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.
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
I love your writing! I want to visit your haven since I followed you from the beginning! My dream so much! Both of you are the finest top notch out here! So beautifully written Deborah! Living down here in Florida panhandle it is truly a challenge to find knowledgeable support. I do call the extension and it’s ok here; they are always in a “hurry.” Aren’t we all busy bees 🐝. I sure want to drive to Detroit just to drool and dream in person! Thank you so beautiful Deborah!
Dear Bliss, we may be a long ways away from each other, but in other ways we are probably close. Thank you for writing. my best, Deborah
What a wonderful post, Deborah. About 10 years ago, after some years of contentiousness with a sibling, I inherited a 90 year old house in northern California, which belonged to my parents. It is the house I grew up in. As one can imagine, it is in need of a lot of work. The garden, however has proved to be the most enjoyable aspect of my home. There are many huge old growth tree, and though, sadly, I’ve lost a few over the years, it is wonderful to see it evolve. I have to remind myself that it’s not murder – it’s just crop rotation! At some point I will have to sell it, which is a terrible thing to contemplate, and I’m sure I will have much the same reaction as your friend. In the meantime, I have to tell myself how lucky I am to have it now.
Dear Lisa, thank you for your letter. It has to be terrible to contemplate turning loose of a place and a garden that has meant so much for so long. Hoping that day is a long ways off. But for the moment it sounds like you have a place you belong to, a place with meaning, and a garden that satisfies. Bravo. best, Deborah
Thank you as always for a view of your world. I read along and whisper “yes a lost connection”
“Yes a scatter of the robust show that was hoped for.”
Yes nature has oscillations.
It is finally spring
The white blooms all look so fresh! Always nice to hear from you.
Nice to hear from you too Christine. White is always fresh-no matter the season.But especially in the spring.
Dear Deborah your words are as well written as ever… and they always give me hope and assurance that gardening is the best remedy for many things, and a teacher of just as many.. I have been following you from the onset of your blog and remember this post well.. you probably won’t remember me, but I drive from Ontario Canada with a friend, for one of your garden events and to see your magnificent shop… it did not disappoint and left us giddy.. thank you and hopefully one day I will visit again!
Dear Nella, I can’t remember a lot of things, but I do remember people who garden. And I certainly remember you. I am always happy when you would make the trip. That is quite a vote of confidence and appreciation. thank you. my best, Deborah
I discovered your blog posts in 2011 as I was preparing to retire and we were building what was to be our forever house in North Carolina. A very talented landscape designer installed the basics, including a living fence on our 2 acre property. I spent almost every day for the next 5 years creating more spaces, planting shrubs, moving more, pruning hedges using your string and level method. I still recall with satisfaction a cold day in January when I ran across 5 gallon pots of bare Limelight hydrangeas for $7 because no one buys things like that in January. They thrived. You inspired me every day. As it happened, that was not our forever house. We now live in Colorado on 5 acres on which we must share our plants with deer and elk. At 79, I am grateful to be active and healthy enough to garden in a completely new way, but I think of your influence on my gardening life often. Thank you.
Dear Kaye, thank you so much for your letter. I am grateful for it. And I will not soon forget it. my best, Deborah
Congratulations Deborah
Your journey is magical, one that I watch from afar. You are an inspiration, and sharing your knowledge places you high above most.
You have contributed to my landscape business in both ideas and product.
thank you, thank you
Thank you thank you Debra for writing. my best to you, Deborah
I have missed your writings for the last few years. I always look forward to them. It was so exciting to meet you all those years ago. I’m so happy you are back. As a lifelong gardener and horticulturalist you are inspiration
Thank you yet again for your posts – so beautifully written and a moment to pause in a busy day to just be. I live in the UK but my daughter is in upstate NY. On a visit a while ago I bought her some limelight hydrangeas for her garden and was so glad for the instructions in your last post on how to prune them. We both say ‘Thankyou’. With all good wishes for another gardening year and more posts.
I love that you and Rob became a team. I feel like in many ways it has freed you up to do even more of the “Deborah” parts of Detroit Garden Works. Together you both made your dreams better!
After reading this, I simply bowed my head and breathed, “Amen”.
I was so happy to discover your post in my email today. I have followed you for quite awhile and love your stories.Thank you.
I have always looked forward to receiving and reading your blogs. They always brightened up my day. Thank you but I do miss not receiving them as often as previously. But, I know I move much slower than several years ago and it takes me longer to get garden work or housework done now at 77. Have lost to many family members and friends recently. God Bless You!!
Love your posts! So well written and visions of your delightful shop seem to be wrapped around every word. One of my favorite inspirations is standing in your shop and imagining…what a gift!
l was coming there even before Rob. I remember the beginning of the beautiful living green wall.You also sat on your knees painting that unusual treatment of the floor. Detroit Garden Works will never lose its SPECIAL charm.Have a fruitful season.
Dear Diane, I am not sure what you mean. Rob and I worked together for four years prior to Detroit Garden Works opening. He has been here since the very beginning. Thank you for your well wishes. best, Deborah
I very much enjoyed your memory of a favourite client; how you collaborated (8acres!), fell out, and reconnected – the stuff of life.
Hi. Thank you so much for this post; I am one of Marianne’s sons. Your post was such a beautiful and emotional tribute to the relationship you had with Marianne and the properties in Bloomfield Township and Birmingham. Thank you for your years of friendship and work with Marianne and for making her homes such beautiful places.
Dear Kurt, I greatly appreciate that you wrote. I adored her. many thanks and best, Deborah
Deborah,
You are a very talented artist. The way you landscape, photograph and write are truly impressive. I always look forward to your newsletters. You give us all hope that spring is indeed forthcoming. I also love the way you move things around in your garden. I do the same in mine. Spring finds me walking my yard looking for the Hostas peeking through the soil. My hellebores make me smile.I look forward to another visit to your shop.
This was such a thoughtful and moving reflection. The way you’ve woven personal milestones with the rhythm of the garden season captures the essence of what makes landscape design such a meaningful, evolving craft. Your honesty about change, uncertainty, and the ongoing process of learning resonates deeply—especially in a profession where growth is both literal and symbolic. Thank you for continuing to share your journey and for reminding us that every season, no matter how challenging, holds the possibility of renewal.
I was wondering why I’ve been in a New England garden slump these past couple years? I’ve been missing your encouragement & inspiration!!! You are a breath of fresh spring air!! I feel invigorated again, thank you Deborah!