View from Our Kitchen Sink

My doodle doesn’t do it justice, but this view is really pleasing in its echoes and repetitions of themes. And in its restraint. The restraint is key.

The closest part to the house is a stone patio somewhat in need of repair, and not very practical for a variety of reasons. Nonetheless, it serves its purpose as a landing pad. And the soothing gray of the stone complements the russet tones of the dried cedar leaves under the trees. I love that those trees are self-mulching. I do sometimes blend wood chippings in there too, though, to fill out the slope. Early on in my gardening endeavors here, I had thought I’d plant flowers under those trees, but that would have added clutter where negative space was needed. Also, the shallow root systems would have made planting difficult. I’m so glad I refrained.

The mulched area under the hedge of Limelight hydrangeas opposite mimics both the curve and the color under the northern white cedars. The mulch here is fall leaves from the mature oak farther back in our yard; the dried hydrangea flowers, brown at this time of year, extend the hue upward. When we first moved in to the house, I edged that area and replenished the patchy grass, to make the curve more distinct. Transitional spaces can sometimes feel like nowhere, and I wanted to ensure that this section of the side yard by which we move from the front yard to the back felt like somewhere.

Between the symmetrical arcs is the lawn, which on sunny summer mornings glows with greenish-yellow light, bringing the outside into our bright and airy dining room. I love it.

The vertical pickets of the decrepit fence behind the hydrangeas play off the vertical trunks of the cedars, which we limbed up, also when we first moved in, because it bothered me that I couldn’t see past them to the hydrangeas. We did not know at the time that the cedars would never regrow foliage along their lower trunks and that the change we were implementing would be permanent. But I have never regretted it. The bare trunks bring a a primeval-forest aesthetic to our suburban village. And what we lost in privacy, we’ve gained in views.