Announcing my new book...

Irv and Shira Cramer created a backyard destination in an otherwise unused section of their hillside property. They bought and personalized a prefabricated shed-studio from Seattle-based Modern Shed.

[All photographs by William Wright]

There’s a huge media spotlight on prefabricated sheds these days, and much of it is shining on Ryan Grey Smith and Modern Shed of Seattle. While I would prefer to have a bit of those bright rays focus on Shed Style and our book, Stylish Sheds and Elegant Hideaways, I can’t help but be pleased to have media outlets participate in the conversation we began. As more stories rave about Modern Shed’s innovative and affordable design solutions for people in search of stylish space, I think everyone in the shed world will benefit. “The Shed,” an online magazine published by Alex Johnson in the UK, ran my story about Ryan earlier this year, called “Shedquarters.”

One of Ryan’s projects is featured in our book, a chapter called “Rec Room” that profiles a young Los Angeles artist and designer named Lin Su (seen at left, in front of her Modern Shed). But originally, a second Modern Shed structure was also slated for Stylish Sheds. It’s the sad reality that books have space limitations. Ours did, and in the end, that meant we had to cut seven chapters out of the final version of Stylish Sheds. It was P-A-I-N-F-U-L to say the least!

So many sheds, so few pages. Now it’s time to share one of those “lost” chapters. It includes the story and photographs of a bright green structure perched on a Berkeley hillside. Designed and built by Modern Shed, the haven is owned and used by a warm, artistic and fascinating couple named Irv and Shira Cramer.

Here’s their story, illustrated by a gallery of Bill Wright’s wonderful photographs:

Hillside Hideaway

A couple descends twenty-five steps to a garden far below their home to enjoy this separate and soulful place for music, books, and conversation. 

Irv Cramer doesn’t take the gift of sanctuary lightly. While some might consider the 13-by-14 foot shed installed at the foot of their garden to be a modest, humble structure, to Irv and his wife Shira, it is an oasis, for both body and mind. (more…)

Kristi Templeton’s “Massage Garage” – a one-car garage transformed into her Seattle massage studio

(all photos, courtesy of Kristi)

I love learning about the many creative ways people are transforming their utilitarian sheds into spaces that have a higher and more noble purpose. Every time I hear from a “shedista” or learn about one of these innovative shelters, I think: Too bad we didn’t get it into the book.

But one can always hope for Stylish Sheds and Elegant Hideaways, Volume II.  No plans yet, but I’ll keep adding these discoveries to my list.

Here’s a little story about Kristi Templeton, Seattle massage therapist, mom, wife, gardener and world traveler. My family and I had to journey all the way from Seattle to Giverny (Yes, Monet’s garden!) in 2002 to meet Kristi and her daughter Katie, then 10, at the time, the same age as our son, Benjamin. It was a chilly, barely-spring day in April and our family of four kept crossing paths with this mother-and-daughter duo, while touring the garden of our dreams. Ahh, Giverny. The inspiring landscape of a Masterful Impressionist. We’d read about it, seen it depicted on canvasses hung in the world’s greatest museums, peered at photographs in the guidebooks. . . .

And here were two fellow travelers from Seattle, visiting Paris on their spring break like us. We managed to caravan by taxi together, back to the return train to Paris. But we missed our connection and ended up at a tavern near the station. Bruce, Kristi and I enjoyed refreshments; the three kids had a plate piled high with pomme frittes and drank sodas. A connection was made and thoroughly enjoyed. Turns out, I, and everyone else in the Pacific Northwest gardening world, knew of Kristi’s husband Timothy Colman, owner of Good Nature Publishing. Tim is famous for his horticultural, botanical art and natural history posters (I have about seven of them hanging in my office and kitchen!).

This was a “petit monde,” n’est ce pas? (more…)

On July 3rd, my friends at Garden Rant invited me to be their guest-blogger. This kind and generous opportunity gave me a platform to share a little essay about my shed odyssey, the fascination I hold for tiny backyard architecture, and the experiences Bill Wright and I had creating “Stylish Sheds and Elegant Hideaways.” I was tickled to see that Amy Stewart titled the piece “In Praise of Sheds.”

I asked Garden Rant readers to share their thoughts, ideas and inspiration in response to the question: What is your dream shed and how will you use it?  More than 30 clever readers sent in their answers, vying to win a copy of our book, and a set of note cards with our wellies-under-glass photograph (seen at left), taken by Bill while we were on location at Brenda Lyle’s outside Atlanta.

I was touched by reading so many awesome posts – you can go to Garden Rant to read them for yourself. It was a tough call, but I chose as the winner of this small contest a wonderful gardener and writer in rural Massachusetts.

Pat Leuchtman has a blog called Commonweeder. She and her husband created their “Cottage Ornee” (pronounced Cott-aaagh Or-Nay, preferably in a heavy French accent, Pat says), a stylish shed imagined first in their minds and then built by their hands. This little gem of a building resides at their “End of the Road Farm,” in Heath, Massachusetts. I was struck by Pat’s written description of its design and charmed by the narrative of how she and her husband use it. Here is Pat’s post about winning our little contest: “Cottage Ornee is a Winner”

Cottage Ornee  [Pat Leuchtman photos, here and below]

Here are some photographs, provided by Pat. I was so curious about the cottage’s creation and sent Pat several questions. Her comments appear below. I hope you find this little hut as alluring and enticing as I do. I am already scheming about how to get myself up to visit Pat one of these days. In the meantime, I am enjoying reading her delicious words, so make sure to visit Commonweeder. (more…)

I think many of us have experienced that frequent voice whispering in our ear, offering words of wisdom, advice, encouragement and humor — just when we need them. For me, and for many of her beloved friends, that voice belongs to Linda Plato. “It’s all good,” was one of her favorite sayings. Or, her shorthand version of that phrase: “Good times.”

Garden designer, horticulturist, Anglophile, educator, editor, writer and friend, Linda and her bon mots live in our memories and our hearts. Long before cancer took her young life on December 4, 2005 (at the age of 37), Linda’s witticisms and wry look at the world were a source of humor and happiness to me.

She wrote some of her funniest pieces anonymously as the Garden Curmudgeon for “Garden Notes,” the Northwest Horticultural Society’s quarterly newsletter, for which I was editor. Linda later followed me as editor and continued as the GC, often quoting the OGC (the Original Garden Curmudgeon). It took some people years to figure out that she was GC and her dearest friend Greg Graves was the OGC. The columns are collected on the NHS web site.

I’ve been thinking lately that I wanted to write a “Linda’s on my Mind” piece. And over the July 4th weekend, her husband Bruce Forstall sent me a good reason to. Bruce and several family members and friends have sponsored a memorial park bench to commemorate dear Linda. Located in Kirkland, Wash., not too far from Linda’s former design studio, the classy bench will provide respite and peace to many. The logo on the plaque, a container with a triple-ball topiary, is the one Linda designed for her business cards. Her saying,  “It’s All Good,” also appears. (Photos here: courtesy of Bruce Forstall). (more…)

Mary Martin, with Wallace, her cockapoo; photographed on July 5, 2007 by William Wright

Mary called me on May 15th from Atlanta to tell me of her sudden diagnosis of brain cancer. Four days later, she died, after doctors tried to relieve the bleeding and remove her tumor.  How can one so vibrant and full of creative energy disappear from our lives so quickly?

Featured in “Personal Space,” one of the first chapters in Stylish Sheds, Mary Martin was a consummate Southern lady. She embraced this book with incredible passion and support, investing her own time, money, and energy to promote it to clients of her fine gift business, Mary’s Garden Champagne Savers.

I met Mary through Atlanta landscape designer David Ellis, of Landshapes Garden Design. I fondly remember when Wendy Bassett, my Atlanta “shed angel” (aka fairy godmother), drove me to meet Mary and see her little cabin on a chilly day in January 2007. We came down the driveway, turned the corner into her gorgeous backyard (even in winter, it was in perfect, tip-top shape!), and were immediately drawn down the curving stepping-stone path toward a charming split-log style haven.

A curved path made with stepping stones large enough for two to walk side-by-side travels across the lawn from Mary’s house to her personal backyard retreat

While she wasn’t sure of its provenance, Mary guessed that the rustic, 1930s-era shed might have been purchased by earlier owners from a mail-order catalog, perhaps as a potting shed. She updated the 240-square-foot hut, painted the board-and-batten walls of its two interior rooms in pistachio green, added a fresh coat of  bay-green paint to the two cottage doors and “moved in.”

Beyond the walls of her rather grand Southern Colonial-style home, Mary could be found, secreted away in her backyard studio, which served as a potting shed, storage for beekeeping and honey making, a painter’s easel and a writing room.

“When I first saw it, I thought, What a wonderful place for gardening, but it has also become a nice little project building,” she told us.

Her love of this little building, which Mary later expanded by adding a 16-by-17 foot screened room, was rooted in memories of a childhood playhouse. She played outside and cooked on a real stove inside a little pink playhouse her father, John Martin, built for Mary and her younger sister, Ann. On her desk inside the cabin, Mary kept a framed photograph of the tiny, sweet structure.

“I do think my childhood memories of that pink playhouse tie into my enjoyment of this very private, peaceful ‘retreat’ where I feel hundreds of miles away from the city when I’m inside it,” she said.

I spoke today with Janell Knox, a friend of Mary’s since college, and she told me that Mary faced the news of her illness with incredible courage. “She was out in the cottage on Sunday,” Janell says. Later that day, the pain in her head was so severe that doctors had her taken to Piedmont Hospital in Atlanta. Efforts to relieve the bleeding failed. In her last moments, Mary was surrounded by friends and loved ones, including her parents, John and Elizabeth Martin. The Atlanta Journal-Constitution’s obituary of Mary aptly described her as having “enthusiasm for life.”

Selfishly, I am so pleased that in her last year, Mary befriended Bill Wright and me. She had an intensity about everything she did in life, including the way she devoted herself to friends. We will miss her spirit, although having a glimpse of her in the pages of our book is a quiet comfort.

I end with a quote that Mary loved. It is from her late grandfather, Rudolf Anderson, who was a landscape designer and widely known for his camellia and azalea breeding throughout the Southeast. It sums up her philosophy, as well, evident in the way Mary drew her beloved plants and garden into her life.

“I’ve always felt that anybody looking at beauty in nature cannot help but have more noble thoughts.” (Rudolf Anderson, 1967)

Good news: The Los Angeles Times has a wonderful “Web Exclusive” featuring Stylish Sheds and Elegant Hideaways in today’s HOME section.

Bad news: The article surrounding this gorgeous photograph/caption puts us smack next to a very strange neighboring article with the off-putting headline: “Confessions of a chronic shed slob.”

EEEK! Stylish Sheds is the antithesis of that notion! Kinda worrisome to see our gorgeous, design-driven book about small architectural gems appear side-by-side with an essay by a gardener who calls herself a “shed slob” and basically treats her shed as a storage unit for “. . . Christmas ornaments of a festive but forgetful lodger who moved out in 1998, a Food 4 Less shopping cart filled with kinked and leaky hoses and broken sprinklers, a toilet with a cracked lid, sacks of concrete that set without ever having been mixed, mismatched curtain rods, rusting tomato cages, and all manner of paper files that became somehow hard to throw away.”

Even after she cleaned out said shed, scheduling a “Bulky Item” pickup with the LA Bureau of Sanitation to get rid of her junk, this woman still isn’t using her shed to its highest and best potential. She appreciates the tools nearby and at-hand, resting inside the doorway, but it doesn’t seem like she uses the shed, either for gardening or a higher purpose, such as a backyard retreat. What a lost opportunity! Maybe I need to write a new article: “Can this Shed be Saved?”

To me, when presented with a little building in the garden, even one that was once packed to the gills with clutter, it is inconceivable to ignore its design potential. As my friend Lorene just wrote to me: “I was immediately transported by your lovely words exhorting us to find a place of solace and sanctuary – at home!” And then she added: “This is the summer I do the trailer!!” (that’s for Lorene, and not me, to write about though. Mosey over to planted at home, her fun blog, to learn more).

Lorene and Jimmy’s trailer-retreat-in-the-garden

Tom Spencer, Debra Prinzing & Bill Wright – on location

Bill and I had a wonderful experience today, taping an 11-minute segment on Stylish Sheds with Tom Spencer, host of “Central Texas Gardener,” a popular show on the Austin PBS affiliate, KLRU.

The show will air on June 26th – stay tuned for a link to the segment.

Tom was a delightful host, a kindred spirit in the conversation about gardening as sanctuary, sheds as shelter, places for meditation and destinations for creative expression.

Our thanks to producer Linda Lehmusvirta, who not only “gets it,” but who helped me find many of our Austin shed locations when I was scouting here in January 2007.

Here is a peek of the Austin/Hill Country structures we found and photographed last year. We’re lucky to feature four terrific Texas sheds inside the pages of Stylish Sheds and Elegant Hideaways:

Sylvia and Steven Williams’ “Hill Country Haven”

Loretta and Terrill Fischer’s “Mod Pod”

Beverly and Eldon Sutton’s “Texas Teahouse”

Carol Hicks Bolton and Tim Bolton’s “Heart’s Content”

March 20th is a magical day for me – the Spring Equinox and the day of my son Alexander’s birth. Today he turns eleven! Like me, he is a Pices, arriving at the last possible moment of this sign.

My friend Scott Eklund, now a photographer for the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, took this “flower baby” portrait of Alex in the fall of 1997 when we were shooting a holiday brochure at Emery’s Garden

I take pleasure in the fact that my first child was born on the Summer Soltice and my second child was born on the day when spring arrives (today!). It feels symbolic and life-affirming in so many ways, especially for a mother whose creative expression occurs in and around the garden. My sons, so special and yet very different from one another, are growing up. Oh, for a time-lapsed movie of their young journey to date. In my memory, my mind’s eye, I can actually see them growing: their legs and arms lengthening; their shoulders broadening. In the stories my husband and I retell one another, we roll back the tape and hit the pause button to watch it over and over again. Remember when….?

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A little piece I wrote for the Los Angeles Times appears today under the banner: Breathing Room.

If you read my “willow” post in January, you’ll know why I so enjoyed composing a short essay about environmental artist Patrick Doughterty’s new Los Angeles County Arboretum & Botanical Garden installation. Called “Catawampus,” the willow sculpture opened on February 24th.

Here is my essay in its entirety. The Times had to cut it for space, which is fine. I like it both ways. Read the published version by clicking here: Branching In.

Willow wisdom

Standing in a distant field, looking like child’s building blocks tossed here by giant hands, the assemblage of woven-willow cubes and rectangles conveys kinetic energy.

Aptly named ‘Catawampus’ by creator Patrick Dougherty, it is slightly askew, beckoning me to draw near.

Taller than a house, the installation is situated away from the main path at the Los Angeles County Arboretum & Botanic Garden. I approach, noticing how sunlight slips between open spaces formed by the warp and weft of twigs. The tactile quality of each thread-like branch appeals to me: the in-and-out, the over-and-under. I run my hand along the twisted surface, marveling at the density of four-inch-thick walls. My fingers stroke pussy willow-like tips, velvet against the rough twig bark. The structure looks spontaneously woven, as if beavers gathered the arboretum’s fallen branches after a windstorm and built themselves a fanciful dam.

Like a sophisticated student of art, I try to mentally deconstruct the organic sculpture. Is it a modernist bird’s nest? Is it a commentary on the fragile balance between nature and architecture? Or is pure folly, meant only to delight the eye?

 The tilted branch-blocks rest on ottoman-like cushions of willow. I enter and move from one interconnected space to the next. Peering out of the window openings, I glimpse a maple tree, its new green leaves about to unfurl. Through another portal in the gray-and-brown twig wall I see an early-blooming magnolia. A “skylight” at the top brightens the dark interior with spring’s pure blue sky.

It’s easy to be lured into Dougherty’s rooms, made from saplings grown by the Willow Farm in Pescadaro. Even though the primitive chambers are penetrated by air, light and sound, they feel safe and separate. Time stands still, at least for a few moments.

Solid-looking, yet impermanent. In the end, it is simply a series of large forms, fashioned from ordinary willow otherwise destined for the compost heap. But it gives me quiet comfort.

Catawampus by Patrick Dougherty runs through 2009 at the Los Angeles County Arboretum, 301 North Baldwin Ave., Arcadia, (626) 821-3222 or www.arboretum.org.

“To be happy at home is the ultimate result of all ambition, the end to which all enterprise and labour tends.”

–Samuel Johnson, 1750

I’ve been meditating on the notion of home this week, trying to figure out if it’s possible to possess more than one.

And I don’t mean having a second home in the mountains or at a lake (that vacation cabin of our fantasies), but what this question really gets to is whether my heart can be at peace when it lives in two places even though I’m only physically in one of them.

It’s funny how frequently the word “home” appears in our lives. And how many different synonyms we use to describe it (nest, shelter, cocoon, cave, abode, roost, maison, house, castle, my place…..).

Last night, my son’s high school choir staged an ambitious “Singing Waiter Dinner,” during which some very talented teenagers sang — and served dinner to – parents and friends, while also raising funds to pay for their spring performance trip to Boston. The theme of “home” appeared in at least a half-dozen of the numbers: ballads, show tunes, hot songs that teenagers are listening to right now, and even an original song written and performed by one of my son’s fellow choir members. Home is on our minds, whatever our age.

So while in Seattle for the Northwest Flower & Garden Show last week, the notion of home occupied my thoughts. My heart is invested in that city, the city of my college years, our early (pre-children) married life, my many professional iterations, my multiple newspaper, magazine and book projects, the home Bruce and I made for ourselves, with our fabulous architect and builder friends, and the garden I planted and cared for, and loved. This, I thought, was “home.” The place I left 18 months ago for S. California, which was decidedly “not home.”

I remember my first return trip in February 2007, when I flew to Seattle for the flower show and spent five days pretty much on the verge of tears. I stood up on the podium to lecture and was so overwhelmed at the sight of friends and their dear faces in the audience – people who I considered my community – that my eyes welled up and I had to pull myself together in order to give that talk. It was a tough trip because I’d only been away for six months and I felt as if I had been exiled to an alien land.

This time, the story was different. I guess that extra 12 months of familiarizing myself with a new landscape – literally and figuratively – started changing my idea of “home.” During a completely self-indulgent week in Seattle when I left my family behind in order to have long, uninterrupted adult conversation, hug and laugh with friends, inhale the fragrances of wet earth and feast my eyes on plants I can no longer grow, I finally realized that I was kind of just a visitor. Life continues, but it changes. And you know, that’s okay. And for the most part, even though we miss one another, my friends would rather know that we’re happy, adjusting, getting connected and making a good life here in LA. They don’t really want to hear that we’re miserable, lonely, and lost in this land.

And the good news is that we’re not lost. I’m surprised every day about the experience of living here. I never could have imagined feeling “at home” in a new city and state. But it’s happening, thanks to kindred spirits who have adopted me and taken me on plant-and-garden lovers’ field trips, and shared their passion for this place with me. Sandy, a talented designer who I met through a mutual Seattle friend, laughed at me recently, saying: ”You’re like a tourist - you get excited about everything new!” I guess I can thank my insatiable curiosity for helping deepen my affection for my new surroundings.

After returning on an early morning Seattle-to-Burbank flight last Saturday, I wrote this email note to a friend: “Being in Seattle last week was the first time I realized that it is no longer my home, but a beloved place that I cherish in my heart. Home is now in Southern California, and after a week of playing in Seattle, I was ready to get back here.”

Yesterday, after playing catch with my dog at the ocean and filling my pockets with bits and pieces of seashells, smooth glass and pottery that dotted the sand, after touring a favorite display garden where the hot orange South African aloes were in bloom, and enjoying brilliant conversation over lunch with Paula, another writer exiled in L.A. (from Boston), I realized what a gift it is to be given a “new home,” even one that I didn’t realize I wanted.

Zanny started barking when the FedEx truck arrived at the curb around 11 a.m. today. Little did I know she was announcing the delivery of my advanced copy of Stylish Sheds and Elegant Hideaways!

I opened the padded envelope from Clarkson Potter so quickly that I got a paper cut, but no bother…it was worth the pain because I knew what was inside. What an exciting feeling to hold this volume in my hands, to feel the slick, glossy jacket wrapped around a hardback book bound in two shades of sage green, to flip the pages (c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y at the top, right corner, Robyn) and then see Bill Wright’s gorgeous photographs return me to the many magical destinations we’ve visited in the past few years. 

How odd, to read the words I wrote with such intensity (and almost always while on a crazy deadline) as they looked up at me in a friendly, familiar way. What a gift to have been able to explore this notion of a separate, backyard destination, and take the journey with so many wonderful shed owners to discover their stories.

There are some very special people to acknowledge, and I’ll be thanking them again and again. First of all, my collaborator and creative partner, Bill Wright, photographer extraordinaire. We had a fun and compatible adventure documenting nearly 40 locations, 28 of which appear in the final book. You don’t really know a person’s true character until you have to work side-by-side with him at 4:30 a.m. (after going to sleep at midnight the night before), schlep photography equipment together, and realize he is letting you be bossy when he really does know what he’s doing! No words can fully explain my gratitude, Bill. We got through Stylish Sheds with only a few ”I’m about to kill you” moments — moments that we thankfully laugh about now.

Doris Cooper, our visionary and big-picture editor, believed in this idea. I am grateful that she was willing to trust her gut, trust our creativity and support us as we pursued this dream. I’m ready for the next big thing and hope I can repeat the experience with her at the helm. Marysarah Quinn, the incredibly gifted designer and art director, took a pile of photos and pages of text and conjured up a jewel of a book that really sparkles. All I can say is “wow,” Marysarah. You gave us your best and it feels great to hold the finished evidence in my hands. Finally, a big bouquet of thanks goes to Sarah Jane Freymann, the agent who “gets it,” who represents us so well, and who inspires me, makes me laugh, and gives me hope.

All these accolades will be repeated in two months when our official on-sale date arrives, April 29th. But my birthday is this week, and I’m tickled for the early B-day present.  

Thought I’d post a few photographs of the real thing, and share some lines from the introduction, entitled: “Escape to your own backyard.”

. . . The human need for a separate place appears in literature, speaking to the ideal of ‘sanctuary’ in our personal lives. In his book The Poetics of Space, the French philosopher Gaston Bachelard wrote, ‘The recollection of moments of confined, simple, shut-in space are experiences of heartwarming space, of a space that does not seek to become extended, but would like above all still to be possessed . . . [it] is at once small and large, warm and cool, always comforting.’

Bachelard’s thoughts on shelter resonate with me, as do the words of architect Ann Cline, who calls her backyard shed a ‘hut.’ In her book of essays, A Hut of One’s Own, Cline describes a journey taken by many of us (if only in our dreams): ‘Nowadays, the woman – or man – who wishes to experience the poetry of life . . . might be similarly advised to have a hut of her – or his – own. Here, isolated from the wasteland and its new world saviors, a person might gain perspective on life and the forces that threaten to smother it. Only in a hut of one’s own can a person follow his or her own desires – a rigorous discipline . . . . Here, a person may find one’s very own self, the source of humanity’s song.’

This is all lofty stuff, isn’t it? Well, there’s more. After quoting the academic and professional people who inspire me, I needed something solid, rooted to the earth. I turned to carpenter-philosopher, John Akers. A profoundly wise craftsman, John designed and constructed several sheds that appear in our book’s pages, including four structures for Kathy and Ed Fries and one for Edgar Lee. Here’s what John has to say, quoted in the introduction:

“I’ve seen so many situations where people have slowed down because of adding a shed to their property. They experience something intangible when entering their sheds. Maybe it transports them to a simpler time.”

What this carpenter-philosopher has to say makes a lot of sense. The modern shed may be a purely practical solution that expands the square footage of one’s living space, or it may be a simple sanctuary in the garden. But either way, it is a gift. John sums up his observations with a laugh: “I guess you could say my motto is ‘build a shed and change your life.’”

Amen, brother.