echoes
When we first began collaborating on projects with top-flight architects, landscape architects and landscape designers several years ago, for the most part our role in terms of design was fairly limited: We'd receive requests for bids and proposals based on plans of varying detail, and our role was that of faithful installers of the design. On occasions, of course, we'd also refer our own prospective clients to those same designers, who would generate plans that we would in turn estimate and very often install. We still work that way, but as we've built our ties to these accomplished artists, we've become aware that our role in their projects has been growing, even to the point where we are now being asked in many situations to offer our own design ideas. We're also seeing that, when on-site decisions must be made, these designers are
As designers and builders, we might feel with every new project that we have created the most profoundly original setting in the world. In most cases, however, our most likely achievement has to do with adapting an architectural concept developed long ago, putting a modern twist on it and calling it our own. For me, in fact, the more I learn about the history of watershaping, the more I feel connected to ancient watershapers and recognize that we haven't created anything really "new" in a long time. We all know clients, for instance, who want their backyards or public spaces to look like Spanish or Italian villas, French or English formal gardens, or maybe peaceful
