Filoli Estate and Garden

Filoli house in Woodside, California; the columned main entry is covered in Wisteria and surrounded by Magnolias and Japanese maples.

K

Driving through the country road surrounded by several hundred years old Coast Live Oaks (Quercus agrifolia), and arriving to a visitors centre surrounded by an olive orchard with rows of gnarled old Mission and Manzanillo Olive trees is an experience that sets your expectations high for things to come. This time, our expectations were not only met but exceeded, as we proceeded through the historical house and gardens of Filoli, located in Woodside 25 miles south of San Francisco, enjoying every minute of our visit. In truth, we liked it so much that on our way up to San Francisco again, we decided to revisit Filoli one more time, just to make sure that we had taken in all of what it has to offer. Despite its European style historical eclecticism that can sometimes seem so out of place in the New World, the Filoli house and gardens form a harmonious whole, built and planned in respect with its magnificent natural environment.

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Coast live oaks against a backdrop of fields and hills.
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Filoli is one of the finest remaining country estates of the early 20th century in North America. It is a prime example of the California eclectic style and the Golden Era of gardens in North America (about 1890-1940). According to the guides at Filoli, it was built to provide an inspiring vision of a new Eden, with bountiful land, plentiful resources and an emphasis on self-sufficiency. It was built more than sixty years after the California Gold Rush that started a massive migration to Northern California, and ten years after the devastating 1906 earthquake and fire in San Francisco. Both of these large scale events inspired Filoli's owners to create this magnificent estate as a country escape from problems of the crowded and vulnerable life in the city.

Gate to the walled garden and the sunken garden with its reflective pool.

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Filoli was built for Mr. and Mrs. William Bowers Bourn, prominent San Franciscans whose chief source of wealth was the Empire Mine, a hard-rock gold mine in Grass Valley, California. Contrary to my thought, there is nothing Italian about the unusual name of Filoli; Mr. Bourn made it up himself by combining the first two letters from the key words of his credo: “Fight for a just cause; Love your fellow man; Live a good life.”

Garden house behind the sunken garden.

Mr. Bourn chose longtime friend and prominent San Francisco architect Willis Polk as principal designer for the House. Construction of Filoli began in 1915 and the Bourns moved into the House in 1917. Bruce Porter, an artist and landscape designer together with horticulturalist Isabella Worn were enlisted to help the Bourns' plan the layout of the extensive formal garden that was built between 1917 and 1929. Porter and the Bourns envisioned the house and garden as complementary units, with the north-south axis of the garden echoing the line of the main hall of the house. Inspired by European influences, the garden is a succession of garden rooms containing parterres, terraces, lawns and pools, arranged between the two parallel north-south walks; all typical for large country estates in the USA of this time. Filoli had the distinction of being one of the last country places built on the Peninsula south of San Francisco and the one that has survived the longest in its original design.

One of the many doors leading to the garden from the house.

After Mr. and Mrs. Bourn both died in 1936, the estate was purchased in 1937 by Mr. and Mrs. William P. Roth. At Filoli Mrs. Roth took a great interest in her garden. Isabella Worn, who worked with the Bourns on the original selection of plants for the gardens, came out of semi-retirement to work with Mrs. Roth and continued to come to Filoli until her death at age 81 in 1950. Some of Mrs. Roth's favorite new acquisitions were magnolias, maples, roses, rhododendrons and camellias. Mrs. Roth made the Filoli Garden known worldwide and hosted many distinguished visitors, including botanical and horticultural societies, garden clubs and other organizations. In 1973 Mrs. Roth was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal of the Garden Clubs of America for her achievements as a collector.

The rose garden.

Mrs. Roth made Filoli her home until 1975 when she donated 125 acres, including the house and formal garden, to the National Trust for Historic Preservation for the enjoyment and inspiration of future generations. Now operated by Filoli Center, the 654-acre estate is a California State Historic Landmark and listed on the National Registry of Historic Places.

I have compiled and rewritten the historical facts above from the information materials and folders provide by Filoli Center.

Save the forgotten gardens of Pehr Kalm

Crabapples at Pehr Kalm's experimental gardens in Sipsalo, near Turku. The main house at the back is from mid-18th century.

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An update to this post - an international appeal to save Pehr Kalm's garden - is found here.

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To my great surprise, an old garden of Pehr Kalm, one of Carl von Linné's earliest and most important students, has surfaced near Turku (or Åbo, as it is called in Swedish), my hometown on the South Western shores of Finland. My sister notified me of an article in the local newspaper, and given how culturally interested my sister, her husband and the rest of my family are, it is incredible that none of us had any idea that this garden still existed (albeit in an overgrown state - how much of the original garden from the 18th century remain is an open question). Now, the owner of the garden and adjoining farm has died, and the descendants have unsuccessfully tried to offer the place for the local universities, the Swedish speaking Academy of Turku (Åbo Akademi) and the Finnish speaking University of Turku (Turun Yliopisto). Unfortunately, none of them has expressed interest in buying the place, stating bad economical times as a reason.

Pehr Kalm (1716-1779) was a naturalist, explorer, agricultural economist and priest, who despite a poor childhood showed such talent, that he was sponsored to study first at the Academy of Turku and later at the Uppsala University in Sweden, where he met Carl von Linné (Linnaeus). He became the superintendent of an experimental planting in Uppsala, and was sponsored by the owner of the planting to travel first in Sweden, Finland, Russia (1742–1745) and later to North America (1748–1751), visiting Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Niagara Falls, Montreal and Quebec. Kalm wrote a journal of his travels to North America, En resa til Nord America, which was published already during his lifetime in four different languages. A new American edition of the book was publised in the 1930's, and it still is an important reference to life in colonial North America. In Species Plantarum, Linné cites Pehr Kalm for 90 species of which 60 were new; the most well-known genus is probably Kalmia, named by Carl von Linné after him.

Pehr Kalm tried to grow mulberries and start a silk industry in Finland.

After his travels, Kalm worked in Turku as professor and was also involved with plantings at the botanical garden of the Academy of Turku. In 1752 he was given land for experimental plantings in Sipsalo, in Hirvensalo near Turku. Here, he cultivated many seeds and plants from his travels to North America, introducing several new genus to Finland, like the now more than common Crataegus grayana, Rubus odoratus and Parthenocissus inserta. He grew several species of crabapples, Malus baccata and other Malus species. He also tried to grow mulberries, Morus rubra, in hope of starting a silk industry in Finland, which of natural reasons come to nothing as both the plants and silk worms suffered in the cold climate.

In what came to be his last letter, Pehr Kalm wrote in 1779 to Arch Bishop Mennander in Turku, expressing concerns about the future of his both gardens, the Botanical garden and Sipsalo's experimental plantings. Now would be a late but excellent opportunity to answer his concerns and do something about this possibility; despite probably being overgrown and neglected, Sipsalo represents an important piece of cultural and garden history in Finland, and is interesting for botanists, garden historians and culturally interested tourists even on a international level. Linné's Hammarby could hold as a model for a successful historical preservation and restoration of Sipsalo; then the life's work of both the teacher and his talented student would be appreciated and celebrated in a way they both so well deserve.

I looking into ways of convincing the city of Turku of saving Pehr Kalm's gardens. Stay tuned for more information.

Kalmin salaisen puutarhan kohtalo auki, article in Turun Sanomat August 28th, 2009. Both photos courtesy of Turun Sanomat.

See also Linnéträdgården, and the Botanical Gardens of Uppsala and Linnés Hammarby, Carl von Linné's charming home and garden in Uppsala, North of Stockholm in Sweden.

The Californian Academy of Sciences

I love art and sciences, but sometimes I feel a bit wary about museums, these human-built environments made for people to entertain (or maybe infotain?) themselves, competing with each other in spectacular shows and exhibitions. Or maybe it is just that I have been spending the last year a bit in a “tourist mode”, scanning through all that Seattle and other cities on our trip lists have to offer. Anyway, there are both better and definitely many worse ways to spend ones time...

K

A glass globe inside the building, holding a complete Amazonian rainforest ecosystem; you can walk around four stories inside of the globe, researching the ecosystem from the fish below to the canopy above, all complete with living butterflies and birds).

Despite my pondering, I insisted in having the Californian Academy of Sciences located in the Golden Gate Park on our itinerary to San Francisco and I don’t regret this tiniest little bit. It opened in late 2008 and it really is a spectacular place for both young and old; an aquarium, planetarium, natural history museum and research institution, all housed in a completely sustainable, high tech building encasing the old Academy building. It was designed by Architect Renzo Piano, who also draw the Centre Georges Pompidou in Paris, that famous “guts on the outside” building so avantgarde on its time. In the Academy of Sciences building, the “guts” are actually inside but outside at the same time, just look at the picture above with the glass globe to understand what I mean. K

Totally in tune with the times, the Academy of Sciences building is one of the biggest public LEED (Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design) Platinum buildings, and has been reported and published by the press accordingly. The beautifully undulating roof of 2.5 acres with its rounded portholes did remind me of Teletubbies (being a mother of two children in that generation…), or maybe even of some kind of future space buildings. Looking at the over 1.7 million plants gently swaying in the wind, it felt like promise of better things coming, a time when commercial, public and private buildings will be better equipped for helping to save the planet.

Back home

Gum trees (Eucalyptus sp.) towering over the rolling hills of Marin County, north of San Francisco.

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Late yesterday, we arrived home from a trip to San Francisco and coastal California. It was my first trip to this part of the United States, and despite having heard of it countless times, it was still surprising to see how much it reminds of South Eastern Australia. The hills rolling down to the sea, the sun-parched nature and the arid flora of California made me quite homesick for Melbourne (can one be homesick for a place one was not born in…?), feeling like being almost there, but still thousands of miles away. I grew quite tired of myself repeating the mantra “…just like in Australia” over and over; what does it matter, when both places are so amazingly beautiful?

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Australian plants at the San Francisco Botanical Garden in the Golden Gate Park.

It was lovely to see gum trees (Eucalyptus sp.) cover both parkland and forests, feel their scent and listen to the rattle of their tough, leathery leaves. Many of them were huge and old, certainly over 100 years, their bark and leaves shedding off and covering large areas around them. I read that they were introduced in California around the 1850’s, sold by nurseries for both ornamental and practical purposes as firewood and hardwood for building. They look so well-adapted that it is difficult to imagine the landscape without them. Unfortunately, being extremely easy to catch fire, they have increased the forest fire danger in California, which together with Victoria tops the bush fire statistics of the world.

Landscape with Eucalyptus trees, also in Marin County.

Another acquaintance from my time Australia, the Monterey cypress (Cupressus macrocarpa), was actually native to the Monterey and Carmel area where we were staying for a while. In Australia it was often planted by seaside roads, so now the trees form a strong visual accent in their environment; I especially think about the road leading to Apollo Bay by the Great Ocean Road, one of my favorite places in Victoria... I love the sculptural, dramatic form of Monterey cypresses; unfortunately, it has a bad habit of loosing its branches and dying suddenly, just when it gets to its most mature and beautiful stage. All these visual and botanical ties; plants travelling afar, connecting different countries and places…

Australian Kangaroo paw, Anigozanthos flavidus, thrives even in California.

Now, I am sorting out the over 500 photos I took during our trip; tomorrow I’ll hopefully be writing about the garden related highlights, which include the new Californian Academy of Sciences with its much photographed and published grass roof, the stately but intimate estate of Filoli and the mid-century modern Sunset Garden.

Quote of the day

I love borders.
August is the border between summer and autumn;
it is the most beautiful month I know.

K

Twilight is the border between day and night,
and the shore is the border between sea and land.
The border is longing: when both have fallen in love but still haven't said anything.
The border is to be on the way. It is the way that is the most important thing.

K

- Tove Jansson -

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The days of summer are dwindling away frighteningly fast. Leaves are already turning yellow, albeit from drought and not from the lateness of the season. My parents are visiting us in Seattle for the first time; seeing them here feels like a confirmation for that we actually have moved away, again.
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The Justitia carnea cutting that I got from Marian in June is flowering with flesh pink plumes. I have repotted it a couple of times to give the roots more room to grow; strong roots mean healthy, happy plants. But how many times can you repot a plant before doing it more harm than good? Am I on the right way?

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Picture from "Who will comfort Toffle?", a children's picture book by Tove Jansson first published in 1960.

A scent of waterlilies

The shiny leaves and creamy, cup-shaped flowers of Magnolia grandiflora 'D.D. Blanchard' in my front garden, shedding their yellow stamens on the opening petals...

K

After a couple of hot and steamy days of over 90ºF (32ºC) and one reaching a record 104ºF (40ºC), I am totally content with a cool change that came in during the night, the clouds filling the sky and relieving us from the scorching sun. We have been sitting late into the night on our West facing deck, drinking white wine diluted with sparkling water and recalling with nostalgia the equally hot summer nights in Melbourne. There, we sat on our beautiful veranda with Victorian cast-iron lace and pillars covered in Wisteria, waiting for the cool change to sweep over from the Port Phillip Bay. And then, about 10 pm, you could hear the breeze rattle the dry Eucalyptus leaves as a sign of a coming relief from the heat.

K

Here in Seattle, it has been a record breaking year; first the coldest winter in at least 20 years and now this dry and hot summer. The results of this somewhat extreme weather can be seen in my garden: first, we lost about 15 good-sized plants of Spanish lavender, and now, it seems like we are loosing quite a many Azaleas, too. Of course, every lost plant can be seen as a possibility for planting something new, but there is a limit to how many mature things you can replace each year. Luckily, the lavenders have self-sown themselves generously leaving me with some good sized plants, even if I'm not quite sure if Spanish lavender comes true from seed. The only plants that seem to thrive in this heat (besides the lavender) are the five Magnolia grandiflora 'D.D. Blanchards' that adorn the street side of our garden.

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New buds opening in the heat.

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I have always been a bit uncertain about M. grandifloras in other than tropical or subtropical gardens; only last winter, they looked totally misplaced here in Seattle with their large and shiny evergreen leaves drooping and the snow snapping off whole branches and tops of these brittle trees. They look stately (but maybe a bit too stiff for most suburban gardens...) and are both evergreen and supposedly low-maintenance, even if they do shed their large and leathery leaves all the year round making them look quite messy underneath, their leaves being too hard to decompose easily (I might need to buy a shredder just to be able to include them in my compost...) And you can actually hear when the leaves drop, making a woodsy "plopping" sound when they reach the ground.

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But there is a very good reason for including a Magnolia grandiflora in one's garden if you happen to live in a zone temperate enough to permit it: the large, creamy flowers emit a wonderful fragrance that is strongly reminiscent of waterlilies. For me, they evoke dear memories of swimming in the Finnish lakes filled with white, wild waterlilies when I was a child. So burying my nose into a one of the Magnolia flowers during the recent hot summer nights has been an experience that almost makes me forget about being so dubious of them during the past cold and icy winter here in Seattle...

Two minds in harmony with the land

The meadow project; Daniel and Michael are "plugging" in areas of planted vegetation between the wild grasses, hoping them to be strong enough to multiply and give more variation to the plant palette.

Last Sunday, I had the opportunity to join some of the Seattle area bloggers on a visit to Daniel's and Michael's garden in Carnation, about half-an hours drive East from Seattle. Daniel Mount is a professional gardener and writer, who still finds time to keep a journal about his love to nature, plants and gardens on his sensitively written blog. Michael, his partner, did not seem to come second in either interest or knowledge, as we talked away while walking through their wild and beautiful farm and garden on 7 acres nestled into Carnation Marsh natural parkland. The serene and beautiful pictures I took are quite deceptive; Daniel and Michael told some colourful stories about the floods last winter, when several feet of swirling water covered the whole area, leaving paddling the only way of transportation from a place to another. Luckily, they did not till their land the autumn before the flood, which helped in keeping most of the topsoil in place, instead of being flushed away by the water masses.

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The kitchen garden, at least 200 sqm of vegetables and flowers, against a backdrop of wetland trees. Daniel and Michael told that this is the driest summer they remember; luckily they can irrigate the plantings regularly as they have their own well to supply the water.
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Winding paths lead to the forest beyond the garden, the trees forming a living cathedral of shady greenery.
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Rosa 'Darwin's Enigma', an unusual, beautifully scented climber with elegant leaves, now planted against a grey, wooden fence by the property border.
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It was a wonderful afternoon, sitting under a beautiful, old cherry tree, talking to these interesting people and listening to their stories; Jean talking about the soil based colouring project she invented in Petra, Jordan, to help the women there to rediscover their cultural heritage; David sharing his beautifully coloured rhubarb juice; Petunia, Karen and Molly discussing plants and growing with a burning interest (and knowledge!). And of course, to get to meet Daniel and Michael, and share in their vision for their beautiful garden; the meadow project for adding variety to the existing, native vegetation and the unusual trees they have planted to replace the maturing alders in the long term (I felt a slight sting of jealousy at their trust in being able to see the results of their work)... Two minds and four able hands, working together in harmony with the land and the surrounding nature. Thank you, Daniel and Michael, it was truly lovely to visit you and your garden.

K

David and Molly walking through the winding paths in the wood, surrounded by both wild and planted varieties, like Polygonatums and Monardas on the right.

Shaggy tails and other thoughts

Poppy mallow, Callirhoe involucrata, is in full bloom at the Alpine Rock Garden in Bellevue Botanical Garden. This lovely carmine pink, trailing perennial flowers for months, from June to late autumn.

K

It seems that just like my garden, my blogging has come to some kind of a midsummer stutter, after a (relatively speaking) inspired winter and spring. Some of this had probably to do with my Finnish and Scandinavian roots: most activities there come to a halt when July arrives. After a long and cold winter, people traditionally worship the long days and white nights of the Nordic summer in a way unheard of in most other countries.

K

Despite of silence on my blog, two different articles have been brooding in my mind, both making me question my own relationship to both gardening and blogging. The first one was an article in Svenska Dagbladet, one of the biggest dailies in Sweden, about "trends within gardening", now published yearly by the Swedish Fashion Council, who's shareholders include all kinds of textile and clothing industry associations. So this council, that does not include any garden, gardening or plant related authorities or experts, thinks that it can tell us what is "in" and what is "out" in our gardens according to their trend sensitive minds, and about what kind of flowers colours and designer products we should choose to our gardens.

K

This year, they have come out with five different trends for the Swedish gardens: "romantic minimalism", which according to them combines 30's style pots and furniture with topiary and some natural touches; "the old-fashioned garden" combines full-blown romantic style plants and high-quality, antique accessories; "the exotic garden" in Mediterranean style (here they miss totally the current "Asian trend" with Buddha statues strewn between the fir trees to add to the serene feeling of the garden...); "the experimental garden", containing both veggie-growing and ecologically oriented gardens ("experimental"? Isn't growing your food one of the oldest things to do in a garden?) and last but not least, "the fairytale garden", where the owner gives free reign to his or her fantasies. Nothing new, basically; haven't we seen these "trends" happening in our gardens for a long time now? And are they really trends, or just a simplified summary of all possible directions that our gardens take?

K

Such shallow, superficial thinking, missing the whole point of gardening: a garden is the result of the "act" of gardening; which is both one's work and all the individual and personal thinking involved in the process of making, growing and maintaining gardens. Nothing that should be just bought off the shelf and changed as the latest trends move on. Of course, why bother, as no real gardener would ever seriously listen to these non-gardening trendsetters. But at the same time I feel sad that something that I love and appreciate so much is reduced to petty trends for visual effects and accessories, something to be followed in order to be "right", to adjust and fit in.

KK

Bears breeches, Acanthus spinosus, in the Entrance garden of Bellevue Botanical Garden.

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The second article was published last Thursday in Financial Times, with title "Blogging and its shaggy tail". It was a response to a recent column in another newspaper (which I also read), about the over 133 million existing blogs of which over 95 percent had not been updated for the last 120 days (well, I'm still doing comparatively well here...). According to this writer, the majority of these bloggers have shifted to Facebook and Twitter instead, stating that many of these blogs were of no real consequence anyway. "Apart from a very small percentage [of blogs] which are informative, original or entertaining, they have little or no value. They are vanity publishing, only made feasible by the removal of costs".

K

Well, if he is right, being a blogger myself I would possibly be the last to admit it... I follow several, seriously worth-while blogs written by very personal contributors all around the world, and I think vanity publishing is not a big issue for garden blogs; most of them show clearly the writers deep love to the act of gardening, to plants and to gardens, together with a desire to share this love with other like-minded people. Still, this little article has occupied my thoughts more than I wanted to, poking my mind with the uncomfortable question that in the end, wanting to publish our thoughts and pictures to others, are we really being just ...vain?

K

Quote of the day

Decayed literature makes the best soil

- Henry David Thoreau -
K

Having been a voracious reader my whole life, my mental compost should by now be a steaming heap of crumbling, dark-brown soil full of nutrients and micro-organisms for something good to grow. Of course, the question is if I have fed it with the right stuff; those organic, well-balanced materials, that with a bit of added moisture disintegrate into a smooth, sweet-smelling humus ready make any plant leap to the skies with joy. Or have I unintended fed it with things difficult to digest, or kept it either too wet or dry? Or maybe, just maybe, I've been too lazy or comfortable to occasionally completely turn it over to give it more oxygen, so that the small aerobes can do their job?

K

For many, summer is a time of reading; newspapers and magazines drown us in tips about what to take as a companion to the hammock or beach. This year, I will think of my mental compost heap and choose books that complement its balance well; not too wet, so it rottens to a smelly mass, not too acid, so that the heap won't heat and not too dry, so that the whole process looses its momentum. And of course, I will try to turn it properly over sometimes, to let some well-needed air to the heap.

K

Today, I planted some beautiful Polygonatum x hybridum 'Variegata' that I bought at the Bellevue Botanical Gardens for a couple of days ago. I love their thick, juicy rhizomes with white buds telling in which way the plant is growing. The maroon stems and leaves with white margins are beautiful, too, not to mention the nodding bell-formed flowers that come up early in spring. I had masses of old Polygonatums that had spread themselves between the cliffs in my garden in Saltsjöbaden (not the variegated ones, though), and I enjoyed how they thrived in those hard conditions, shooting up early in the spring and staying around until late autumn.

An ultimate haven... my favourite garden

A copy of the 16th century statue of Mercury (Hermes) by Giambologna, looking at the sea over the cliffs of Källskär.

K

I sometimes get the question of which garden that I have visited I have liked the most and I always have found this a very difficult question to answer; an old-fashioned cottage garden can just as wonderful, even if in a different way, as a magnificent palace garden, an avant garde modern garden or a spiritual Japanese one... It all depends on the feelings the garden is able to awake. But yesterday, while shuffling some old photo albums on the bookshelves, I randomly opened one of them and flipped through the holiday photos in it dating from 1994, from a sailing trip with my parents in the archipelago of Åland in South-Western Finland. Looking at them, I think I found the answer to this puzzling question; for despite having visited so many beautiful, serene, bountiful and/or impressing gardens, the garden in Källskär near Kökar represents for me the garden as an ultimate haven; a perfect escape, a shelter from storms and an improbable dream that became true.

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Källskärskannan

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The little island of Källskär is mostly known for its natural beauty, the special stone formations and flowing cliffs shaved smooth by the ice age and the sea. Particularly well-known is a stone pillar called "Källskärskannan", "the pot or jug of Källskär", named after its rounded form. The natural meadows were used as summer pasture for sheep until 1958, when Baron Göran Åkerhielm from Sweden sailed in and fell in love with the island. During the following years, he built a low log house between the huge cliffs, and started to build a garden with the help of sheltering stone walls. The people from the surrounding islands like Kökar, always called him "the Count" and helped him to carry soil to the barren island, and for several years, the young people were employed by him to help with the garden. He used sculpture as a contrast and complement to the wild surroundings of the garden, and he loved especially Rhododendrons and roses, getting them to thrive in this harsh and remote environment. In 1983, "The Count" donated his summer residence and garden to the county of Åland, and since then it has been used as a retreat for guest artists and cultural persons, one of the most famous of whom was Tove Jansson, the author of the Moomin books.

A stone path to the log house.

The main house of "The Count", who's real name and title was Baron Göran Åkerhielm.

Källskär is open to the public but visiting it is quite an adventure; the sea around is shallow and full of stones. My father has always loved sailing, and has taken us to most islands in the Archipelago of Turku and Åland, but if you are not an experienced sailor or/and boatman, it is best to travel there with a fishing boat from Kökar that traffics the island daily between June 25 and August 7.

Unfortunately, my holiday pictures were not of a very good quality and when I took them, I was still at the stage where somebody has to be standing in the middle of the picture, smiling. So the only picture here that is taken by me is the first one with the statue of Mercury, which I scanned in. Fortunately, I found some wonderful photos at FlickR taken by Daniel Frigo and Megan and Murray McMillan. Copyright is theirs, even if I have loaned their pictures here; please visit the links above for more beautiful pictures from Källskär and Kökar.