From the vault: Leaving your garden to strangers
This essay first appeared at Digging in May of 2008. I came across it yesterday and decided to republish, with a few small alterations, for newer readers. If it resonates with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments. – Pam
Our first house, in Raleigh, North Carolina, was a 900-square-foot post-war cottage, and along with the charming hardwood flooring and cramped closets we inherited a neglected old garden of azaleas, dogwoods, roses, phlox, camellias, forsythia, and an ancient and beautiful Japanese maple. The garden, or what was left of it, was overgrown and thickety when we became its owners—fresh-faced 24-year-olds busy with new jobs, innocent of yard tools and their purposes, and more interested in making the interior feel like home than fussing with the exterior.
We bought a lawn mower and an electric trimmer. We spent one Saturday pulling weeds out of the lawn by hand until we gave up and decided to mow them all down. I bought loppers and went after a rambling rose that had turned into a bramble patch along the side fence, emerging hours later with torn hands and leaving a butchered mess behind. Mostly we just let everything be, not sure what else to do.
Despite our neglect, or maybe thanks to it, the garden astonished us that first spring with a candy cane-colored display. Pink and red azaleas blushed along the foundation. Dogwoods scattered white and pink petals across the weedy lawn. Parallel lines of alternating pink and white phlox invited passersby up the front steps. It was an amateur’s garden in the Latin sense of the word: loved, a garden someone had cherished for many years before it was relinquished—reluctantly, perhaps—to new ownership.
The married couple with young children who sold us the house passed along to us, with the closing documents, a map of the garden that the previous owner had given them. A rough sketch with circles, Xs, and handwritten notes indicating the various plants, it was our only clue in those pre-internet days about what we were entrusted with. There were a lot of plants, and it was a detailed map. It spoke as clearly as a personal letter about the love someone felt for this garden. We still didn’t know how to take care of the plants, but the map connected us to the original gardener and instilled in us a sense of responsibility for her creation, which she’d left to the kindness of strangers.
We never removed anything and we hardly ever pruned, though the garden desperately needed it. After a year and a half I decided to plant something to fill a bare spot: a gardenia. I still recall my nervousness in digging the hole (was it deep enough?) and settling the shrub into it (did I fill it in correctly?). I stood back afterward, brushing off my knees, and looked at the little green bush I’d planted. I felt surprised that it was, after all, quite easy to plant something, and I looked forward to watching it grow.
As it turned out, my husband got a job offer in Austin a few months later, and we sold the house after just two years of stewardship. The garden map conveyed to the new owner, a woman with plans to repaint and add a covered patio. The neighborhood was on the upswing, and I wonder if the little house and its garden would even be recognizable now.
I was reminded of all this yesterday when I met a young, newly married couple for a garden-coaching session. A year ago, they bought a ranch house in north Austin with an extensive native-plant garden that, in its prime, had been featured on a garden tour. It was still quite lovely, even after several years of neglect by the previous owners who had admitted to the young couple that they hadn’t been interested in the garden. Still, they passed along a garden map from the original owner, two maps actually—one for the front garden and one for the back. The young couple unrolled them for me to see, and I admired them for a few minutes before we went out to look at the garden.
Hand sketched on oversized sheets, the maps indicated a wonderful variety of native plants, many of which must have been hard to find years ago before the native-plant movement caught hold. Each detail spoke of the love the gardener felt for her garden. Essentially, the map was a plea for future owners to care for it as she had.
The young couple hired me to help them ID their plants, to put names from the map to the faces of plants, which had reseeded and moved around over the years, and to show them how to prune and care for their garden. The couple reminded me of myself and my husband at that age, wanting to know more about the garden they’d inherited, not quite sure how to begin but eager to be good stewards. I know they’ll take care of this garden and maybe even become gardeners themselves because of how they referred to the map bequeathed to them.
They called it a treasure map.
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Digging Deeper
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All material © 2024 by Pam Penick for Digging. Unauthorized reproduction prohibited.
I would love to see a photo of that house in Raleigh NOW. Wouldn’t THAT be interesting.
I found it on Google Streetview. It has a second story now, and a big wrap-around porch, which is nice. The azaleas are gone, and the old Japanese maple, probably of old age. But the dogwoods are still there along the side.
It would be interesting to see it now. Have you tried a Google maps street view?
Yes, and the house still stands, with a second-story addition. Some of the garden is still there, but much is gone.
Interestingly, Ed and I just signed a P&S Agreement for a new condo to be built in the Pinehills section of our town of Plymouth, so we’ll be selling the house we’ve lived in for twenty years. One of the hardest parts will be leaving the garden I so lovingly tended over those years, but I’m hoping the new owners will be as attached to it as much as I was. As an incentive, I’ll be leaving them lots of things…the photos of my garden featured in Garden Gate Magazine, the link to the “Hillside Beauty” video on YouTube, my own video showing how I “transformed” that hill, sketches of my landscaping plans, and tons of plant tags identifying everything in the garden!
Wow, Ellie, congrats on your upcoming move, and I too hope you find a buyer who loves your garden. The great thing is, all the publicity for your garden has preserved it. You made it what it is, and without you it will never be exactly the same anyway. But those published photos captured certain moments forever.
Only die-hard gardeners truly appreciate what it means to give up what you’ve. invested so much time and love into creating a special place.
To the comments above: I don’t want to be a “Debbie Downer”, but I learned by experience it is sometimes best not to go back to see a former garden and house. I worked for 15 years in my old garden installing natives and a few rare plants. Five years after I sold the house, I went back to see it. The rare pomegranates were cut to the ground in early August.–The homeowner told me so. My mother-in-law’s gift of a crape myrtle had been murdered. The Crepescule rose I’d planted to honor my deceased husband was removed as was the metal bridge it covered. The expensive clay brick edging along the brick path that my husband installed by hand was replaced with metal edging. The tree swing and outdoor shower were gone. The persimmon was killed to install a new gate to drive a truck into the backyard. The Mrs. B.R. Cant rose was removed to give space to the bird-planted invasive honeysuckle. Finally, the lovely stained glass windows were taken from the house. The sweet covered porch and door were removed to install a sliding glass door at the back of a 1900’s Victorian (not in keeping with the home’s architecture). Finally, the long-leaf pine (heartwood pine) pantry was demolished and walls were removed to make the downstairs into one big room.–Parlor, living room, kitchen and bedroom were now one room. It was sad, but I also realized the house no longer belonged to me, and these people weren’t gardeners.
After the war my in-laws bought a little house in southern California. Through the decades they created a beautiful garden. Just about every fruit and vegetable they ate came from their garden. Every time that we visited my father-in-law would proudly give us a tour. I loved that garden. After they passed away and the house was sold the new owners, who did not have any interest in gardening, poured concrete over most of it so that they could entertain outdoors. I cried when I saw it.
It must have been painful to see those alterations and removals. I’m sorry, Laura. I agree that it’s best not to go back to look. A garden is an expression of the gardener, and once he or she has left, that garden no longer exists, even if the new owners are gardeners. We can leave our treasure maps and hope for the best, but then look forward instead of back.
We are in the process of moving and the previous owners left me the plans of the garden given them by the landscape company who installed. I don’t think they changed anything although quite a few plants are missing- probably javelinas! I didn’t leave a map of my garden plants when we sold because I never had one and anyway it changed every year. Particularly after last winter. I know they have already made changes to the exterior. New light etc. I keep telling my old neighbor to fly his drone over the house so I can see.
Better not, Jenny! It can only upset you to see what they change. It’ll never be what you and David made it because you’re not there to pour yourselves into it day after day. I know, however, that you’re already pouring yourselves into your new garden, and I can’t wait to see how it flourishes as a result.
Oh, this sounds so much like our first house in Statesboro, GA, where we inherited a magical garden full of treasures, but without a map. They appeared over the next decade that we lived there. The dancing ladies, the other bulbs in the lawn, and the magical Ginkgo in front — not to mention all the azaleas, the giant fig tree, etc.
Thanks for reminding me of the good memories of past gardens.
How lucky those former owners were to have you inherit their old garden, Lisa. Someone who appreciated what they’d planted over the years.
A treasure map, that’s so wonderful! As for your little house (which looks a lot like ours)…the pink and white is so sweet my teeth hurt looking at the photo.
We had a similar reaction to the bands of phlox when it burst into bloom – ha!
When we were preparing to move from San Antonio to Tucson, my late husband, who was retired and the chief gardner documented with pictures all the plants in a photo scrapbook. When we moved back home four years later, we would drive by the old house when in that area. One day a second owner guessed who we were and generously invited us in to look around. It was sad to see all of his work gone and the inside wallpaper gone and little marble squares glued up along the ceiling line. I do like to go by places where I have lived as a child when we are traveling. Sometimes there are pleasant surprises, though.
Thanks for sharing your bittersweet story, Pamela. That’s the thing, isn’t it? The new owner was proud of changes he’d made, as he lavished love and his own taste on your old home. But as former owners, all we can see are things WE loved that were removed. That’s why I think it’s best not to look back. Gardens in particular live on in memory only. Once the original gardener has left, the plants may live on, but it’s not really the same garden.
Pam,
I love all your posts, and this may be the sweetest. We are the third owners of a home built in 1895. Every inch of then bare mud (I’ve seen a picture!) was covered in some plant that produced food for that first family. Our azaleas are tree-sized, lol. Over the years, most of the plantings were lost to storms or our ignorance, so should the original family come by they would be horrified. Yet we have added plantings too.
The word that most caught my attention is “steward”. From our first viewing of it, we consider ourselves stewards of this home and we do our best not to destroy anything a preservationist would want to lovingly restore some day. For example, we covered the original floors rather than restore them, and the original kitchen farm sink is in the basement should some new owner want authenticity.
While we try to do no damage however, neither are we interested in historical registers and restoration. I fear that when we seek the fourth owners, as our city is in a full on gentrification with houses selling in one day, on the Internet, at gobsmacking prices, to people in other states who tear them down to build modern, we will not find owners who will treasure their status as fourth owners. So kudos to that young couple! I applaud them for their sensitivity and diligence in acknowledging the past while living in the now and preparing for the future.
Well said, Jane. And I love your approach to making changes to your home-with-history. Anyone would be lucky to inherit your gorgeous garden, but as you know, nothing stays the same. We gardeners plant for the future, but we must remember to live in the moment.
When we sold our first house, we had put so much love into the garden, I cried. That first new owner did a lot of damage but thankfully someone else purchased it and has given it lots of love. I visit it occasionally to check on the trees we planted. I know of some people who vet out potential ‘buyers’ who will hopefully continue to love the landscape as much as the home.
I’ve done the same, Elaine — driven by to look at how trees that I planted are growing. I try not to look at anything else because other plants and design elements are much less permanent. Mostly I think that anyone who buys a property should take a moment to appreciate what is there but then make it theirs in whatever way they prefer — although hopefully not by paving everything over!
This post made me tear up. I have seen a couple of my past gardens destroyed by people “afraid of snakes” or just paved over. It’s hard. I know no one in the future will care about my current garden as I do. Now I just try to live in the moment.
That’s the best plan, and it’s really all we can do. Your comment about snakes — I do find that’s the number-two concern people have about gardens, right after how much work they must be. I would share that concern if we were talking rattlesnakes or other venomous snakes. But I just don’t understand how an occasional harmless garter or rat snake can be so alarming that one would choose not to garden.
What a lovely column. I know to take a lot of pictures of what you create and then kiss it goodbye. I’ve driven by our first garden a few time but everything was in the back and luckily could not be seen from the street. I know from things I’ve heard that it’s all gone now. I brought some things with me to my “new” garden, where I’ve now been for 27 years. When we leave this one, I don’t think I will be as lucky as Jenny/Rock Rose and able to move things to a smaller house. Instead, I am trying to put together a book about my garden for the time when I can no longer sit in it.
Memorialize and kiss it goodbye. Yep. A book of garden photos is a lovely way to keep a garden with you forever.
This absolutely brought tears to my eyes. I am a bit surprised at how deeply touched I was by this piece, but I think it exposed something I have not wanted to explore. I so rarely find homeowners who want to be gardeners that even I have limited my plant recommendations to those that are bullet proof and reliable but not interesting. Perhaps I am selling both the homeowner and myself short by limiting opportunities for a garden’s treasure.
Colleen, thank you for your musing comment. I wonder about that too. I’m sure there are exceptions, but in general I think as a designer it’s good to give new gardeners reliable and hardy plant suggestions. After all, we want them to succeed and not find a garden to be overwhelming. Those who take to it will find their way to more out-of-the-ordinary plants. And those who really take to it will one day be leaving a map of their beloved garden to new owners.
This is a beautiful post. You provided a wonderful service to that young couple which I’m sure has set them on a lifelong path of pleasure in their garden. Wouldn’t you love to see what they’ve done in 20 years?
Thank you! For the record, it’s been 13 years since I worked with that young couple, not 20. But yes, it would be interesting to know if they became gardeners. I hope so!
A Treasure Map! Isn’t that just magical! I’m fairly new to gardening and there are few things I enjoy more. I had no idea, however, how much time is needed just to keep it tidy. Thank goodness for audio books! I inherited only a broken down shed, a mighty ficus and a feeble lime tree. Much evolution since my fumbling stewardship began, but now when friends visit, they sigh, Ahh. It’s always a treat to read your posts and admire your photos. A treasure indeed.
Evolution is where the pleasure lies, I believe. Enjoy the process and happy gardening, Sonja. And thanks for your lovely comment!
How many houses and gardens have I seen in the South that look just like that? Often these homes turn to rental properties and exchange hands repeatedly but I often think back to to the Original Gardener (OG, lol!) who is now likely deceased. Those old maples and azaleas outlived them, as many of our plants will outlive us.
The OG indeed! And it’s nice to think about some of our plants outliving us, isn’t it? Especially after killing so many – ha!
This was so poignant for me, and it gives me hope, too. I, too, had to leave a property that I had lovingly landscaped with native plants in ample, undulating beds all around the house and perimeter. I left a map and a list with photo IDs and wildlife benefits of all the plants for the new owners. Because it was landscaped with edging and mulch, and not “wildscaped,” my hope is that most of the plants were left alone, at the very least. I don’t want to go back, but maybe someone will take the time–like the couple consulting with Pam–to discover what is there and, I hope, make it their own, too. Especially when they see the birds and butterflies that will be visiting them.
You left your legacy. May the new owners recognize its worth. Thanks for sharing, Lisa.