Each Little World

The Little Pink House

HE SAID: After a hiatus of more than a year, I'm working on the tea house again. When I decided one day that the time had come, I wasn't even sure where I had left off. In looking things over, I found that there were several pieces of the frame that I had cut and pushed into their notches but never fastened in place.

View from our back deck.

Next I had to make some decisions about the Tokonoma, the traditional display alcove, and adjoining storage area. The concept is fairly simple, but the variations in versions I've seen in books are endless. I kept telling myself, whenever faced with choosing between options, to go with the simpler idea. I reasoned that following that rule would make things easier for the builder (me!) and result in a more harmonious structure overall.

The base of the Tokonoma.

Dividing the two areas of the Tokonoma is an Arborvitae log. It's from a tree that I cut down twelve years ago, to make room for the excavator to get to the back yard when we started our project. I peeled the bark off the multiple trunks and have let them season outside since then. 

Marking the joint.

I chose another length of Arborvitae, smaller and less regular, as a cross member. Although most of the joints in the tea house are made with the help of bolts, I wanted this piece to be joined in the traditional way.

The finished joint.

I hung the cross piece from fishing line and adjusted it until I thought it looked just right. Then I transfered the diameter of each end onto the corresponding upright using a paper template.

Post and crosspiece in place.

I carved out a receptacle for each end and assembled them. This was one case where simplicity was ignored for the sake of aesthetics. The Tokonoma, in my mind, is the heart of the structure. Using the raw, unshaped wood reminds me of the trees outside. The fact that it was once one of those trees makes it even more meaningful.

Detail of braces.

My plan is to stucco the interior and exterior walls of the tea house. Between those two three-quarter-inch layers of Portland cement stucco, will be the pink styrofoam you see here. The wooden braces hold the foam sheets in the center of the cedar 4x4s.

The round window.

This window was another departure from simplicity — at least where construction was concerned. But I think it provides a nice contrast to all of the ninety degree angles elsewhere in the building.

Guest's door.

In the picture above, you can see the guest's door and a narrow window above it. Traditionally the door to the tea house is very low, forcing guests to humble themselves as they enter on their knees. I think that there is also some folklore about Samarai swordsmen having to leave their swords outside and entering head first — a real sign of trust.

Front window.

The narrow window on the front of the tea house actually wraps around to the south side. It frames a panoramic view of the pond.

Host's door.

Linda argued against the traditional "humility" door. I think she thought that as we aged, it would become more and more of an inconvenience. Reading about tea houses one day, I discovered that they often had a separate door for the host. Problem solved! The host's door (above) looks out onto the upper pool: the origin of the pond.

Front view.

I added a panel between the building's frame and the support post to reinforce the notion of isolation. It partially blocks the view between the guest's door and our house.

View from the bottom of the black steps.

View from the gravel beach.

View from across the pond.

View from across the stepping stones that cross the stream.

View of the host's door with our house in the background.

View of the round window from below.

A visitor's first view of the tea house from the western path.

My garden odyssey: Paths all done

EPISODE XXXVI

SHE SAID: Old bark mulch covering 200 feet of paths in our garden removed and sifted: Check.

Dirt and roots removed to provide a three inch bed for the new gravel paths: Check. 

Prep work all completed and awaiting gravel delivery: Check.

Both LInda and Mark all ready to transform the garden with new paths: Ooops! 

Of course, I planned on helping put down the gravel — no matter how small my loads or slow my work. Alas, that was my plan before my third doctor's appointment to try to cure my vertigo/dizziness. That treatment seems to be helping but, in the short run, I was told not to move my head, to restrict sweeping movements, sleep sitting up — you get the picture. Four hours after my doctor visit, 14,500 pounds of stone was dumped in our driveway and Mark went to work alone. (The picture at the top shows half the original gravel pile).

The paths began to take shape very quickly from my point of view; very slowly from Mark's. Luckily he wanted to change the paths from bark to gravel enough to do most of the work by himself over a week's worth of vacation. 

On the last day of putting down stone, I was able to fill my little barrow, push it uphill, dump the stones, and spread them by hand. I didn't do enough to make a dent in the stone pile; but it was enough to understand how much Mark did and what a hot, heavy and exhausting task it was. 

We wore thick gloves, long pants and shirts and headgear. Part of that — the gloves — was protection from dealing with all the stones; the rest was to deal with the mosquitoes. Mark actually did some of the work covered in a hooded sweatshirt. I wore my straw hat with mosquito netting that fits around the crown and has loops that fit under the top button of my shirt.  

Once the stone was all in place, we started moving wheelbarrow loads of the soil that Mark excavated to make a berm. This was in the front garden in a spot that's been waiting years for us to have a pile of dirt that wasn't already ear-marked for another project. We used some of the dirt to re-do the edges of the beds where they met the paths, to raise low spots and generally spruce things up. Next, I immediately started moving clumps of European ginger that has self-seeded around the garden to a new bed by the dry stream. 

We knew stone paths would add a degree of polish to the garden that wood chips lack. What we didn't realize was how sharply defined the hills and beds would look. It's as if everything — plants, paths, perspective — was slightly fuzzy and is now suddenly in crisp focus. Mark is exhausted, I'm thrilled and the garden looks fresh and new!

HE SAID: Thirty-six weeks ago we decided to dedicate our Wednesday post to narrating the history of our gardening life together. When we started we called it "My Garden Odyssey" because we thought that Linda would be telling the story. As it turned out, some of the story involved technical knowledge that Linda lacked. So I was enlisted to  write those chapters. Sometimes we both contributed our own particular memories. It's been a rewarding look back for both of us.

The garden isn't finished, of course. As the wizened old Japanese gardener responded to a compliment: "Come back in a hundred years. It will be much better!" 

But we have run out of history; this story is taking place in real time. From now on we will continue to document and share new garden projects; but they may not appear every week; and they may not be posted on Wednesday.

Linda and I want to thank all of you who commented on our journey, especially for the compliments. Gardening is, in many ways, a private pursuit; and it helps to hear the occassional encouraging word.

SHE SAID: Amen.

My garden odyssey: Path transformation

EPISODE XXXV

SHE SAID: One of the ongoing maintenance issues with my moss garden has been keeping debris from washing into it during heavy rains. I couple of years ago I edged the whole area with bricks to keep the bark mulch on the adjacent path in place. It helped but it also looked — at least to me — like the temporary solution it was.

Once Mark added a gravel garden edged with flat-topped stones near the Tsukubai (above), I realized a similar treatment would be perfect bordering the moss. Not only would it solve the maintenance problem, but it would also echo the material and the opposing curve across the garden.

I convinced Mark that if we picked out the boulders now, I could do the work myself. Does any project in the garden ever turn out to be as simple and easy as we envision it? First, I realized I wasn't as strong as I imagined and had trouble even lifting some of the boulders off the piles at the stone yard, let alone out of the bed of the pickup truck and into the wheel barrows. My barrow loads were half the size and weight of Mark's.

Even when it came to setting the stones, he was annoyingly more competent. He'd done it before, but I think it's also his skill with 3-d concepts and visualizing. I agonized over every rock trying to decide if it would work next to the previous one, while he glanced at the pile and saw the exact jigsaw piece required next. 

Suffice it to say that Mark did the majority of the edging work; meaning it was done efficiently and thoughtfully. I did enough to understand the work involved and to truthfully claim that I helped. It looks great and seems to be working. Now I need to backfill any spaces between the rocks with clay to encourage more moss. 

Actually, the new border looked so good that it necessitated moving one of the future projects on the garden life list to first place: replacing the wood chip paths with gravel. The paths desperately needed new mulch and it seemed a waste of time and money to put down chips again. 

I suggested we redo the paths now and be done with that particular project on our list. Mark agreed and we went looking for gray stone to match what we'd already used elsewhere in the garden. Of course, no one had quite the same size but it's unlikely that anyone but us will notice the difference! 

The next step involved measuring and marking the paths so the width would be the same and the curves the degree we wanted. Mark — as is his habit — made a tool when I said I was having trouble easily marking off the 3' width so I could remove grass and plants in the way. He used the tops from some tin cans to make little "wheels" so we could make a visible mark in the dirt.

He pretty much took over the task of prepping the old path for its new topping, too. He raked up the old mulch, sifting it to save reusable soil. 

He removed a layer of soil approsimately 3" deep x 3' wide x 200' of path. We now have a gorgeous pile of soil ready to fill in low spots in the garden or to pot up houseplants. 

And he cleaned up the paths all the way to the weed barrier that was put down the year we installed the pond: 1997! All that's left now is to get the gravel in place and we're done.

My garden odyssey: Art of the garden (concluded)

EPISODE XXXIV

HE SAID: Last week you said that an object is right when it works with the garden as a whole. What did you mean by that?

SHE SAID: Well, i remember early on that we spent a lot of time discussing the notions of East and West. When we were designing the Tsukubai, for instance, we had some fairly heated discussions about how "authentic" we should try to make it...

HE SAID: ...knowing full well that the term "authentic" would never apply to our garden as a Japanese garden.

SHE SAID:  So I said, why try. Why not draw from whatever influences attracted us but not be constrained by some other culture's definition of a garden.

HE SAID: I think that's when I first started using the word "analog" to describe a structure that is similar in function but one that evolved out of another culture. Like using copper piping for the flume in the Tsukubai instead of the traditional bamboo...

SHE SAID: ...or turning the English chimney pot into a lantern.

HE SAID: But, now that we have several more traditional looking lanterns, I'm not sure I feel the same way about the chimney pot. It's still a great garden ornament with a wonderful shape and patina, but does it still work as a lantern analog?

SHE SAID:  My point is: it doesn't have to. What's that old saying — consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds?

HE SAID: "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines." — Emerson (I looked it up.) But doesn't a certain amount of consistency make sense, contribute to the feeling of unity or wholeness we claim to be after.

SHE SAID:  Well, a couple of thoughts suggest themselves. One, I think we need to trust our instincts. We've made good decisions in the past, for the most part; and when we've been wrong, we've had the courage to admit it and banish the misfit object. And two, we're both artists. Why shouldn't we have art in our garden, real art which challenges its surroundings?

HE SAID: I don't know. I still think that the garden, as an artwork, should take precedence over art objects that are added to the garden.

SHE SAID:  Which brings us back to where we started: "an object is right when it works with the garden as a whole."

HE SAID: Do you think the crane is too much of a cliche?

SHE SAID:  I think we should give it a rest!

My garden odyssey: Art of the garden (continued)

EPISODE XXXIII

SHE SAID: I think we should talk about some of the things that are actually in our garden — you know, the man-made things you wanted to get rid of a couple of weeks ago.

HE SAID: I didn't really want to throw them all out; but I thought we should try to see them as others might, without our emotional attachment. The Valentine piece, for instance ...

SHE: It's staying!

HE: I made this piece for Linda one summer while she was away attend an art class in Door County, Wisconsin, as an out-of-season valentine. It consists of three discarded industrial saw blades of the type used to make cuts in concrete pavement. On them, I wrote "I Love You" in German ("Ich Liebe Dich") using a commercial rust inhibitor.

HE: Calm down; I'm not suggesting we get rid of it. But — honestly — how does it connect to our garden?

SHE: Well ... it's round like the window you're planning for the Tea House, and the Moon Garden and the circle around the Mica rock.

We bought this red rock which is riddled with mica because we couldn't resist. But when it came time to place it in the garden, we found that it didn't "fit" anywhere; it was too dramatic. Rather than trying to make it blend in, we finally decided to frame it within a circle of ivy.

HE: And it does have that nicely rusty surface which qualifies it for Wabi-Sabi status. But what is it doing there? What does it contribute to the overall vision of the garden?

SHE: I think it adds mystery, and poetry. It's never seemed to bother you when Ian Finlay added textual elements to his garden. Am I wrong, or aren't you quite fond of Little Sparta?

HE: OK, OK. But that was the whole point of his garden — the classical literary allusions. Do you think that it still works if we only have the one piece of text?

SHE: In our case, it's not the text that's important; it's the inclusion of objects that are compatible with the garden as a whole. 

This was a pipe standard for a basketball backboard and basket that was set in concrete next to the driveway when we bought the house. We tried, without success, to turn it into a garden sculpture. 

HE: Remember how we struggled with the baskeball standard? You so desperately wanted that to work as sculpture; and no matter what we tried, what color we painted it, where we placed it, we were never happy with it. 

SHE: Unlike the obelisk, which has always looked great no matter how you configured it or where we put it.

This sculpture is made of 84 pieces of limestone recycled from a building project on the University of Wisconsin campus. Mark cut each pair of pieces slightly smaller that the next which gave them a gradual taper as they were stacked. Beginning with an obelisk arrangement, this is the third different stacking pattern we've used as the sculpture has been moved from place to place.

HE: Which reminds me, I've been thinking it's about time I tried something new with it.

SHE: Not until you get the Tea House finished! And maybe not even then, as the area around it has now all been landscaped using it as a focal point.

HE: Getting back to the subject, what about the cello piece?

This is a cast iron form used to make 3/4 size cellos. We found it at a local shop — "Unearthed" — that specializes in recycled industrial products for the home.

SHE: I like it.

HE: I don't know. I find it somehow too literal, not literary, but concrete, for the garden. I'd like to try it inside. I think music is more of an indoor idea.

SHE: What about the bells? We've got what, eight bells in the garden? What's the difference?

Paolo Soleri casts these bells and sells them to support Arcosanti, an "ecological human habitat" he's been building in Arizona since 1970.

HE: Well the bells are as much about the sound as they are about their form. They're about interacting — with the wind in the case of the Soleri bells — and with people for the ones that need to be struck to make a sound. The cello, for me, is about the contradictions: the heavy iron version of a delicate instrument, pitted rust versus polished wood.

SHE: I'm willing to give it a try inside. Oh, and I thought of something else that works that's round — our ceramic platters.

A wood-fired stoneware platter, by Mark Skudlarek of Cambridge Woodfired Pottery near Cambridge, Wisconsin, hangs outside our backdoor. (It is 18 inches in diameter).

HE: I won't argue with you about that. There's something about wood-fired ceramics that just seems to be a natural in the garden. 

SHE: How long ago was it that I took you out to Mark Skudlarek's to see his big pots?

HE: And we came home with the biggest one he had.

Wood-fired pot by Mark Skudlarek, approximately 24 inches high.

SHE: And never regretted it.

My garden odyssey: Art of the garden

EPISODE XXXII

HE SAID: I have a Master of Fine Arts degree in painting. As an art student, I was taught that all areas of the canvas are equally important. As a gardener, I believe that principle still applies. 

I feel very fortunate that I found a life partner and gardening partner whose degrees are also in art —  art education and textile design. Without a shared aesthetic vision, we would never have been able to collaborate on our gardens for the last twenty years.

SHE SAID: Which is not to say it's all been smooth sailing. It seems we never stop discussing, negotiating, explaining, arguing and, yes, occasionally fighting over, what should or shouldn't go into the garden.

HE: That's an important point. What doesn't, or shouldn't go into a garden is often the thing that makes the difference in whether or not it is successful.

We visited a garden recently that had a nicely built small water feature near the deck at the back of the house. It was decently proportioned, had a pleasant sounding waterfall, good rock work — but it was overwhelmed with tchotchkes. To make matters worse, they were not consistent in theme or scale. A miniature maritime figurine sat right below a nearly life-size ceramic mountain goat. I'm sorry to disappoint, but I didn't have the heart to photograph it.

SHE: Mark drove home that day determined to remove anything man-made from our garden.

HE: But during a survey of our garden that evening, I decided that the line between natural and man-made is not all that distinct. And that there is a lot more involved in creating a successful garden than whether or not it includes a ceramic mountain goat. 

SHE: We've been talking together about where "My Garden Odyssey" should go from here; now that we've brought you pretty much up to date with the construction process.

HE: Of course, we'll be continuing work on the Tea House and doing other projects which we'll document for you here.

SHE: But we thought it would be helpful for us...

HE: And maybe entertaining for you...

SHE: If we explored some of the thinking that brought us to the present state of affairs in our yard. It's easy to forget all the steps, all the missteps, all the trial and error along the way. So we thought it might be a good idea to review our odyssey from the point of view of our aesthetic decisions.

HE: As I said at the beginning, everything is important; each element added, left out or removed contributes in some way to the totality. 

People sometimes ask me if I'm still making art. My answer is unequivocal. Of course I am; I'm making a garden.

Every element I used to employ in creating a painting — color, texture, balance, scale, rhythm — have all gone into making our garden. But it's infinitely more complex in that a garden adds a third, forth and, possibly, a fifth dimension. It's not flat, after all. And it changes with the seasons, cyclical time. But it also changes continuously in linear time. Plants grow larger, mature and die, affecting the plants around them in turn.

SHE: You're waxing a bit philosophical there, Sparky. How about coming back down to earth — no pun intended.

HE: OK. I think we should start again, at the beginning.

SHE: Which beginning?

HE: I know, it's tough to narrow down. At first I thought that we'd talk about man-made objects: art in the garden. But I soon began to realize that, conceptually, the difference between a sheared hedge and a marble statue, between a chair and  rock, is not that great. The distinction between "natural" and "man-made" dissolves in a garden since the garden itself is a product of man.

SHE: I was thinking this would be a two part post.

HE: And I'm thinking we should just see where it leads. 

SHE: Maybe we should give this whole concept some more thought.

HE: I think you're right. And next week, we can add some pictures. This is going to be great!

My Garden Odyssey: The moss garden

EPISODE XXXI

SHE SAID: Some things happen in the garden by design, others are the result of serendipity; our moss garden being a perfect example of the later. We'd seen pictures of the famous moss Temple Garden at Saihoji, of course. And we'd even seen the incredible moss garden at the Bloedel Reserve in the Pacific Northwest in person. But living in the upper Midwest, we never thought we'd be able to have a moss garden of our own — not until I realized we had the classic American dilemma: lawn grass that was attempting to grow in ever deepening shade under a pair of mature apple trees.

My moss garden on a good day.

One day I realized there were lush patches of moss growing in the midst of the grass. You couldn't actually see them unless you were at ground level looking down. I wondered how one could get rid of the grass without harming the moss. For starters, I decided on a low-tech approach: I sat down and began to pull out the grass — stem by stem — until the moss patch was visible. I held the moss in place with the palm of one hand while I pulled out the grass with the other hand. Usually, the grass just pulled through the moss, roots and all, without doing serious damage. 

I knew nothing about moss before I began my grass removal process — neither of us did. But two men came to our rescue: the first was George Schenk with his award-winning book, "Moss Gardening Including Lichens, Liverworts, and Other Miniatures." The book was packed with information, ideas for employing moss in the garden and gorgeous, inspirational pictures. Schenk's book convinced me a moss garden was worth the effort required.

Moss growing in a moist, shady corner of the garden.

The second font of moss wisdom was Andrew Hipp who taught a two-day workshop, "Introduction to Wisconsin Mosses," at the UW-Madison Arboretum. At the time, Hipp was finishing up his PhD at UW; today Dr. Hipp is the plant systematist and herbarium curator at the Morton Arboretum in Illinois. Mark and I both signed up for the class and spent a number of pleasant hours looking at and learning about mosses in a funky old classroom that was like a small cabin and had been built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s when they were part of the team effort that built the Arboretum.

Liverwort (both images from our garden, above) often piggybacks on the soil of nursery plants. 

We discovered a lot about mosses, including:

1. There are 13,000 species of mosses and 380 types can be found in Wisconsin. There are fewer mosses in urban areas as they are sensitive to pollution. 

2. Mosses can dry down and re-hydrate when it rains. Knowing that bit of info keeps me from watering my moss patches even during periods of drought.

Spore cases (I think) on an unidentified moss in the garden.

3. Mosses will come to your garden based on the conditions you have. So I don't take any moss from the wild or other locations. That way I get the ones that are looking for acidic clay soil — which is where my best mosses all grow. I also don't have to wonder which ones want sun and which shade as the appropriate ones will site themselves. Our largest moss garden is under big old apple  trees; but other patches are next to the fence on both sides of the drip line; between tree roots and stepping stones in both sun and shade, on moist ground and on hard-packed clay.

Moss growing on clay soil under the drip line of the fence roof.

4. Mosses are almost always growing with other different mosses. If you look at this photo you can see three different types. Identifying them, however, is always done under a microscope using particular parts of the moss. We brought samples of moss from our garden to the class and had them identified; but we would be hard pressed to name any of them today. We decided to just enjoy them and encourage them, but not worry about names and id's. We opted for the sensuality of moss over the science.

Multiple kinds of mosses growing together.

One of the things I've learned from experience is that mosses can come and go. They may suddenly desert a location where they grew lushly for a few years. Sometimes they return to a spot nearby, though usually not the exact same place. So I try to keep the patches weed free and to remove leaves and other debris which will suffocate the moss or keep it from direct contact with soil. I try to make sure that I'm not the cause of the mosses' disappearance.

Moss used to grow between the root flares where Mark is standing, but it disappeared a few years ago. Now moss is growing on dry, hard-packed dirt between the  tree and the stepping stones.

Moss is a much prettier and softer ground cover than grass and looks great during winter thaws unlike lawn suddenly revealed by snow melt. But it can't take the rough and tumble that grass can (kids and dogs), nor is it particularly low maintenance. It may not need fertilizing or weekly cuttings but I am constantly working to keep it clean and free of the wood chips which wash over the brick edging of the path adjacent to the moss during big storms. That's an ongoing maintenance issue that we plan to devote our attention to this summer. 

The moss at this end of the bed still needs weeding and you can see where the mulch from the path has washed over the bricks and into the moss.

One gardener I know uses fine mesh to keep the leaves and debris off her moss. I bought a big piece from her last summer but have not been exactly vigilant in using it.In fact, the moss is covered with tiny green crab apples and yellowing leaves that have fallen in the last couple of days. I pick them up constantly but my efforts only last a few minutes at most.

The other moss maintenance issue is weeding. It is ideal for seedlings of everything from dandelions to Jack-in-the-pulpit. There's always clumps of fine grass or vining weeds to pull out. 

Dappled light on the moss looks lovely but tricks me into reaching for clumps of light when I think I'm reaching for fallen yellow leaves.

Given the moss/grass comparison, would we encourage you to grow moss instead? Absolutely. I like to think of it the way George Schenk does: "I personally find that while moss certainly requires care, the job seems to give back more than does the relentless routine of lawn upkeep," he notes in his book. "The work of moss gardening has an elitist quality that I must admit I find appealing. Every John and Jane grows grass. Only Nature's chosen grow moss."

My garden odyssey: The Tea House rises

Episode XXX

HE SAID: I had read that, in early days, people living in areas prone to freeze/thaw cycles would build structures on foundations of dry set stone. The stones would move and shift with the seasons, and the building would float on top of all that activity.

I decided to adapt that approach using tumbled concrete pavers, both for their regularity and for the rustic look of the chipped edges and subtly varied color. I dug a foundation trench, including an outlet trench on the down hill corner for drainage. I packed the bottom with several inches of crushed limestone, and added four inch perforated drainage tubing along the perimeter.

In determining the dimensions of the tea house, I began with the size of the concrete blocks. I determined that I could lay a foundation 7' 7" X 9' 7" without any cutting. That meant that once I added a 4" X 4" frame on top, I would be left with a floor space of 7 X 9 feet. If I used 2 feet of that space for the Tokonoma (display area), I was left with a 7 foot square. If I made the ceiling 7 feet high, I would have an area for tea that was a perfect 7 foot cube! No, I'm not into numerology or anything; but the idea of being able to sit in a 7 foot cube and look out onto the pond while sipping tea (or bourbon, for that matter), pleased me very much.

With the foundation in place, I turned my attention to wood. I started with two 10 foot-long and two 8 foot-long 8" X 8" cedar timbers. I notched these in order to join them at the ends and to establish the locations for the floor joists and the upright members.

I had back-filled along the inside and outside of the foundation wall with pea gravel to facilitate drainage. The gravel on the interior of the foundation reminded me so much of a Zen garden that I couldn't resist adding an arrangement of small rocks. It is a secret garden that I am sharing with someone other than Linda for the first time.

Once the project was underway, I got into a rhythm of measuring, cutting, and hauling lumber back and forth between the tea house and the saw in the garage. I was working from a plan of sorts, but an awful lot of the building was made up as I went along. Problems I hadn't anticipated would crop up, often requiring modifications in my plan. But, before I knew it, I had the basic frame of the tea house in place and Winter was bearing down on us.

I added some temporary rafters and a tarp to keep the snow off, and wrapped the sides in plastic sheeting for additional protection from the elements until I could get back to work in the Spring.

There were things I had to do before I could add the roof. The overhang at the front and back of the structure was such that it would need additional support. The previous Fall I had purchased five large stones to arrange as stepping stones and support stones in front of the entrance. There was also a large cut-granite block to function as the front step to the tea house. I drove the stones home in my truck without giving any real thought to how I would get them to the tea house. They were too heavy to pull up the hill, even with a dolly.

I imposed upon the generosity of the neighbor behind us once more. From his house, it was all down hill to my yard. We slid the stones off the truck using wooden ramps and onto a sled cobbled together out of plywood and rope. We dragged the stones down to the fence gate where they waited as patiently as rocks can wait for Spring.

But my problems weren't over yet. I still had to get them across the stream. I managed this with a combination of PVC pipe rollers and more plywood. The trouble with working alone, is that I frequently forget to take pictures. I think you would have enjoyed seeing that little engineering project.

As with almost everything involving the garden, the roof took longer and was more complicated than I would have imagined. I wanted it to look attractive not only from the outside, but also looking up at it from the inside. That meant that the pattern of the supports for the shingles had to be both functional and appealing. It also meant that I had to use a variety of nail lengths, depending on the number and thickness of the shingles, in order to keep any nails from showing on the inside.

A small miscalculation meant that the roof and a tree insisted on occupying the same space. I built the roof around the tree, although it may not be all that many years before the opening will have to be enlarged. With any luck that will be a problem someone else will have to solve. 

Many years ago my doctor told me that I was genetically prone to hernia. He was right. I've had four! They tend to develop gradually, with subtle symptoms that one wants to ignore; and for a while you can. Eventually, however they become unmistakable. That was the case while installing the roof. I think hauling those bundles of shingles up the hill and then up the ladder to the roof was what really pushed things along.

The roof got finished and the surgery was a success — laparoscopy this time, very cool. 

Everything, as I've said, takes longer than you plan. I managed to make some progress on the carpentry details last summer, but family obligations meant that I wasn't able to begin filling in the walls with stucco. And so far this season, I've been lucky to keep up with basic maintenance chores. But it's still only June, and with any luck we'll have a long beautiful Fall to continue working. In the meantime, even in it's unfinished state, the tea house is a welcome shelter in our garden.

My garden odyssey: Evolution of an idea

Episode XXIX

HE SAID: From the moment Eastern thought began to intrude on our garden plans, I knew there had to be a tea house. It took me nearly ten years to figure out exactly what that meant.

In the earliest plans, tediously drawn on the computer with Adobe Illustrator, the tea house was a gray square in the back west part of the garden. In my mind, and in early sketches, I conceived a modest rustic structure: part tool shed and part covered bench. And, although the structure itself evolved through many different versions, the location never changed.

I picked the location for several reasons. It was at a distance from the house, providing a destination; and it was hidden behind the spruce trees, adding some mystery. I also wanted it near the waterfall to take advantage of the sound. And, most important, I wanted it located where it would provide a view down onto the pond.

I read dozens of books on Japanese tea gardens, noting that the ideal of a tea house changed over time, from the early concept of a primitive thatched-roof hut, to works of exquisite craftsmanship, to strange contemporary conceptual versions. What era, I asked myself, did I want to adopt?

I also became distracted, for a time, by the extensive literature available on the topic of cabins. After all, wasn't the original tea house just a Japanese cabin in the woods? Michael Pollan's "A Place of My Own" made a particularly strong impression on me. My concept of a tea house began to morph into the idea of a studio — a male retreat. In the end I came to my senses. After all, Pollan had hired an architect and spent $30,000 or more by my estimate on his "writing shack." 

And my space was limited, not just in terms of the size of the yard but also in terms of scale. I didn't want a building that overwhelmed the other elements of the garden: stream, pond, rocks, paths and plants. Essentially, it needed to be as small as possible and still be functional as a modest space for entertaining one or two other people or just a place for solitude and contemplation.

Tea House at the Minneapolis Institute of Art

I considered using the basic Japanese unit of the tatami mat — the roughly three foot by six foot flooring element that traditional Japanese architecture is based on. It corresponds to the Western module, the four by eight foot sheet of plywood. The tatami idea didn't work. Standard Western lumber sizes, which I would have to work with, meant I'd have to come up with my own proportions.

To get a sense of what the interior space might feel like we made floor plans on the living room rug with masking tape and sat on the floor inside the lines, pretending to drink tea. To get a sense of the impact the tea house would have on the garden, I made a frame to indicate the size and elevation of the floor and added a 2X4 to suggest it's height. The rest I imagined from various positions in the yard. I made more drawings, studied Japanese and Western wood joinery, and went back over books I had already studied any number of times. We visited tea houses whenever we could, both in gardens and museums. 

Incrementally I began to eliminate options as too expensive, too demanding on my limited skills, or inconsistent with the aesthetic choices we had already made in the garden. It was hard leaving some options behind. 

Japanese Garden at the Chicago Botanic Garden

I decided against trying to use traditional wood joinery (no metal!) and opted instead for simple joints fastened with bolts. I chose cedar 4x4s for my framing material and cedar shingles for the roof to echo the fence. And after considering several options, I settled on tumbled cement paving stones for the foundation. To infill the walls between the framing, I would use stucco in place of the traditional straw and mud.

It was, finally, time to commit, time to break ground. That was August 1, 2005.

My garden odyssey: Interlude

Episode XXVIII

HE SAID: I had been thinking about the "tea house" ever since our first year at our new house. The designs I came up with ranged from dreams of an authentic Japanese structure to a simple tool shed. The problem was trying to estimate my skills and capacity to build something of quality. Successfully completing the fence gave me a lot of confidence, but I wasn't ready to dive in and start the tea house without a clear picture in my mind of what I wanted. 

In the meantime, we decided to take on a much more manageable project: adding an area of raked gravel in front of the tsukubai — one of the traditional elements of a tea garden. The tsukubai is a place to cleanse one's hands, mouth and spirit before engaging in the tea ceremony. The water container of the tsukubai is under the tree in the lower left corner of the photo below.

After we had installed the stepping stones connecting the West entrance with the deck, we did little to the area other than pull the worst of the weeds. Around the stones there was just this mix of old grass, bare earth and mulch.

SHE SAID: As much as I initially fought Mark over the idea of a gravel garden, I loved the little Moon Garden he designed and built in the front of the house. In fact, I decided we needed to add more raked gravel to the garden; this time in the back garden to create repetition.

HE SAID: It seemed obvious that the tsukubai was the place to put a second gravel garden. The gravel would set off the stepping stones nicely and provide a more coherent feeling to the space. The area was already clearly defined by the long, geometric Nobedon path, the edging of the grass square, and the offset rectangular stones. We just needed to establish a barrier along the plantings beneath the Spruce trees. That edging would also provide a transition in ground elevation.

The area we planned to cover with gravel was close to level, but not close enough. Since raked grave is supposed to suggest a watery surface, it would look disconcerting to have it tilting. So once we had established the outer limits of our project, I spent a few hours lowering the ground on the up-hill side.

For both the edging stones and the gravel, I made trips to my favorite stone supplier, Madison Block and Stone. For the edging, I chose stones of similar size and coloration with at least one relatively flat face. They were then set in what we hoped would be an elegant curve with the flat sides toward the gravel.

I had planned to use the same material here that I had used in the Moon Garden in front of the house: Marlyn's Mix, a drainage additive and top dressing concocted by a famous local gardener. However, they didn't have any in stock when I went to buy it.

While walking through the materials yard earlier, I had seen a small pile of gravel that I thought would work. It was coarser than Marlyn's Mix, but I thought that might be a plus in the Fall when the tiny honey locust leaves fell. My leaf blower would be less likely to blow the gravel around. When I asked Ken, the yard manager, about it he said it was the last of that gravel and that I could have it for nothing if I wanted it. Of course, I said yes!

Once the gravel was spread and leveled, it made a huge difference to the look and feel of this area of the garden. Although I will rake it at times, I almost like it better smooth. The most important thing is that it needs to be kept clean. Despite the weed barrier, weeds do germinate in the gravel; but, because they have trouble getting their roots through the barrier and into the soil, they are not much trouble to pull.

We feel that a garden needs to provide contrasts as well as resting places for the eye. The little gravel area we added in this area does a wonderful job in both instances.

Next week: the Tea House