scattered gravel, located and bit pipes, and even attacked the towering H. quercifolia, gnawing and snapping its branches.
After a few attempts at recovery, the client resigned himself to the fate of his garden and I lost the opportunity to observe its evolution in such a peculiar environment.
Thank you doggie.