What is not to love that comes in a box? A birthday present, a book, a new fleece, a pair of Hunter muck boots or new pair of pruners, a working washing machine, a flat of sweet woodriff from Bluestone; the box creates all kind of excitement about what is inside. Anyone who knows me has heard me wax eloquent on the subject of the box. I like to make them, and I love to plant them up. Big planting spaces permit plenty of garden expression. The giant Tuscan planter box pictured above was a summer home for a giant and unwieldy agave. In its plastic pot, it looked dangerous and standoffish. In the box, plenty gorgeous. This box of generous proportions visually organizes my entire side yard garden. Anything planted inside a box reads as a present to the garden.
We make these Egren boxes. I named this box after Michael and Karen; they were the first to order them. I designed them to solidly reflect the history of the classical orangery box, in a shape and configuration of my own. The classic French made orangery boxes have steel corners, but they are made of wood, and painted. The mild French climate supports this material-I was after a gorgeous box that would persist. Egren boxes-my idea of a box for our climate.
There are those landscapes that call for boxes. These painted rectangles on the porch planted with boxwood are in support of four original Jardin du Soleil French orangery boxes placed at the four corners of the drivecourt. That support is clean, and elegant. The trimmed boxwood in the generous boxes-a beautiful and unexpected proportion. They separate the porch from the drive and walk. Box, boxed-a statement of very few words with big impact. Should you be considering wood boxes, having a galvanized metal liner made to fit will confine the water in the soil to the soil. Repeated soaking damages wood and paint.
These English iron boxes have galvanized steel liners that have been painted. The large square of soil they hold make them perfect for topiary evergreen plantings. Evergreens planted with their roots above ground-consider a box. A big box. Well-grown healthy evergreens have big rootballs. Undersizing the planter is asking for trouble. Big boxes are a good home-a home that has room for future growth. There will be some space for an underplanting. Most painted finishes on metal will require maintenance sooner or later, unless that rusty looky suits you.
A beautiful box can anchor a driveway, a terrace-or in this case, a terrace. These brick piers were designed specifically to hold these gorgeous French boxes. If you are looking at boxes for your garden, pay mind to those designs that get that box up off the ground plane. Boxes glued to the ground-dowdy. If I am placing boxes without feet, I try to set them on gravel; this makes the box look dressed up. Set up a bit, a box can be quite elegant. The air space at the bottom also permits water to drain away freely.
A box can make a big statement about a change of grade. On the ground plane, bluestone, thyme, and magnolias. These boxes deliver visual delight at a different level. This makes for a space all the the more interesting. When you design, look at all the levels at your disposal; these boxwood are pruned to the height of the stone table, reinforcing the statment being made about this plane. This small courtyard, completely enclosed by the home, was designed primarily for the views from inside, not so much for utility. Should you need a little punctuation, consider a box. A small square, a giant square, a rectangle of note.
These English made concrete planters in the classical Italian style are not exactly boxy. But for the purposes of this essay, they qualify. These V-shaped squares would take any garden from the the sleepy to the sublime. I so love their solid and understated shape and decoration-I could plant an entire garden in these squares. 
No matter what I might engineer for my shop or my clients, I have a big love for classical Italian terra cotta. Baked clay boxes figure prominently in my scheme of things. Buck obligingly forged stands for my boxes. Up off the ground given 17 inches or so, these boxes enchant whomever might be seated on the terrace. Choosing containers for a terrace has much to do with what you will see, seated. These boxes have beautiful decoration on them. They are to my mind, a work of art. I like to look at these boxes as much as the flowers. Elevating them on stands puts them within visual reach.
A box may not immediately seem like an extraordinary garden feature. That is a matter of placement; I will leave that to you to sort out. For many years I had a pair of round Italian terra cotta pots in this spot. They were beautiful, planted up-but the box makes much of the transition from the deck level to the ground. It could be a box could do a similar thing for your garden.
Given that I took this picture September 24, why wouldn’t I be unprepared for the weather here this past week? Just three weeks ago, I still had my summer. Though describing any Michigan weather as “ordinary” is glossing over the truth, our weather ordinarily cools off at a slow enough pace to make keeping up with the job of putting the garden to sleep relatively easy. My fall cleanup and shovelling out is based on the distinction I draw between gardening, and housekeeping.
I have seen those properties that look as though every shred of organic debris has been blown, vacuumed up and disposed of weekly; anyone who has inadvertently turned a blower on themselves realize what an invasion they are. Every green leaf looks dusted; every surface has been swept, every shred or organic debris is bagged and removed. The stone is scrubbed clean, and the cushions are only on the furniture when company is in attendance. I like the look of cultivated soil as well as the next person, but all of the above is housekeeping, not gardening. Years ago a gardener whom I greatly respect, Marge Alpern, told me she disturbed her plants as little as possible. She maintained that plants can be worried such that they refuse to prosper. I think this is a point well taken. I will not take on the perennial gardens until much later in the fall.
A series of nights with temperatures hovering in the mid thirties left my pots looking like this-devastated. It does not matter one bit that I know this day is coming, I am never ready for it, nor do I like it. I do not like to let go. On a much more dramatic scale than the time changing to daylight savings, I adjust slowly, and poorly.
Coleus are astonishingly intolerant of cold weather. Anyone who does poorly with them is probably planting them out too early; every plant thrives in some conditions, and sulks in all else. This five foot diameter fiery orange ball was glorious all season; in late August the corgis were breaking off the branches encroaching on the doorway. They keep the extreme understory clear of any obstructions.
In what seemed like the blink of an eye my fireball shed almost every leaf. Unlike the gingko tree which sheds every leaf on that certain perfect fall day, leaving a beautiful pool of yellow on the ground, the coleus leaves dessicate, drop, and disappear before you can even mourn properly. 
My English-made Italian style pots were home to the biggest bouquet I have ever grown. The nicotiana mutabilis got busy throwing spikes in September, and the dahlias were blooming profusely. I like that extravagant and exuberant look. No matter how the day had gone, I could go home and congratulate myself on having grown one of the annual wonders of the western world. You may be laughing, but how the look of it pleased and cheered me. 
Though the nicotiana mutabilis is yet bravely defending its home, the cold pierced the heart of the whole. Buck is always amazed and amused and the depth and breadth of the despair which attends the beginning of the end of my gardening year. I alternately rage and whine-he murmurs, and pours the wine. 
This sister to my pots, adapted for use as a fountain, bears all the signs of a season’s worth of mineral laden water, weather,heat and growth. Does that gorgeous Italianate face not seem completely grief stricken? 