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Photos by Paul Bousquet
Photo by Ty Wyant
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Home&Garden feature articles
A Zen-style garden in eastern Boulder Countyis a source of solitude and a serene setting for contemplation. A monk once asked his master, “What is the Way?” The master replied, “The Way is your daily life.” For Arthur and Walter, the Way is gardening. On nearly an acre in eastern Boulder County, the pair have created their own slice of Japan that contains a contemplative garden complete with a teahouse, a bridge, meandering paths and a profusion of plants. “The Japanese aesthetic is about creating a certain sense of serenity,” says Walter, a custom woodworker and retired airline executive who used to export American products to Japan. “I frequently traveled there and it profoundly influenced my ideas. Everything in our garden meanders and has a flow about it.” Gently curving flagstone pathways twist throughout the sumptuous garden, ambling by carefully placed boulders covered with lichen. The rock arrangements alone exude a magnanimous calming presence, with shapes that echo the mountainous landscape to the west.
When Walter and Arthur bought their house in 1996, part of the attraction was the Japanese-style facade, which included a Japanese symbol carved in the driveway. But the clincher was the potential for an expansive garden, with a large water channel running between the house and the promising garden area. Although the yard was chaotically overgrown, its potential for grandeur was obvious. “We wanted to make a garden that would draw people in and feel like a sanctuary,” says Walter, who, with Arthur, cleared and replanted the whole garden, except for the mature trees. Together, they lovingly maintain every grass, flower, tree and ground cover. A focal point is the courtly bridge spanning the water channel that delightfully frames the trees, flowers and shrubs. Cross the bridge and you come to another surprise: A cedar-framed teahouse with an elegant pitched roof, shoji screens and a round window known as a moon window in Japan. “The teahouse is a place for quiet times and an escape from the world,” says Walter, who built the teahouse from scratch. “We came up with the design; it wasn’t from a kit or anything. We just put together elements we liked from my observations of teahouses in Japan, and from looking through books together.” They have yet to host a tea ceremony, but they use the structure frequently for Buddhist meditation. In fact, their whole garden is steeped in a meditative spirit. “I’ve always admired the calming influences in Japanese gardens,” Walter says. “It’s something we tried to re-create in our garden.” Sculptural elements that contribute to that effect include a stone Japanese lantern, artfully dispersed gravel and a cedar fence with open frames. Instead of obstructing the garden, the frames transform the view into an appealing blur, as if looking through a scrim. A bamboo lattice hanging above the water channel also imparts a sense of serenity.
Although their garden relies on Japanese elements, it’s not an authentic Japanese garden. It loosely draws on Japanese themes, but incorporates a horticultural hodgepodge of plants and colors that flies in the face of Japanese design principles. “It has elements of English gardens, and lots and lots of perennials that the Japanese wouldn’t have in their gardens,” Walter says. “But it also has things they would, like the Tanyoshi pine.” In addition, the pair planted a lot of native plants and other vegetation adapted to this area. Dwarf Alberta spruces and a struggling aspen stand happily coexist with blue fescue clumps, a fragrant ground cover of several varieties of thyme, and a clutch of magenta ice plants. In one area, indolent ferns vie for attention; in another, echinacea, lilies, and red and yellow poppies grow in an enthusiastic tangle. Beside a pergola, a solitary Japanese maple provides an enchanting silhouette. Next to the teahouse, a solemn Tanyoshi pine stands sentinel. Along the water, boisterous black-eyed Susans elbow each other for glimpses of sun. The governing principle for their flowers, plants and trees is wabi-sabi, a Japanese term for the beauty that comes from weathering and age. “Things don’t have to be perfect or tightly structured,” Walter says. “It’s not about prim and proper. We let it go wild in places.” In fact, the garden is a decorative reflection of their world, alive with personal details—a stone memorial to a beloved cat, ceramics by Arthur’s mother, a homemade birdhouse and rows of prayer flags flapping in the breeze. In Japan, the garden represents the universe, incorporating the elements in ways that reveal their essential nature. By extension, the garden path symbolizes an entryway into a heightened awareness. In Walter and Arthur’s garden, paths branch off into private nooks that contain benches Walter made “for places of -solitude and contemplation.” Their garden is not just for solitary pleasure, however. The pair host parties, participate in garden tours and often dine with friends on the sumptuous deck overlooking the water channel. “We didn’t do this to keep it to ourselves and be selfish,” Walter says. “We love sharing it. We feel when people come here it settles them and gives them serenity.” And perhaps an understanding of the Zen koan that says the perfect way to see is no difference between heaven and earth. Elizabeth Marglin is a Boulder-based freelance writer who loves all things Japanese, especially sushi. She has, in the past, confused wasabi with wabi-sabi, but has moved on to less piquant errors. Go to top   
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