True Dirt

western hills ending

Happy or otherwise, endings must follow beginnings. So the month of May has been a series of endings here in my small universe. In the larger universe there have been endings too. One of them, noted in the New York Times on May 12, caught my attention. It is a bit unusual to read about California coastal gardens or nurseries in the NYT but this particular garden, The Western Hills rare plant nursery and garden, is one I had for years heard gardener friends wax poetic about but had never actually made the journey to see it myself. This May, the nursery closed and the three-acre garden was put on the market after a 32-year run.

My job having just ended (after a run of three years and seven months) on May 20, I set out on a week day for Occidental, a two-hour drive north from my garden in Oakland--just three days before the gates of Western Hills would close for good. It being the Friday of the Memorial Day weekend I got stranded in the highway-clogging mass exodus from the Bay Area. At Petaluma, a 40-minute drive that took two hours, I turned west toward the coast. A good decision, since nobody was wandering the byways of northern Marin or southern Sonoma counties. The cow country was beautiful. Swaths of sky blue Ithuriel's Spear in the roadside grasses and wisps of coastal fog drifting across blue skies. After Valley Ford, a hamlet infused with the aroma of dairy manure, I turned left onto Bohemian Highway and headed to Occidental.

In Occidental, a one-Main Street town, I turned left at the stop sign onto Coleman Valley Road and meandered my way to the carved redwood sign announcing I had found Western Hills. Five cars were parked in the gravel turnout on the two-lane road. A hand printed sign warned that parking on the road could get you towed or ticketed by the highway patrol. Beyond the carved sign, a rustic pergola appeared to lead into a forest. A few other curiosity seekers wandered away down the gravel paths. I walked past the nursery area--some aisles of handmade tables laden with plants in 4-inch pots, many of them posted with "not for sale" notices--and headed into the three-and-a-half acre garden with digital camera in hand.

Nested among small hills and surrounded by an undulating 8-foot high redwood fence to keep out marauding deer, the garden is seen by a network of narrow paths that alternate between intimate plant tableaux and kalaidescopic vistas of multicolored shrubs and tree canopies.

Unusual plant specimens--none labeled--popped into view here and there. Actually, almost everything was unusual. And I had no idea what family the thing belonged to, much less a species name.The particular genius of the garden is the juxtapositioning of color and texture--mostly of leaf, not flower. Many variegated leaves and unusual colors--gold or red or white--of normally green-leaved plants and trees. Surprising blooms appeared suddenly in view as the paths twisted, in neon colors and towering above my head. Some kind of agave? Aloes? I have no idea....

A "dry" border in full sunlight displayed familiar things--euphorbias, salvias, pentstemon--and then I spotted something very strange in the middle of the border.

I had to bushwhack across the bed to get close enough to photograph it. I found myself staring into the middle of a plant that, conceptually at least, was pineapple-like. But it was covered in what appeared to be turquoise plastic flowers. How do I identify this thing? I don't know where to begin.

At the end of my journey through garden wonderland I came across something utterly familiar to every gardener. Well-used, weathered, lovingly sorted in their places...the tools of our trade.

(see more photos of Western Hills

Posted by briggs at June 6, 2005 3:36 PM