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Thirty Years

 

It was 30 years ago last night that Rob and I were hosting an opening preview celebration for Deborah Silver and Company’s new venture – Detroit Garden Works. This brand new company would make fine, whimsical, intriguing, memorable and shockingly beautiful ornament for the garden available to keen gardeners of all persuasions. Ha. It was a good thing we had ideas and determination, as it would take all of that and then some to make this wish come true. By “then some”, I mean the 10 years after the opening that it took to get the shop centered,  fully off the ground, and firmly in the black. We fought for it. Sincerely.

My landscape design/build firm, Deborah Silver and Company, opened for business in 1986, a decade earlier. Though the vast majority of my landscape design work revolved around the instinct to sculpt ground and install beautifully designed landscapes and gardens to life on the surfaces of that sculpted ground, I felt like a certain element was missing.  An interest in art and sculpture meant I had an interest in ornament for the garden. What do I mean by that?  Any object which represents a significant memory or  a point of view about what is beautiful or emotionally important can imbue a landscape with atmosphere.   A landscape with atmosphere is all I have ever hoped to make. Though I was keen to include this ornamental layer in my landscape design and installation projects, precious little was available.

 

Rob joined the landscape company in 1992, after completing his degree in landscape architecture at Michigan State University. It became clear early on that his landscape design work was austere, complex, yet casually offhand. Years later, he knows how to make a subtle and gracefully constructed arrangement look as if he dashed it off in a moment.  No matter how long he labors over and reworks anything he does, it will be perfectly convincing. He is a proponent and champion of a sparse look that always hovers just over and on the right side of weedy. That early mix of modernism and mess confounded me, and drove me crazy. No design project of his ever came to a definitive close. Clients wanting direction that had parameters in mind got his tinkering with no boundaries. How did we resolve those early years, co-designing ?  He had a romance going on with the garden like no other person I had ever met. I reserved judgment. This is one of the better decisions I have ever made. I truly admired his point of view. A commitment to that took me a long way. The idea that we would open a shop devoted to fine quality ornament for the garden was an idea we came to share. That he would do all of the buying for the store is that one decision that keeps us here 30 years later.

 

In the fall of 1992, Rob had a winter trip planned to Czechoslovakia to ski.  I financed a side trip, a very casually weedy trip, to scout European ornament that might be of interest to us, and to our clients. 2 pallets representing the sum total of his shopping arrived months later. It was exhilarating. We knew the right collection of pots or sculpture could organize a landscape. An antique garden ornament saturates the immediate environment with a sense of another time and place –  history.  Vintage farm troughs recall that time when agriculture was so much a part of every life.  Vintage ornament of an agricultural history satisfies that longing for connection to nature. Contemporary sculpture in the garden can evoke an appreciation of form, mass, and texture in a very direct and abstracted way. I wanted the perfect bench, the most striking container, and topiary forms that would work while they were being beautiful-for my landscapes. I knew that Rob would take this on.

 

Now, Rob buys for Detroit Garden Works.  He attends the flea markets,  fairs and factories. He has relationships with garden antique dealers, both in the US and abroad. He makes a point of visiting nurseries and specialty growers everywhere he goes.  He makes it a point to meet the people who make things for gardens.  He gives them the time and space to speak to their craft. What eventually makes its way to Detroit Garden Works in the spring of each year is a very carefully curated collection that has been assembled with a discerning eye.

Detroit Garden Works 2015 collection

His shopping is always about the stories of the people.  The antiques dealers with a long history of collecting. The person who carves words into the oak boards that comprise her garden furniture pieces.   The people whose pottery is still making pots going on two hundred years later. The artisan who is creating their own special brand of ornament. The dealer who has taken the time to make very fine quality reproductions of classic garden ornament.  The armillary sphere maker whose attention to the science, physics, and fabrication warrants a closer look.  I greatly admire how he takes the buying to heart. That big heart of his has made Detroit Garden Works  a destination for gardeners of every persuasion.

Detroit Garden Works is in the business of offering beautiful ornament for the garden. Still.  It could be antique.  It could be vintage, and funky vintage. It could be of a French, American or Italian flavor. It could be of English origin, through and through. It could be new, with a particular point of view. It could be fun or funny.  It could be contemporary.  It could be arts and crafts or mid century modern inspired. It could be Belgian in origin-old, vintage, or new.  It could be none of the above, just sitting here waiting for that one particular gardening client to lay claim to it. When you come here, you’ll see.

 

 

Posted on: March 30, 2026 45 Comments
Filed Under: the garden, garden sculpture, Parties and Events, Garden Ornament, Detroit Garden Works Tagged With: , , , , ,

The Winter/Holiday Season at Detroit Garden Works

After an intensely re-imagined and heartfelt few weeks, all of the materials new and old we have available for winter and holiday expressions have been unboxed and put on display at the shop. Heartfelt? We work our collective hearts out to provide our clients with materials that recall, honor and celebrate the garden at year’s end. All 9600 square feet of it is stuffed to bursting with the beautiful, the whimsical, the traditional, the unusual –  the satisfying and joyous signs of the winter and holiday gardening season on the way.

It was probably better than 25 years ago that Rob and I started shopping, collecting, and offering for sale materials suitable for winter arrangements for pots and containers. All of these materials – whether an astonishingly convincing replica of the real plant or flower,  a collection of various fresh cut twigs and greens, or innovative lighting – have the potential to keep the hope and memory of the garden alive during our long winter season. What we have available in the shop today is as good as our experience and and will to celebrate gardening can provide. You’ll see.

Up next is a pictorial version of the shop, dressed, decked out, and ready for the season. If you are too far to make the trip, we want to share what we have the best we can. If you are close enough, we invite you to come and see what’s doing in person.

What could possibly be more forlorn and pathetic to a gardener than empty garden pots, or a landscape gone dark and dreary at year’s end?Finding a reason to celebrate seems like a much better idea. We intend to provide the chance to help keep the gardening season open and thriving all year round, in spite of the untoward winter weather and dark. If you see anything here that interests or intrigues you enough to inquire further, we are available.

1  248  335  8089

webinquiry@detroitgardenworks.com

Posted on: November 13, 2025 26 Comments
Filed Under: seasonal plants, Winter, Holiday, Detroit Garden Works, Seasonal Tagged With: , , , , ,

Once A Year And This Is It

  Once a year we have spring in Michigan, and this is it. Ha. Let that big talk on my part sink in a little.  I am not at all sure we are having spring yet. Maybe what we have now is just a cold, rainy, and off putting version of pre-spring. Maybe I missed it – could our spring be just about over? Or is the real spring due here any minute. There are always caveats that come with any discussion of the change from one season to the next. Especially our spring. It was 35 degrees at my house this morning. It can safely be said that the interminable winter has shown some signs of moderating,  and there have been tantalizing albeit brief instances of remarkably warm weather and blue skies. Nothing decisive yet. A cautious assessment is prudent. Nature can have a very hard time deciding to finally let go and get on with it. But all of the fits, starts and stalling make for some adult fun. Delayed gratification, they call this.

The hellebores are blooming emphatically, as they always do. They shrug off bad weather. Many of the small spring flowering bulbs have appeared, bloomed and already vanished. The eranthis, galanthus, chionodoxa, scilla, crocus, adonis, puschkinia, muscari, and a considerable cast of others, appear on their own schedule, and brave the stormy weather for better or worse. Some years the flowering is stingy, and other years profuse. You don’t know which way that world will turn until the day before.

One of my favorite spring moments are the magnolias. Their habit of growth is quite architectural, as are the branches, bark, buds, flowers, leaves, and seed pods. Visually stunning in every aspect, in all the seasons. They make a beautiful specimen tree. There are a number of magnolia soulangiana in my neighborhood – a community which dates back to the early 20th century. It was a popular tree then, and the old trees I see now are still beautiful and healthy. But their flowers can be a victim of a bumpy spring season. A late frost can can damage the blooms, or worse yet, reduce them to puddles of brown mush. A flash frost can leave brown petals dangling from the tree branches. This is a very unattractive and disappointing outcome.  Magnolia Stellata is another victim. Mine blooms generously and over a goodly number of weeks only one year out of three or four.

I have three magnolias in my yard which are surely 20 years old by now. The cultivar is named “Galaxy”, which is a National Arboretum plant introduction. The following is from their website:    ‘Galaxy’ is an F1 hybrid selection resulting from a 1963 cross between Magnolia liliiflora ‘Nigra’ and M. sprengeri ‘Diva’. ‘Galaxy’ first flowered at 9 years of age from seed. The cultivar name ‘Galaxy’ is registered with the American Magnolia Society. Released in 1980. Magnolia ‘Galaxy’ is unique in form and flower among cultivated magnolias. It is a single stemmed, pyramidal, tree-form magnolia with excellent, ascending branching habit. ‘Galaxy’ flowers 2 weeks after its early parent M.‘Diva’, late enough to avoid most late spring frost damage. Adaptable to a wide range of soil conditions”  The late flowering is almost an essential condition for a good choice of magnolia in my zone.  The other condition this tree favorably adapts to is its upright habit of growth.  I live on a very small city property without the room necessary for a wide growing tree.  Even the neighborhood shade trees in the right of way look unhappy, having been  jammed into a space that is too small.

As for the flowers, when they are good, they are glorious. The oversized multi petal blooms are the showgirls of the tree flowering world. No other tree can compare, no matter which cultivar you plant.  This year, the flowers are beyond fabulous. Not only are the flowers large and robust, the branches of all 3 trees are covered with flowers. They started to open 3 weeks ago, and I could watch that process unfolding day after day. The chilly weather played a big part in creating a lengthy blooming season. Much like cut flowers held in a refrigerated room, cool air temperatures prolong flower life. Once the flowers have been in bloom for a while, the branches begin to leaf out. There is that brief moment where flowers and leaves are vying for attention.


All trees flower.  Some tree flowers go unnoticed, they are so small or otherwise inconspicuous. These magnolias are interplanted with three Parrotia Persica.  Related to witch hazel, parrotias produce small red tassel like flowers along the branches in early spring. The red color is equally subtle. I rarely notice the flowers, unless it is a heavy blooming year, and I am standing nearby.  Some flowering trees alternate heavy bloom years, as if the recovery from all the energy expended to put on that show takes a long time. Dogwoods and Yellowwoods have a blooming routine like this.

It’s easy to feel ambivalent about spring flowering trees. Do I like them?  Some years they all seem breathtaking and gorgeous, like the most beautifully orchestrated and dramatically choreographed ballet ever staged. Other years I avert my eyes at the silliness.  How can any plant as stately and serious as a tree have pink flowers?  I must be having an on year;  I am thoroughly enjoying my trees, and all the other spring flowering trees I am seeing in lavish bloom. The lavish part plays a significant role in this. Conditions favorable to significant bud set the past growing season has resulted in a bumper crop of flowers this spring season. Any plant blooming its heart out is just cause for celebration.

This first week of May is the beginning of the end of it. The subtle sound of the petals dropping on my driveway can be heard,  should I make a point to listen. As the petals pile up, so do the memories.

Spring.  This is it.

Posted on: May 9, 2025 17 Comments
Filed Under: seasonal plants, trees, Deborah Silver and Co Inc, Spring

Vernissage Again

Sixteen years ago, on April 1 of 2009, I published a blog post, appropriately entitled “Vernissage”. The title of the post was my very loose interpretation of the French word that refers to art openings. As much as the essay signaled the opening of my gardening season, it was a very special beginning for me. I published on this date the first journal style blog essay focused on garden and landscape design under the name of Dirt Simple. To date I have published 1750 essays. This edited version of the 2020 Vernissage will make the 1751st post. Some are good, some are OK. I am sure there are some flops. Some are fun, and others I hope are challenging. You decide. I have thoroughly enjoyed the process of organizing my thoughts, and writing them down in some in some coherent form. Every moment that I have spent photographing gardens, landscape projects, and plants for this column has been time in the garden that has made me slow down, observe, reflect – and document.

Most recently, my posts have been fewer. There were several years that I did not write at all, and several more years when I did not write much. I write when I think I have something to say. The older I get, the less I have to say – which seems appropriate. I am vastly less certain of almost everything now than I was when I was 30.   To follow is a revisited, rethought, and revised version of my first post in 2009, annotated in 2010, 2012, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2020, and today-April 3 of 2025. I must have been speechless in 2019-if you write, you know how that happens.

 

 

This date has another very special significance to me. April 1 of 1992 was Rob’s first day working with me. It has been a very engaging and productive 33 years.  33 years! Yes, we have had our rough moments, but I take a great deal of pride in what we have created. I have a respect for him that continues to grow. I feel sure there will be more to come from the two of us. To follow is the original essay from 2009.

Strictly speaking, the French word vernissage refers to the opening of an art exhibition.  I learned the word almost 40 years ago from a client with whom I had a history spanning better than 25 years. She was an art collector. Our conversation over the years spoke to the value of nurturing long term interests and commitments in the landscape.  I learned plenty from her, and from her garden, over the years. In the beginning, I planted flowers for her. Our relationship developed such that I began to redesign, reshape, and replant her landscape.  She was passionately involved in the disposition of every square foot of her 8 acre property. The years flew by, from one project to the next.  I have favorite projects. An edited collection of fine white peony cultivars dating from the late 19th and early 20th century was exciting to research and plant. A grove of magnolia denudata “Ivory Chalice” came a few years later. Another year we completely regraded all of the land devoted to lawn, and regrassed. I learned how to operate a bulldozer, I so wanted to be an intimate and hands on part of the sculpting of the ground. We had a relationship that I still think about.

There were disasters to cope with, as in the loss of an enormous old American elm. Deterring deer became nearly a full time job. Nature is like that. As mean and spiteful as it is giving. Spring would invariably bring or suggest something new. All these years later, there is a body of work generated by the two of us that I call the landscape – that living and breathing discussion about nature that draws every gardener closer to the knowledge that life is equal parts mystery and miracle.

She sold this property some years ago.  Change comes sooner or later to people and gardens alike. The landscape of her new and much smaller property was a design challenge for the both of us.  That new landscape was all about a conversation about letting go of what had brought her so much pleasure, and embracing the challenges posed by starting over. Making that move with her from one large landscape to a city lot landscape was just plain hard. That transition was not pretty for either of us. I am sorry to say that we broke up over the stress of this move. I am sure she felt just as bad about it as I did. I ran in to her some years later. We talked up a storm, as if nothing untoward had ever happened. This treasured client passed away September 20, 2017, at the age of 86. It was more than hard for me to bid her farewell. I will never forget her. She encouraged me to be the best that I could be. She trusted my eye, and I loved hers. The following is in sincere regard, love, and respect for Marianne.

In a broader sense, vernissage might refer to any opening. The opening of the gardening season has a decidedly fresh ring to it.  I routinely expect the winter season to turn to spring,  and it always does, sooner or later. Every spring opening has its distinctive features. Some springs are notable for their icy debut. Grape hyacinths and daffodils ice coated and glittering and giant branches crashing to the ground-this is not so unusual. Snow can be very much a part of the landscape in mid April. This year is a challenge like no other to all. Gardening at its most distilled is in many ways a solitary pursuit. What gets shared after that high voltage one on one relationship is a wealth of information, interest, discussion and passion that I believe will transmit a love for the garden from one generation of gardeners to the next.

I usually associate spring with the singing of the birds. I hardly noticed the singing this year, until this past week. The cold that has been reluctant to leave means there has been much more anticipation than experience.  I see a few small signs now. The snowdrops are in bloom, but they look bedraggled. The magnolia stellata is still silent. Perhaps there will be no flowers this year, but perhaps there will be a few. To add to, revise, or reinvent my relationship with nature is a challenge I usually anticipate. It has been hard to rev up this time around. This persistent bad news reduces my spirit to a puddle on the ground. A client suggested yesterday that February had been steady at 30 degrees, and March seems to be in a a chilly and threatening holding pattern that could last for months. How well said. But truth be told, spring is finally within sight, in a chilly and miserly sort of way. Everywhere I see fat buds, waiting for that signal to proceed. I have hellebores in bloom. Thanks to the heavens for them. Spring is on the way.

Much of what I love about landscape design has to do with the notion of second chances. I have an idea. I put it to paper. I do the work of installing it.  Then I wait for an answer back. This is the most important part of my work-to be receptive to hearing what gets spoken back. The speeches come from everywhere-the design that could be better here and more finished there. The client, for whom something is not working well, chimes in. The weather, the placement and planting final exam test my knowledge and skill. The land whose form is beautiful but whose drainage is heinous teaches me a thing or two about good planning. The sky and the ground is in the process of opening up.  The singing comes from everywhere. I make changes, and then more changes. I wait for this to grow in and that to mature. I stake up the arborvitae hedge gone over with ice, and know it will be years or more anticipating the hoped for recovery. I might take this out, or move it elsewhere.  That evolution of a garden seems to have ill defined beginnings, an uncertain mid ground, and an equally ill defined end.

VERNISSAGE (4)This spring will see an average share of burned evergreen and dead shrubs. The winter cold and wind was neither here nor there. I am still wearing winter clothes. But no matter what the last season dished out, sooner or later, I get my spring. I can compost my transgressions. The sun shines on the good things, and the not so good things, equally.  It is my choice to take my chances, and renew my interest. The birds singing this first day of April l means it is time to take stock.

I can clean up winter’s debris. My eye can be fresh, if I am of a mind to be fresh.  I can coax or stake what the heavy snow crushed.  I can prune back the shrubs damaged by the voles eating the bark.  I can trim the sunburn from the yews and the boxwood.  I can replace what needs replacing, or rethink an area all together. Three years ago I removed 100 Hicks yews that have been in my garden for close to 20 years. They have been ailing for years in a way that defied any remedy. I now have 60 feet of planter boxes, that will be mine to plant for a third season. It is unclear when I will be able to plant, but I have hope.  I can look over what I did the first time, and make changes. I can wait. Being a gardener, I know all about waiting.  A pair of new arbors installed over a year ago hold roses, clematis and Dutchman’s Pipe. I see buds on those plants. I can sit in the early spring sun, and soak up the possibilities. I can sculpt ground. I can move all manner of soil, plant seeds, renovate, plant new.  What I have learned can leaven the ground under my feet-if I let it.  Spring will scoop me up.  Does this not sound good?

April 1 marked 33  years that Rob and I began working together, and 29 years that the shop has been bringing our version of the garden to all manner of interested gardeners. That relationship endures, and evolves.  Suffice it to say that Detroit Garden Works is an invention from the two of us that reflects the length and the depth of our mutual interest in the garden. In 1996, our shop was a one of a kind. We plan to keep it that way. No matter how hard the winter, no matter how hard the news, once we smell spring in the air, we stir.

Our shop reopened for the spring season on March 1,  like countless other garden businesses – as well we should be. Today it feels like spring is on the way.  Monday’s forecast calls for an inch of snow. Rob says it takes nature quite a while to make up her mind about changing seasons.  Today you will see, smell, and hear it. As for tomorrow, I can only recommend that you persevere.

Detroit Garden Works March 31 2020

Detroit Garden Works April 2025

 

Posted on: April 4, 2025 30 Comments
Filed Under: Uncategorized