In the Garden

top 10 tips for a better garden

From dappled shade to places for play, these elements stand out as essentials for the well-loved outdoor living space.

By Judith Phillips
Photography by Charles Mann

This article first appeared in Spring II 2008 Su Casa

See our web-exclusive plant list at the end of this article.

I’ve been perusing a book entitled 1001 Gardens You Must See Before You Die, a volume filled with grand places on the world stage. If ever you need an excuse to live long and travel, this is the tome for you. These gardens are wonderful to visit but perhaps no place like home. Scaling down the grandeur to more personal dimensions, what makes a garden worth living in? For me, 10 elements stand out as the indispensable outdoor living features in my garden.

Shade
I love the winter sun, but April through October I live in the shade. Trees and vine-covered arbors are de rigueur for comfort in the high desert. The intensity of light and heat that defines high-elevation arid climates makes dappled shade a plus for growing many plants that would take full sun in more temperate places, and the gardeners who tend those plants certainly thrive in leaf-cooled niches. The shade of drought-loving desert willows, screwbean, and honey mesquite is very light, and most xeric wildflowers will grow well near them. Hackberries, Chinese pistache, live oaks, and ‘Frontier’ and ‘Athena’ hybrid elms offer deeper shade. Flowers described as sun-loving in Western gardening books might not bloom as heavily under their canopies, but they might bloom longer into the summer sheltered from the heat.

Enclosure
Courtyards are traditional in arid climates for good reasons. The enormity of the Southwestern landscape is reined in to a more comfortable human scale; wind and rabbits looking for lunch are less of a menace. Personally, I love the contrast of looking out on wide-open spaces from places wrapped by walls. Green walls—windbreaks of soaptree yuccas, Afghan pines, ‘Wichita Blue’ junipers, or desert willows and half-wall dividers of fernbush, threeleaf and littleleaf sumacs, bird of paradise, and threadleaf sage make larger spaces into more manageable garden rooms. From these private retreats, I may watch the sun rise or set, bask in the winter sun or relax in summer shade, and keep company with songbirds and butterflies. Life is good in the garden’s embrace.

Fragrance
When we were tots, my sister and I shared a swing beneath a gigantic lilac, where we were suspended in a cloud of purple perfume. I’ve been led by my nose ever since. I love being stopped midstep along my garden paths by the scents of lavender and rosemary, honeysuckle, spicy currant and mountain mahogany, sweet broom and jujube, musky cliffrose and fernbush, pungent sage and pine. When it’s raining in the desert nearby, the fresh scent of inaptly named creosote bush drifts on the wind and brings hope that a moisture-laden cloud will drift our way as well. In every season, the opportunity to be transported by the garden’s perfume never gets old.

Food
I planted my first vegetable garden—large enough to feed an army—in the deep loam of central Indiana, in parallel rows of military precision. To deter rabbits, I dusted the soil heavily with blood meal, and my roommate’s dog thought I’d made a stinky dust bath just for him. The center of the garden came up a swirling mix of marigolds and green beans, squash and nasturtiums, carrots and chard framed by borders of tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants with garden sage at each corner. In order to harvest, we wore paths through the maze, and the verdant mélange was so beautiful that friends asked to be married there.

Despite double fencing, in the New Mexico desert our gardens—what we could keep the quail from consuming as seedlings—fed cottontails and pocket gophers a gourmet diet. Now I put my energy into fruits such as figs and jujubes that not only love our xeric attitude, but also put their produce outside easy reach of furry poachers. Asparagus grown between the New Mexico olives seems to elude wildlife also, and I can usually nibble a few handfuls of native currants that grow along the path to the greenhouse before the birds find them. Farmers’ markets are a fine way to supply the rest.

Color
Life is never black and white. Blazing colors are easily had in any xeric garden. For me, spring begins with winter jasmine; golden currant, species tulips and grape hyacinths, catmint and soapwort soon follow. Then the floodgates open with a dozen penstemon species, Greek and ‘Moonshine’ yarrow, mule’s ears, giant four o’clock and at least a hundred other trees, shrubs, vines, and perennial flowers bursting into bloom. Hummingbird mints, ‘Cerise Queen’, ‘Red Beauty’, and ‘Terra Cotta’ yarrows carry the color into summer, and gayfeather, asters, and Maximilian sunflower rally on until frost.

Individual flowers and colors don’t make the garden—playing two or more contrasting or complimentary colors against each other creates the best show. Magenta giant four o’clock with purple dwarf butterfly bush or blue mist, Mexican blue sage with cliffrose or red yucca, ‘Rosy Glow’ sedum with ‘Siskiyou Blue’ fescue, ‘Hopley Purple’ oregano with giant sacaton, matchmaking is a gardener’s game.

Subtlety
Until I began gardening in New Mexico, I didn’t think much about foliage textures. Leaves were various sizes and shapes of green, a neutral backdrop for the brilliant hues of flowers. But arid-adapted plants can be a hundred shades of silver, blue, sage, or emerald, covered with scales or fine hairs to reflect sunlight or a lacquer-like gloss to reduce evaporation. Likewise leaves may be minutely dissected, giving them a ferny or lacy look, long and slender, or held at odd angles on the stems, all in aid of hoarding the water absorbed by the roots. These arid-adaptive devices result in a brocade of subtle shades of silver green and elegant textures that belie their drought-busting intent and give this garden designer a great tool with which to add depth to her palette.

Art
Whether the focal point is a skillfully pruned Vitex, smooth stones lying on a weathered slab of wood, or a finely rendered sculpture, art belongs in the garden. One of the many perks of working with so many different people on garden designs is that I frequently witness the amazing breadth of human creativity. In one garden I’ll find a grid of bowling balls half-sunken in a mat of Greek germander, and in others a collection of birdhouses, a woven willow trellis, or a leaf motif embossed on the footings for ramada posts. Gates are frequently an outlet for the creative urges of both professional metalworkers and amateur woodworkers. For now my garden features sculpted plants and assemblages of found objects as its art, but future plans include a rock mosaic drainage swale and woven salt cedar twig trellises.

Destinations
I love to wander aimlessly along garden paths just to see “qué pasa?” Soon after we moved to what has become our oasis, we found ourselves drawn at sunset to the sandy banks of our arroyo—the perfect spot to lie on the “beach” and watch the stars fill the sky. Several paths now lead to that night venue. As our desert willows have matured, hummingbirds have begun to work the lower branches, leaving the tree top to nectar-sipping orioles. As the leaves began to filter the sunlight, a bench seemed a necessary addition. Lingering on the bench revealed the hummingbird-oriole timeshare. Over the years several such stop offs along paths, destinations created by the growing garden, have taken root, and who knows what lies ahead?

Seasons
I spent my childhood where winter meant being buried in snow, so spring was a thrilling event. Although summer was too humid, violent thunderstorms brought relief, and fireflies brightened still evenings. Autumn was a glorious array of red and gold foliage that turned the ground into a Persian carpet. Our seasons in the high desert are in many ways more subtle. The low angle of the winter sun illuminates the seed heads of bleached grasses. I attempt to ignore the wind as the timid overtures of translucent new leaves unfolding rapidly escalates to a full-on surge of spring flowers. Just as quickly as spring rushes in, summer may descend with its scorching days and pleasantly cool evenings serenaded by whirring cicadas accompanied by the bass harmony of toads. Autumn is still my favorite time of year. Pistache and sumac satisfy my craving for scarlet, but the signature of fall here includes purple asters and gayfeather contrasting chamisa, turpentine bush, groundsel, and a dozen other golden sunflowers. These annual transitions offer the comfortable paradox of stability in change.

Space to play
My two young granddaughters have reacquainted me with the value of play. Improved coordination, new experiences in our surroundings, and new understanding of basic and complex ideas all flow from play—important work cleverly disguised as fun. I always find places in my garden where whatever I plan doesn’t seem to take hold. I used to think of these as trouble spots, problems to resolve. Now I realize these gaps in the garden are really Gaia-given opportunities for play.

Gardens are a process. A bit of bare ground invites experimentation. When a series of bulletproof perennials such as cardinal penstemon, gayfeather, and desert zinnia all decline the offer to take up residence in a space, it might be time to play with the idea of sculpture, a birdbath, or a boulder. Maybe this is the time to build that frame of stones fitted together to contain a bed of colored crusher fines that can be combed into patterns in mini-tribute to Japan’s Ryoanji. I can create swirls or geometric grids depending upon my mood. Will birds add their tracks to my design? Will wind sweep the slate clean? Every gardener needs a place to play.

A widely acknowledged expert and author on regionally appropriate gardening, Judith Phillips has designed more than 900 residential gardens, collaborates on design teams for public landscape projects, and teaches a native and xeric plant class at the University of New Mexico.

Natural selections

Shade
Chinese pistache (Pistacia chinensis)
Desert willow (Chilopsis linearis)
‘Frontier’ and ‘Athena’ hybrid elms (Ulmus x parvifolia)
Hackberries (Celtis occidentalis and Celtis reticulata)
Honey mesquite (Prosopis glandulosa)
Live oaks (Quercus fusiformis, Quercus emoryi, and Quercus turbinella)
Screwbean mesquite (Prosopis pubescens)

Enclosure
Afghan pines (Pinus eldarica)
Bird of paradise (Caesalpinia gilliesii)
Fernbush (Chamaebatieria millefolium)
Littleleaf sumac (Rhus microphylla)
Soaptree yucca (Yucca elata)
Threadleaf sage (Artemisia filifolia)
Threeleaf sumac (Rhus trilobata)
‘Wichita Blue’ junipers (Juniperus scopulorum ‘Wichita Blue’)

Fragrance
Brooms (Psorothamnus scoparius and Genista hispanica)
Cliffrose (Purshia mexicana)
Creosote bush (Larrea tridentate)
Golden currant (Ribes aureum)
Honeysuckle (Lonicera x heckrottii ‘Gold Flame’)
Jujube (Zizyphus jujuba)
Lavender (Lavandula x intermedia ‘Grosso’, ‘Alba’, and ‘Fred Boutin’)
Lilac (Syringa vulgaris)
Mountain mahogany (Cercocarpus ledifolius and Cercocarpus intricatus)
Pine (Pinus pinea)
Rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis ‘Arp’, ‘Madeline Hill’, and ‘Tuscan Blue’)
Sage (Salvia officinalis)

Food
Asparagus (Asparagus UC 157)
Fig (Ficus carica)
New Mexico olives (Forestiera neomexicana)

Color
Blue mist (Caryopteris x clandonensis)
Catmint (Nepeta x faassenii ‘Walker’s Low’)
‘Cerise Queen’, ‘Red Beauty’, and ‘Terra Cotta’ (Achillea millefolium cultivars)
Cliffrose (Purshia mexicana)
Dwarf butterfly bush (Buddleia nanhoensis)
Gayfeather (Liatris punctata)
Giant four o’clock (Mirabilis multiflora)
Giant sacaton (Sporobolus wrightii)
Golden currant (Ribes cereum)
Grape hyacinths (Muscari armeniacum)
Greek yarrow (Achillea ageratifolia)
‘Hopley Purple’ oregano (Origanum laevigatum)
Hummingbird mints (Agastache cana and Agastache rupestris)
Maximilian sunflower (Helianthus maximiliani)
Mexican blue sage (Salvia chamaedryoides)
‘Moonshine’ yarrow (Achillea taygetea)
Mule’s ears (Wyethia scabra)
Penstemon (Penstemon ambiguus, angustifolius, baccharifolius, linariodes, palmeri, pinifolius, pseudospectabilis, strictus et.al.)
Red yucca (Hesperaloe parviflora)
‘Rosy Glow’ stonecrop (Sedum x ‘Rosy Glow’)
‘Siskiyou Blue’ fescue (Festuca x ‘Siskiyou Blue’)
Soapwort (Saponaria ocymoides)
Winter jasmine (Jasminum nudiflorum)

Seasons
Chamisa (Ericameria nauseosus)
Groundsel (Senecio multicapitata)
Purple asters (Machaeranthera bigelovii)
Turpentine bush (Ericameria laricifolia)