Talking Topiary
Topiary grouping in the incomparable Tone on Tone Antiques, Baltimore.
Several years back, I got a wicked-bad toothache. It was the very back tooth in my head, of course, the one practically sitting in the hinge of my jaw. Because I am a great big weenie at the dentist, and because I was going to have to take out a loan to fix the tooth, I asked the dentist to pull it. She was loath to remove the tooth, because, she was a dentist, and, I quote, “in the business of saving teeth.” We pulled the tooth, y’all. I have limits.
I said all that to say this: I get it now. I understand, Dr. Smith, why it pained you to remove a tooth that could have been saved. I performed a rescue not dissimilar this Autumn. I rescued something meaningful to me. Something that, on the sliding scale of priorities is frankly not up there with teeth. However, I enjoyed it much more than the attempt to save my tooth. It was a lot less painful, and it didn’t require the funny gas. I’m talking topiaries.
Oh, okaaay. This is not as important as dental health. There’s my disclaimer. However, the topiaries exceeded my expectations this growing season. The nursery gal told me to treat them as annuals, and I was prepared to do so. Over the season, though, it became clear that my myrtles were overachievers. They have a will to live. Therefore, I am rescuing them from the Polar Vortex that will inevitably overtake us.
I'm in love with topiary, because, like a lot of things horticulture, it is an art form; a type of living sculpture, with roots in ancient Greece. Topiary truly enhances clean lines, and lends a bit of formality. Generally, evergreens with woody stems and small leaves lend themselves to being sculpted. Think boxwood, yew, laurel, holly, and myrtle. Some herbs perform well as topiaries too, such as rosemary and thyme. (Bonus: they smell divine.) I grow myrtles, like my two topiary heroes, Bunny Mellon and Loi Thai.
Myrtle topiaries trained and clipped, ready to ship from Terrain
I’d be remiss, while talking topiary, if I did not pay homage to the mother of American topiary, Bunny Mellon. Dear, OCD Bunny; a woman after my own heart. I read in an Architectural Digest article that Bunny Mellon believed that “style was order and that order brought pleasure.” (Preach, Bunny.) I'm certain that's why topiary appealed to her. Topiary is the very definition of order that brings pleasure.
Bunny Mellon, at Oak Spring, her property in Virginia, in 1982. Photo courtesy of Architectural Digest
A self-taught, and prolific horticulturist, Rachel Lambert Mellon (nicknamed Bunny), was born in 1911. In those days, of course, women generally did not become landscape architects, especially heiresses such as herself. (Bunny’s dad was Robert Lambert, he of the Listerine fortune.) She wanted for nothing, young Bunny, yet yearned for one thing. Knowledge. From a very young age, little Bunny had a singe-minded focus: all things horticulture.
Bunny's potting shed photo courtesy of Fred R. Conrad/NYT
Her extensive travels afforded her a world view of horticulture and landscape design, which she honed and reinterpreted back home in Virginia. Among her many passions; topiaries. She cultivated topiaries of myrtle, thyme, rosemary, and santolina, a Mediterranean evergreen, in her orderly greenhouse. There is something so soothing about those rows and rows of evergreen balls, yielding to Bunny’s expert touch. She truly renewed mid-century America's interest in topiary.
Bunny Mellon, in her greenhouse with her beloved myrtle topiaries.
Today's recognized topiary guru is trendsetter Loi Thai, of Tone on Tone Antiques in Baltimore. Loi favors myrtles, and is a master of grouping them for impact. No doubt Bunny Mellon would have been a fan. He, too, grasps her style-is-order philosophy. Loi's style is best described as intentional. He weeds out the unecessary and uses each piece for maximum impact. It is exquisite. Loi has a lovely blog, where you can read about his homes, his shop, and his design work. He is a master of topiary, and pretty much everything else he touches.
I'm no Bunny Mellon or Loi Thai. But, inspiration is free, and I'm taking it from both. My own topiaries are myrtles that I chose over boxwood topiaries, mainly because they were cheaper. They have seduced me, however. I’ve fallen in love, admiring them when I pull into the driveway, or from afar as I walk my dogs. And - egads! - the aforementioned Polar Vortex is upon us. It's now or never.
Yes, Dr. Smith, you're a dentist. You're in the business of saving teeth. Well, I'm a gardener, doggone-it; I'm in the business of saving plants.
After assessing the situation, I decided repotting wasn’t an option. My myrtles had rooted all the way to the bottom of their substantial containers, and the pitiful pots I bought for transplanting looked like miniatures next to the topiaries. I was forced to break out the dolly and wheel them around the house, up the front steps, and into my accidental orangery, our south-facing dining room. It sounds easy, said real quick and separated by commas like that. In fact, it was a j-o-b.
It is the perfect spot, however, being that it's south-facing. There's a reason why the Europeans and English were so prolific with orangeries. They knew the secret about south-facing windows in the winter. They get the most sun. Plants like sun. Winter sun is scarce. Maximize winter sun with south-facing windows. Genius.
So, dining room it was. I watered. I waited. I prayed.
I left the light on when skies were gray.
Fast-forward four weeks...Would you put your peepers on this?!
They’re not dead! In fact, they’re thriving! There is actual new growth on there! I believe a Happy Dance is in order. (pause for Happy Dance)
It's early days yet, but I think I might have successfully rescued my topiaries, something (almost) as meaningful to me as my teeth. Yeah, I get it now.
Dear Dr. Smith,
I get it. Rescue feels good. Sorry about that tooth.
Stephanie
