The attribution has been written down in many slightly varying forms, but the gist of  Henry Ford’s famed quote goes something like this:  If you think you can, or if you think you can’t,  either way you’ll  be right.  My most serious reason for having this on my mind this minute is a client, of whom I am very fond, who is facing a lengthy and complicated surgery which will be followed by a trying rehab/recovery time-coming up first thing tomorrow morning.  According to his wife Jeannie, he is remarkably unfazed by the whole affair.  She says he has not devoted much time or effort to worrying, or talking about worrying,  as he basically thinks he  can do this.  By no means do I mean to suggest he is a fatalist, passively awaiting his fate.  Plain and simple, he not only thinks he can, he knows he can.  I don’t believe this confidence to be a genetically derived personality trait.  I think there is an art to living a life, and he is treating his life as such.  The science of his situation is not his life.

I have another client who has for several years grown vegetables in the lot next door, under the shade of mature oak trees.  His tomato plants are twelve feet tall, his bean vines bear beans, there are vegetables of all kinds-enough to go around the entire neighborhood.  Anything and everything I have ever learned about growing vegetables successfully would suggest his garden would fail; it is anything but a failure.

I grew up in a household in which all of science was held in considerable regard.  My Mom, the consummate scientist, virologist, microbiologist, who put her mathematics to use studying genetics, did however stop short of  worship.  When she thought I was old enough to understand (I think I was about 38), she did explain that what she actually held in such great regard was the beauty of science, not the certainty of science. She believed that whether the sum total of all scientific knowledge was one millimeter or 100 miles from a perfect knowledge and understanding of life-no matter.  In her opinion, it comes to nothing –  how little or how great the distance is between the end of science and the beginning of life;  that gap can never be closed.  Hope if you are ever gravely ill, she said,  that your scientist physician is also a skilled artist, as he or she may wish to diagnose and treat you with as much as what he imagines will work, as what science might dictate will work.  Working the science is an art, she said.

Good horticulture makes certain demands, and they cannot be ignored.  But inexplicably, some science-driven choices I was certain would work, do not work.  At 59 I observe that the sum total of all the science of horticulture I have absorbed in 25 years does not enable me to grow a decent columbine, not anywhere, not under any circumstance.  My scientific knowledge is a big pile of conflicting information always on the verge of decomposition.  The more years I study the science, and work, the further I seem to be from a definition of life beyond its miracle.

Does this mean that I can grow geraniums in deep shade, and ferns in the desert-of course not. However I do believe that there are many ways in which things can work.  There is not one way to grow roses.  There are many ways to grow roses that work.  If I so choose to believe I can,  then I will figure out a way to make roses work.

The day I met Fred and Jeannie, their landscape was wild, robustly overgrown, unuseable-I wondered how I could possibly make sense of it.  They did not wonder that at all; they knew I could.  They are as optimistic, generous, and enthusiastic as any two people could possibly be. Some two years later, how they have chosen to live, shows. The garden is light and airy, spacious, and graceful.  The waterfalls are working, there is a third pond, there are vegetables and flowers growing , there are spaces to read, nap and entertain.  The choices they have made have proven to be right for them.  They have no doubt that the best is yet to come; they are so right.

A client broached the topic.  “I am afraid I have tunnel vision about my landscape, and I don’t even know it”.  She made me laugh. That is a paradox if I ever heard one; I told her.   If the words were coming out, the idea had already taken hold.  It says a lot about a certain kind of good design process that she would even consider the pitfalls of  tunnel vision.  It is worth worrying about-no question.  Ranking right up there with sheets that have been on the bed one too many days,  every gardener needs to think about what it would be, how it could  be better, to make a change or two.  Do new. Prune up, remove, take a new direction-get fresh.  Think about what it would mean not to have something. I have an old, big, and not good looking maple on my driveway. What is left of a crown that has been greatly thinned by scald and maple decline, does not screen any untoward view.  What would it be like to cut that thing down, and put a sculpture on the trunk that has been left really high?  As I view the tree from my Romeo and Juliet balcony, a tall trunk and sculpture might be striking. Pleasing.  Better than what I look at now.

Am I a victim of my own tunnel vision?  The tree was fairly mature the day I moved in 15 years ago, albeit in better condition than it is now.  If its always been there, does that prove it should always be there? Getting fresh can be plenty scary, especially when it involves taking down a tree.  But sometimes a tree is just one of God’s biggest weeds. Just because something is big, doesn’t make it precious. I would never take down a healthy  tree on a whim; I would rather design around it, or showcase it.  It is a case of tunnel vision, though, when you can’t see that some trees are just weeds.

Tunnel vision is as common as a dandelion in a lawn.  Don’t worry if you have them every so often. Start to worry when your one dandelion is starting to colonize.  I have a neighbor who has thrown his Christmas tree in his back yard for the past two years.  Now he has 3 little dead magnolias he put in, and didn’t water; they are still in the ground.  And later, plastic pots on their sides have the skeletons of  dead plants in them.  A decaying rowboat makes another statement.  He somehow got the idea his backyard was a place for refuse; now it has become a refuse dump.   Never mind him; my Princeton Gold maples are screening that mess from my view.  But if you come to some day,  and find you have tunnel vision colonies, get the best professional help you can find.

I am the first to admit that I am my own worst enemy in my yard.  I have a thing about history in a garden.  I have two old Palabin lilacs on standard that I inherited; their heads must be 8 feet in diameter.  I have always barked underneath them-why?  Because that has been their history.  I know there are plenty of times I would give anything for a good designer to shake me.  Even when I do get it, from Buck, or a friend, I still can be stubborn about holding on to what has always been for dear life.  The process of change is not really that charming.

I lived in my house for 6 years doing nothing except watering, and barking the beds I inherited.  It finally occurred to me that no matter how busy I was, if I were going to get a garden made in what lifetime I had left, I had better get moving. The best thing about sponsoring a garden tour to benefit the Greening of Detroit was raising 12,000.00 for them.  The second best thing was hearing people tell me they were inspired to ditch the blinders, and take on a project that had been been staring at them for a good while.  As I like to be encouraged too, this felt good.

In my dreams, I would throw off the constraints of my history, I would entertain new ideas;  I would embrace the unknown. I would research.  I would stop fussing, and look at things from a different angle, or in different light.  I would learn, digest, and make plans.  I would fume, and come up to grade like a firecracker that just got its fuse lit.

Every day I ask my clients to give up the ideas they have had about their landscapes for a new and fresh idea.  Old landscapes may need some chopping, some rearranging.  and some re-orienting, I tell them. There are those places that only a bulldozer can rescue.  Or places that need more lawn, or a thorough cleanup.  I am familiar with their shock.  One very good client whom I told over the phone that she needed to take down two gigantic spruce trees that covered most of the gorgeous facade  of her house, and plant a garden there instead, told me to shut up; then she hung up on me.  Two days later the trees were gone.  My clients put up with plenty from me; I know  first hand that feeling of dread and distaste that comes along with knowing there needs to be some changes made.  But in truth, a little change can be like a new sparkplug for your gardening engine.

I worked outside last night until 8, and was up at 5:45 this morning; it promises to be a beautiful day.  The dogs are having breakfast, and I my coffee.  I need to go home, finish arranging the flowers for my terrace table, make sure my pots have enough water on them to go the entire day, and fret about whatever else I haven’t already fretted about.  But what becomes clear about being involved in this is how good an experience it has been-even ahead of the actual event.

I have consulted with every gardener and looked over every garden-not really needing to.  They all look breathtaking; each garden has an aura of care and committment that glows.  No matter all the problems with cold weather, bugs and fungus, the lack of rain – no matter the star plant that looks for all the world like it is not going to perform for company – the sun is shining at each one of these properties.  I have a Princeton Gold maple with sun scalded leaves at the top-it’s glaringly obvious to me that it looks bad.  Why this tree is acting up, I have no idea, and neither does Tim Ortwine who looks after all my trees and shrubs.  He does tell me that he believes the tree will pull out of this, and be fine; that is the important part, right? My unmatched pots have become a source of amusement to me.  We have sold 225 tickets to this garden tour as of this moment, and I am very sure not one person will mention this tree to me.  They will be talking to me about what they like.

Susie called two days ago to tell me that gardening was bloody hard work, and that I had worn her out.  Janet called yesterday to say that there were a few spots that were not perfect-did I mind? She is so tired she may not be able to make the reception.   I reminded her that she has five acres that she has put her mark and her care to for umpteen years, and that was what people would see.  She will be energized today by the interaction and discussion with her visitors-I bet I see her here later. Karen welcomed two people into her garden yesterday, to two people who got mixed up about the tour date; come on in, she said.  What’s so striking here is the sharing that’s going on; I am watching people come forward in a really good way.   

All in all, I would highly recommend finding something to get involved with that means a lot to you, and help out the best you can.  My tour hasn’t even started yet, and it already has been so good for me.  I am beginning to really understand the idea that that whatever you give comes back to you ten fold. I am very sure every person who opens their garden today will hear the thank you idea many times over, and in many different, personal, and individual ways, as well they should.  People doing good-its a pretty grand thing to see, and be part of.