East and West

I’ve been a fanatical WaterShapes reader from the very beginning, drawn not only by the cool projects but also by its publication of columns and features written by people who actually had experience in the field. Sometimes I love those writers, sometimes they bug the daylights out of me – but always, I appreciate getting information right from the source.

And I can’t recall ever having come away from reading WaterShapes without being inspired: pushed to think outside my comfort zone and, more important, convinced it’s always, always best to do things right the first time. What I saw also made me want to participate, which I did with an early article on retaining walls.

Beyond all of that, however, one of the first things that caught my attention was the fact that WaterShapes had a columnist who focused in every issue on my own field of landscape design and installation. I enjoyed getting this other perspective, this other point of view, this added source of inspiration for my own work.

PLANTING IDEAS

So every month, although I looked forward to everything the magazine ever had to offer, I particularly anticipated Stephanie Rose’s column on the use of plants and gardens around waterfeatures. And every month, after reading the column, I asked myself (or whoever was unlucky enough to be near me): “Doesn’t she ever think about life beyond Southern California?”

As much as I loved her column and her work, it still bothered me that everything seemed to focus on plants that grew only in zones eight and above, pretty much leaving two-thirds of the country out of the picture.

At one point, I finally became so frustrated that I wrote a letter of complaint to the editor about what I considered to be a travesty, a mass-scale landscaping injustice. Where were columns on plants I use in the northeast? What about information on the use of stone indigenous to my area? What about my needs? My needs?

(Before I go on, I have to admit to more than my share of jealousy here: Even though I’m a proud Bronxian, I have often wondered why I couldn’t have been born in southern California, where I would enjoy a million days of sunshine a year while rolling around in vast fields of lavender.)

And I didn’t let up. Periodically after that first note, I’d write or call Eric Herman to demand broader plant representation and discussions of projects and materials from around the country. Eric would treat me like an errant (but ferocious) dog, speaking to me softly while backing away slowly – and then turn to run to safety in the distance.

He let me write the occasional piece just to keep me at bay, but despite his earnest (and often accurate) protestations to the contrary, I still saw a distinct southwestern bias in the columns and articles. Yes, I know that you softies enjoy twelve months of beautiful weather followed by more beautiful weather and that your hot tubs can be placed a mile from the house and nobody ever gets cold on trips back to shelter. But I refused to resign myself to the fact that we usually have to place spas mere feet from the house, lest icicles form on your nose before you can reach shelter again.

And it wasn’t just spas: Out in the southwest, your outdoor kitchens can be a mile from the house too because, one, you can eat outside twelve months a year and, two, even if you decide to eat your grilled steak indoors, you know it won’t freeze before you can get it to the dining table and, three, I know that you waterlogged west-coasters are spoiled by being able to swim year-round. Heck, where I am, people make a living doing not much more than closing and opening pools semiannually.

Doggedly, and only occasionally with seriously bared fangs, I kept reminding Eric that despite appearances, east-coasters are people, too!

GOING COASTAL

And so it came to pass that the powers behind WaterShapes decided to create a sister magazine called LandShapes.

To appease a principle pain in his neck, Eric approached me one day to propose that I should write a column of my own on landscape design and installation. I could see his cognitive wheels turning: “OK, buddy: You think you’re so smart, try writing a column every month!” Even better from his perspective (or so I suspected), Stephanie Rose of all people was going to be my editor!

Yes, the same Stephanie whose columns I’d complained about for years was going to be my boss! I signed on, but all of a sudden I saw that I was now the one on the spot, having to come up with a viable column that had no northeast bias – easier said than done, but I gave it a try.

After the dearly departed, much lamented LandShapes moved on to the great revolving magazine rack in the sky, Eric adroitly recognized that he would be better off if I kept writing – but now for WaterShapes – rather than having to listen to my complaining. While I can say it’s been a challenge, it’s also been great fun.

The challenge of coming up with new ideas and exploring them is definitely invigorating and keeps me going. I’ve always felt a great responsibility to do well for the magazine and, more selfishly, have always used these exercises to recharge my batteries. And I say so knowing that I get upwards of 20 trade publications: They all have things to teach, but for me, WaterShapes has always been special.

It inspires through dynamic and unexpected designs (remember David Tisherman’s amazing red pool?); through open and honest sharing of construction “secrets” (I have learned more about hydraulics and water from Skip Phillips than from all other sources combined); and through articles that take us all on journeys through projects from initial meetings to final cleanups.

While I still (sometimes) good-naturedly point out to Eric that where I live we don’t have earthquakes, tornados, tsunamis, overpriced real estate, wildfires or man-eating sharks, I often think of him suffering on sun-drenched beaches, riding his surfboard while I’m scraping an inch of ice off my windshield in sub-freezing weather. And I do my best to overcome resentment and think about you southwesterners as I write my columns as well.

But I’m also a realist: After all my complaining, I know Eric would never let me not include you as I think about seasons and changing foliage and look out over my drafting table at a snowbound landscape. I am inspired by what I know and see, inspired by what nature has given me and how beautiful it can be when the flowers aren’t around – and how amazing it is when they return.

It’s reached a point where I’m hooked on this unusual internal dialogue and all of these strange and interesting thoughts about geography, boundaries and potential.

WARMTH OF THE SUN

It also set me up beautifully for a most interesting project.

I met not long ago with a couple who didn’t want a typical northeastern garden. They spend a fair amount of time each year in the Caribbean, they told me, and love places like St. Lucia, St. John and St. Bart’s so much that they wanted to simulate them here, in the Finger Lakes district of New York.

I don’t recall exactly how hard I tried to talk them out of their fantasy before designing them a complete Caribbean backyard featuring a lagoon-style pool, a tiki hut, naturalistic “lava flow” stone features, an outdoor kitchen and, of course, “tropical” plants.

It was audacious, but here I was near Rochester, N.Y., doing my level best to create a tropical environment so convincing that my clients and their friends would think they’d stepped out into a tropical resort. And it wasn’t easy, as I had none of the arrows in my quiver that would have simplified things: No Bougainvilleas, no Oleanders, no Fan Palms, no Sea Grapes.

I had to think about each and every plant, going well beyond my tried-and-true selections and my personal favorites to consider options that would enable me to carry off the mood and ambiance they wanted me to create. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had visions of Eric Herman laughing so loud that somehow Stephanie Rose and ultimately a whole region of the country was reveling in my agonies.

But truth be told, the project has been a complete blast. I found alternatives to Eucalyptus trees in Heptacodium (also known as Seven Sons Flower), to Bougainvilleas in Hibiscus and even to Century Plants in Yucca. I loved putting on my zinc oxide and designing the tiki-hut-style pool house. And I even included a nice fire/water effect along with a waterfall into the pool, used diving rocks rather than a diving board – and did everything I could think of to keep up tropical appearances.

I know I wasn’t working in Malibu, and I’ve used lots of these elements before (even fire, which is a tough one to get across to a conservative client base). But this combination, in this location, for these clients? It’s made them extremely happy and was heavenly for me – perhaps even more rewarding for me personally than had I done it in the Caribbean.

It was challenging, more dynamic and certainly unexpected and made me think of every minute detail and how everything was to come together.

And then it hit me: East coast or west, north or south, the important thing is to excel in the work. We should all embrace where we live and what works where we operate, but we should never, ever be afraid to go beyond the ordinary if we’re lucky enough to run into venturesome clients.

So while I’ll continue to rib Eric Herman every time I perceive any signs of editorial bias, with each passing day I approach a greater understanding that where I work isn’t as important as how I work and what drives me to do the best I can. And that’s true whether I hang out in central New York or join Eric on the beach in California.

Bruce Zaretsky is president of Zaretsky and Associates, a landscape design/construction/consultation company in Rochester, N.Y. Nationally recognized for creative and inspiring residential landscapes, he also works with healthcare facilities, nursing homes and local municipalities in conceiving and installing healing and meditation gardens. You can reach him at [email protected].