Up on The Roof
This behemoth once fit in an elevator...
One of the great pleasures of creating gardens is watching them evolve and mature over time; indeed, a new garden takes several years just to provide the shade, structure, and privacy intended, and it takes at least a few seasons to eliminate poorly performing plants where needed, fill in bare spots, and make the garden “work.” One of my favorite gardens, in Seattle, turns ten years old this summer, and needless to say, it’s aging much more gracefully than its designer/field hand, me.
Every site provides its challenges, be it poor soil or drainage, unsightly neighbors, privacy hazards, too much sun or too little, steep slopes… you name it. Few, however, are also seven stories above the street, where each plant must be transported via elevator, along with the containers and soil, where they will then be buffeted by high winds, baked under relentless sun, watered by a complicated (and demonstrably not foolproof) drip irrigation system, and must look as good from the street as they do from within. With customary modesty, I’m ready to declare this one a success.
The space itself is something of an anomaly, a creature of Seattle’s hilly terrain and height restrictions, which are strictly set at 65 feet along this stretch of Pike St. between downtown and Capitol Hill. The developer was therefore unable to build out the entire seventh floor at the lower portion of the lot, and had to come up with a way to monetize that freeloading corner of the building, so they put a “flagship” penthouse there with an astounding 2800 square feet of roof garden, punctuated by these weird trellis outcroppings for chimneys and plumbing vents that essentially divide the space into three sections, and discourage helicopter landings as an added bonus.
When I first saw the place, I was floored; sweeping views of Lake Union, Queen Anne Hill, the Space Needle, Puget Sound, The Olympic Peninsula with its snow-capped peaks, and if you leaned on the railing you could look all the way down Pike and see the famous “Public Market” sign, where Seattleites have been buying fresh fish and local produce for nearly 100 years. (many buildings, and a ghastly new skybridge across Pike at
the Washington Convention Center, now have popped up, like mushrooms after a rain, to almost completely obscure these views, as you can see…) On the down side, there were three sets of cheesy white plastic “French” doors giving onto it (since replaced by commercial brushed aluminum) with no cover from the rain for which Seattle is rightly famous (now sheltered by glass awnings), three crappy porch lights, two non-dedicated 15 amp electrical outlets (now joined by another 10 amps of juice to light the palms at night,for the benefit of boats on the lake and diners in the Space Needle…) blindingly new and banal concrete pavers, and the perimeter was trimmed in shiny prefabricated railings above a bunch of ugly metal flashing. And those trellis thingies… What the hell? I-5 roared below, and a large building across Minor St. to the west was some kind of halfway house, unfortunately built long before the height restrictions were in place, where unnerving people could always be found peering out the windows.
Since the owner, Bob, was not known to be an avid gardener (at the time; I’m proud to say that has changed….) I wanted plants that required little maintenance and created minimal litter to schlep downstairs, and I wanted to avoid anything that would be bare in Seattle’s long, dark winters. I also wanted to take advantage of the street identity of the place; Pike is a very busy street, with cars, pedestrians, and an electrified bus line, and my idea was for everyone who looked up to be green with envy. Why wouldn’t you? “Palm trees,” I cackled to myself, in a manner not unlike the Wicked Witc
h of the West when she said, “Poppies.”
Of course, there were still challenges aplenty; at that time no one sold mature specimens of Trachycarpus Fortunei, the only palm that was hardy in Seattle, but by dangling such a lucrative order before the manager of my local nursery in Portland, I was able to persuade him to order 100 of them from California, the other 92 of which are now all over town here, along with many that followed. The remarkable and rare four foot trunks of which are now eight feet and more , as you can see. Win-win, I call it.
He also trucked the plants and soil up from Portland, and spent a few days helping me with the daunting task of stuffing them into the elevator and planting them, along with the rest of the plants, in the containers, which now number over 150, ordered in bulk from Seattle’s Herban Pottery, with whom I obviously developed a close relationship. Since I was already as busy as a whore on Saturday night painting the interior, installing floors, lighting, ironwork and cabinetry, I couldn’t simply, as a practical matter, run back to Portland to pick up the Stonehenge-style benches I had custom ordered, so I was even forced to press into service a still-ardent ex of mine to “visit,” and I got my benches, all the cable laid under the concrete tiles for my lighting, and all I had to do was, well, you know. Beats a seven-hour round trip any day. And the fuel costs and automotive wear and tear were reportedly considerable for hauling a half ton of cast concrete 168 miles. Thanks, Doc.
Over the years, many “challenges” have come along. A freak windstorm toppled two palms, shattering their own pots and everything in their path, a snowstorm clobbered the magnolias, two irrigation failures, one of which occurred when Bob had inconveniently been shot as a bystander in a gang incident (this, obviously, is a story in itself, but kind of OT…) and the dreaded “failure to thrive” did beset a plant or or two (or 20) over the years.
The 6.8 Nisqually earthquake several years back, during which I happened to be visiting, spilled a lot of water from the fountain and rearranged everything slightly, but otherwise left the garden just fine, but the elevator was shut down afterward for several days, making the party Bob was having that weekend, with its panting, gasping guests and horrified caterers, seem like the sequel to “Barefoot in the Park.” But this weekend was a something of a happier occasion… ten great years, a happy client, and a garden that has truly come into its own. And the beer store across the street has one of the the characters that make Seattle special.
(at right below)
Great concepts; great pictures, Mr. Hag …
Why, thank you, Dirigo. While I’m never one to fish for compliments, I nonetheless appreciate them. So does my sunburnt back and slightly mangled, as usual, paws.
Ahh….failure to thrive. I had my place landscaped last May. A wonderfully talented lady, but more familiar with the East Coast. She made a mistake in the front, which faces due north. It looked shady to her, due to the two fruitless mulberry trees, but actually gets an average of six hours of direct sun in from late June to early August. It’s been between 103 and 108 here for the past two weeks, and the Japanese yews along the front walk are well and truly fried. I’m thinking of replacing them with golden barrel cactuses. Sigh….
Beautiful job, Hag. Just beautiful. It caught my eye way back, when I first went through your portfolio. Is the magnificent Mr. Leopard Skin the client?
Having ten years in which do dispatch one’s mistakes is a decided advantage, and the similar climate zones of Portland and Seattle help a lot. I was dismayed to find, doing a garden in Brooklyn, NY a few weeks back, that my plant vocabulary was greatly reduced. (Dirigo was there to witness the planting…) Mr. Leopard Skin, whose yellow nail polish I’m kicking myself for not including in the picture, is the clerk at the bodega across the street, where Hags repair for liquid motivation with alarming frequency.
Yellow nail polish! Some people just have style, that’s all there is to it. The mere sight of them makes your heart leap up. I used to get the same thrill from seeing Miles Davis in his later years, after he married Cicely Tyson, and started designing his own clothes. (And I thought he was the coolest creature on earth when he was still wearing dark sunglasses and olive green serge./
The guy’s eagerness to be photographed said it all; he didn’t put on those lime green Capri pants and dye his beard two colors to not be noticed. In my dirty, sweaty t-shirt and overall scruffiness, I did feel like liver, of the chopped variety.
Golden barrel cactuses are beautiful, but along a front walk? I think it would be a horrible misrepresentation of your welcoming nature Mr. Timberman. ;-}
Hag, my own two tiny Trachs are holding their own, which is all anything can do in my garden at this stage of the summer. I fear they may be in too much shade…..
The rooftop garden is just stunning.
Don’t worry… they love shade, and they get taller, faster, in it. They do like sun, too, but all in all, they are some of the most tolerant plants (and short on messes and work, to boot!) Glad you liked; I have to get off my rumpus and shoot more of my gardens, before their treacherous owners try to sell them…. That happens with annoying frequency.
T
They’re very welcoming, especially in the Spring, and when they get larger, harbor the most interesting creatures, which like those associated with the Saguaro are unique to themselves. They’re also native to the Sonoran desert, so are quite at home here as we, out of necessity, are at home among them. If you long for the wind in the willows, AZ isn’t the place for you.
AZ is beautiful and one of my absolutely favorite trips ever was visiting Big Bend National Park in SW TX. But you are correct that I need more green in my life. I whither in a sere environment. ;-}
And thanks for correcting my misperception about cacti.
It does take some getting used to, this landscape. Coastal California isn’t as green as the East, but it’s far more benign than the desert, and after 30 years there, I wasn’t really ready for this, even though I’d vacationed here.
I swear, all the flora seem to have thorns, and all the fauna seem to be venomous. That’s an exaggeration, but not much of one. Everybody knows about scorpions and rattlesnakes, but what about eight-inch long centipedes, or tarantula hawks — 2 1/2 inch long black wasps with bright orange wings, so-called because they sting and paralyze tarantulas, then lay their eggs on them. I’ve been told to avoid them, and if stung, to proceed directly to the emergency room. Apparently they can render a full-sized cow unconscious. They’re everywhere in the late summer, but fortunately aren’t aggressive.
It’s a beautiful place, but it defends itself pretty thoroughly, and I still find it a bit daunting.
I love rooftop gardens! They’re so grounded and yet not at the same time.
Your post made me think (re: failure to thrive) that a big part of the challenge of a garden in a somewhat hostile environment is just getting enough of the plants to mature enough to create a critical mass so they can be the environment that will support the others. I suspect those palms were a big piece of that.
I’m curious about the elfin looking Mr. Leopard, too.
As I explained to WT, he’s just an extra in this movie, but too priceless to leave out; what with CHNN’s journalistic standards and all.
I forgot to mention how much I like the soundtrack. I just love “Up on the roof.” (And “Under the Boardwalk,” too.)
The unofficial soundtrack for this weekend was Rhett Miller, of old 97′s fame, singing “Our Love” on his solo album, I think it’s called “The instigator.” But I love “Up on the Roof,” too.
Wow! I’m duly impressed, Hag. It’s gorgeous. Seeing the palms on the roof of a Seattle building is like finding an unexpected gem.
I love Up on the Roof, too, Karen. It’s one of my favorites…James Taylor or Carole King.
Flashy, I’d call it. Like the beer store clerk. Thanks, Harpie.
O.M.G. !
Seattle is not worthy, Your High Hagness!
You do flatter me so… But maybe I measure worthiness differently, especially at my advanced age. I sing for my supper wherever people aren’t plugging their ears.
T
I’m buying the great job that you did and do and your immense talent, but I’m not buying the advanced age bit. You ain’t earned that yet kid. I can see that your kind of work can set a whole new mood for a home. Maybe we should start calling you the Palm Tree Kid instead of the Hag. The former seems to have more class which you richly deserve.
so modest not to mention the many bertoia’s placed so strategically throughout the landscape. (try looking that “plant” up in your funk & wagnall’s)
Nice work CH !
Also on creating a trend .(Palms? Here in Zone:That-wont-grow-here, such exotica are pure fantasy. Nice to know they grow somewhere. 
“Glad you liked; I have to get off my rumpus and shoot more of my gardens, before their treacherous owners try to sell them…. That happens with annoying frequency.”
Or they hire some hack to butcher it
Happy Birthday RMP.
Hey Girl, You should see the size of the two’ Cousin Its’ on the deck you did for me! They are about 10 as well…. They both had flowers this year! Lets get together and do that soon. I miss ya… and thats Miss Hag isnt it?
“Miss,” as Joan taught me, still lives. Great to see you here, and I hope all is well. My friend Jo, of Ballet Oregon fame, is in town, and we’re going to dinner tonight, but I’d love to get together….
I was just a few blocks away, at two sites, one at 28th and Raleigh, and one at 28th and Savier today, doing odd things. I have more work in both spots, one quite large, so I’ll be in the neighborhood a lot, and would love to see the cousins. And you, of course.
Love,
T