Trees in flower

Last year, I was amazed by the spring display put on by the many flowering trees scattered throughout Leuven. Their profusion seems to be on a whole other level compared to flowering trees in Eastern Canada – each is literally an explosion of blooms. At other times of the year, this overwhelming bounty of flowers might be garish and unnatural. But now, after many months of grays, browns, and overcast skies, it's the most beautiful sight in the world. Here are a few pictures of what's been blooming in Leuven over the last two weeks.

Old fashioned saucer magnolia in the Leuven Begijnhof.


Cherry tree (don't know the variety) in bud and bloom.


Magnolia kobus, one of the most magnificent magnolias I have ever seen, in the Leuven Botanical garden.



Kerria japonica in the Leuven botanical garden.

Flowering pear trained along the brick wall in the walled garden of the Leuven Botanical Garden. The plants on the south and west walls are in full bloom, with the east wall lagging a little behind.



And random shrubs on the side of the road, still blooming their hearts out.

Plant trade day, Abdij van Park

This past weekend I went to a plant trade event just outside Leuven for a chance to meet and mingle with local gardeners. The premise of the annual event is simple: anyone is welcome to bring their surplus plants, either to trade with other gardeners, or simply to give away. The only rule is no money allowed.


For me, the star attraction of the event was actually the setting, namely our local abbey Abdij van Park, which is one of the most impressive abbeys in our area dating back more than 9 centuries (that’s almost equivalent to the time of the big bang by North American standards).

In its heyday, the abbey was an important institution housing a thriving and well-off community. Today, the abbey is a little run down, but I think this actually adds to its charm, inviting the mind to wander to thoughts of what it must have been like in its glory days. The large abbey complex contains a complete, self-sufficient universe, including everything from living, eating and administrative quarters for the residents, to a large walled vegetable garden, a small river and mill, multiple animal stables, pasture and farm land, and of course the church and cemetery. You can almost feel the spirit of the community which once shared this ground, living and working closely together.





The plant trade was held in the walled garden behind the main buildings, normally closed off to the public. This area consists of a small medicinal knot garden, an orchard and a woodland park, all bordered by a series of ponds, or rather small lakes. I don’t think I could dream up a more pastorally beautiful scene than this. Imagine sitting out here in the summer, in the gentle meadow underneath the orchard trees (OK, once they grow a little bigger) surrounded by the smell of fresh grass and the buzzing of bees from your own bee hives. Such idyllic, domestic scenes defined by crumbling brick walls and ancient tangles of flowering shrubs are really the best of what old European gardens have to offer. It’s exactly the romance I was hoping to find and learn from here, but it’s also something that realistically is just not translatable to North American gardens - it would look wrong and out of place. The beauty of the best gardens lies in celebrating the spirit of place, and luckily this spirit is unique around the world.

La Chatonnière, France

We included the relatively new Chatonnière garden on our Loire Valley trip because it was conveniently on our route and because books and brochures described this supposed hidden jewel as a “novel garden with a rich range of designs” which “provokes awakenings of the soul”. Wow! What gardener could resist?

Unfortunately, the result of our visit was that I re-learned a valuable lesson: it’s much easier to proclaim beauty in writing than to actually pull it off in real life. To be blunt, the garden was a disappointment. It was sadder still because there was such potential in the site – a beautiful castle surrounded by gently sloped land, natural meadows and old forest, with gorgeous views to the countryside beyond.

The first failure of the garden is obvious as soon as you walk through the gates. The property is simply neglected, especially the first few spaces which greet the visitor. I’m all for a light hand and a little wilderness in the garden, which can lend charm and romance especially in older gardens, but in a young garden it just gives the unshakeable impression of misery. There’s no way around it – tiny plants struggling to survive and looking uncared for are just depressing to look at. It’s also doubly unfortunate that the most derelict garden spaces are the first ones you visit, burning a first impression of neglect in the mind which is hard to shake even in the nicer parts of the garden.
Maybe I’m being terribly harsh and unfair, since the gardens are still relatively new and some sympathy should be given to the awkward teenager stage of young gardens. However, even disregarding the state of the garden, I just wasn’t feeling the overall design. The garden is divided into an overwhelming number of small gardens (currently numbering 12), each with a different theme, ranging from silence, to intelligence, to improbability. Personally, I’m not a fan of gardens with imposed themes. That’s a whole different topic of discussion, but what the heck does an intelligence garden look like??? I’ve never been able to guess the supposed themes of such gardens without prior knowledge.

The overall concept of several small rooms, often divided by level changes and pathways enclosed by greenery, reminded me of Villandry. And indeed, I found out that the gardens were actually designed by the Villandry head gardener. You can see the good intentions, but it just doesn’t work here. There are too many gardens and therefore not enough space for each of them to develop their theme, to ensure the right proportions with the fairly impressive castle, and to make for good transitions between the spaces. Unlike Villandry, which featured far fewer gardens in a much larger space, these gardens try to do way too much in a too small a space. For example, the leaf-shaped “abundance” garden, which is the highlight of all brochure pictures, just feels like a strange fit in the landscape and doesn’t link to the other spaces. It might be cool viewed from a balloon, but on the ground it doesn’t do much for the visitor.



It’s not all bad news though. There are some really nice parts in this garden, which not surprisingly are the older, less manipulated areas not designed with a certain theme in mind. The old stone wall at the back of the castle with aged lavender and backed by a simple meadow was perfect.
The cyclamen drifts on the forest edge of the castle were also lovely (bulbs on the forest floor always look like spring to me, so it was a little odd encountering these at the end of August).

And the front entrance gardens, based on a simple, classic four square design, seemed to fit the castle and the space much more comfortably than any of the other new gardens, and were also much better maintained than the rest of the property.

If you do visit, don't expect the hidden jewel of the Loire Valley, but it's still not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

Villandry, France

Château de Villandry is rumoured to feature the most remarkable gardens of any castle in the Loire Valley, and based on what I’ve visited in the region, I have to agree. I was impressed by the large formal gardens because they manage to achieve that elusive balance between history and originality. The gardens are a 20th century interpretation of 16th century renaissance garden ideas, and manage to remain true to the site -defined by the castle and the wider landscape where old church towers and farmed countryside recall a different era- while also injecting some imagination and freshness into a classical design. Best of all, I felt that the garden avoids the trap of being overly grandiose and impersonal, which is too often the case in other large, formal castle gardens.

The very first garden at Villandry sets the tone for whole site: at the entrance to the imposing castle, instead of a grand lawn with a fountain or sculptures, visitors are greeted by the lowly vegetable garden. It’s true that this isn’t just any vegetable garden – it’s actually a superbly crafted example of the French ornamental potager, and is the garden which defines Villandry. The juxtaposition of the main formal elements against the bright colours and textured forms of common peppers, cabbages, swiss chard and annual flowers, make it fresh and interesting, without being overbearing.




Moving on from the main attraction of the potager, the large grounds are divided into several spaces on different levels. The separate areas break up what would otherwise be an overwhelming space, and bring it down to a more intimate, human scale. Each space is just big enough to fulfill its purpose without being too grand. I also thought the change in levels was well done – it helped define the individual spaces without creating complete separations and thus still retaining the views both around the property and towards the greater landscape.

The next areas continue to exploit the tension between formal and informal witnessed in the potager. In the garden below, incredibly blue spires of Perovskia, Russian sage, were bursting from their holding pen of perfectly manicured yew hedges. A very simple, yet very effective, composition.


Further along one encounters a more a traditional formal garden, in the sense of being more serious and minimalist, but still unique. The entire garden was sunken, and invited contemplation from a high, tree-shaded moat which surrounded it. Without realizing it, we actually spent a long time sitting in this garden, watching the reflection of the sky in the large pool and just feeling its calmness. Admittedly, a lot of the time was also spent watching a little dog that didn’t tire of rocketing up and down the steep moat. I wonder how they mow that.

In the upper corner of the property there is a new garden which took me by surprise – it features exuberant planting in the new perennial style, mixing together tall strong perennials with mostly equally tall and strong grasses. The overall layout is still formal, thus linking back to the other parts of the garden, but the feel here is definitely different. The garden could be regarded as slightly out of place, but I thought it fit the edge of the property with its free-flowing, slightly abandoned feel. I think it's a great new addition to the gardens, continuing the forward vision into the new century.





Overall, Villandry is a stunning garden, with one foot in the era of extravagant castles and formal, controlling design, and the other foot in more loose, fun and modern planting. Definitely worth a visit.

Garden thoughts

Over the last few weeks, I’ve read several blogs and listened to a few podcasts that have provided some really inspiring and thoughtful reflections on gardening. The debates range from the meaning and philosophy of gardens, to their purpose in our modern world, to the ongoing question of where gardens fit in the realm of art. Some pretty deep and insightful stuff. As someone very interested in gardening, it’s great to see that people are stirred enough by gardens, both emotionally and intellectually, to fuel these discussions.

This brings me back to my own little blog, and its intended purpose. When I initially started the blog, I thought about it as just a way to keep track of the gardens I visited and my immediate impressions of them, basically a reference list I could easily come back to later. But now I’ve been inspired to think a little further. For the blog to be worthwhile, I shouldn’t be describing simply what was there and general impressions, but rather to use it as an opportunity to analyze my garden visits in greater detail, to try to distill the lessons of each garden. I’m under no illusion that my ponderings are going to be as insightful or eloquent as the other garden thinkers I’m referring to above, but my goal is learning, no matter if the process may be awkward and full of mistakes.

I suppose the main question I am interested in is what exactly makes some gardens work, while others do not? Sometimes you step into a garden and it’s just magical, there is a connection and an emotional response. Others, even when the ‘required elements’ seem to be in place, just don’t manage to evoke this. It’s the immediate emotional response that I find most interesting about great gardens - to quote Penelope Hobhouse from a Vista Lectures podcast I was just listening to, you know within 10 seconds of stepping into a garden whether it's a good one or not. I also find it interesting that this response is more or less universal, and doesn’t depend on identifying with a particular garden element that may hold special significance for an individual; rather, great gardens are recognized as such by a majority of people, so they must manage to strike a common cord in all of us. I’m also not really concerned about reading too much into gardens, such as the meaning of symbolic elements or the like. To me, the garden alone should tell its story and not need an accompanying guidebook to clarify meaning to the ordinary visitor. Simply, I want to ask myself whether a garden spoke to me, and if it did, what did I feel was the reason?

Well, that was meant as a short introduction to the next garden on my Loire Valley trip, but I think it’s too late to delve into that. I’ll be back in the next days with Villandry!

Spring in Belgium

I just wanted to take a short break from the sunny castles of last summer’s Loire Valley for an exciting news update – spring has officially arrived in Belgium! Last weekend we went to the local botanical garden in Leuven, and lo and behold, the highlight of the year was already out – the giant crocus lawn!

I must say it took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting it since we’ve had snow cover up until 2 weeks ago, and Belgium has experienced its harshest winter in most people’s living memory. Fortunately, it seems that even after many years of being spoiled by the typically mild Belgian winters, these tiny bulbs have retained their inborn hardiness. Completely unfazed by the snow and cold, they all popped up right on time.


The sight of the first fragile flowers of spring must be one of the most beautiful and happy experiences nature can offer us. I’m not sure what deep primordial cord it tugs at, but I know that it’s a prominent one in every gardener. I hope that the pure, unadulterated joy of the first spring bulbs is felt just as intensely by everyone else.