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At the top of Hopkins just before the North branch of Berkeley’s public library is a point where several streets (Sonoma, Fresno, Josephine) meet. 

After 9/11, a vigil was held at that point, with candles placed directly on the roughly triangular section of tarmac. Quite a crowd gathered. 

Thanks to the efforts of various groups, this area has now received formal structure, consisting of a gently sloping terra cotta-colored ramp flanked by drought-tolerant succulents grouped in species, with one serene area of raked golden sand, on which lie five majestic boulders. 

Years ago when I was apprenticed to a gardener, this kind of simple, beautiful design was rarely if ever seen. Perennials were all the rage. Every garden looked the same, with a few reliables (lavender, yarrow, eriogonum, salvia), clean coarse mulch, and an automatic sprinkler system: instant landscaping. 

Although it was undoubtedly a tidy look, after a while it seemed predictable, even boring. While it is true that shrubby plants as well as trees can and do help to delineate space, alone they do not contribute the restfulness, fun and even excitement of artfully placed bricks and mortar, wood and stone. Nature’s mountains, screes and streams are examples of the best kind of backdrop for flora of all kinds—including perennials. 

My own house came with dismal garden architecture. The front fence looked like a cemetery’s. Built for eternity, it was removed with difficulty. In its place is now a wall with an armature of cardboard, roofing paper and chicken wire, covered with several layers of stucco mix. This wall is strong and stable, and echoes the look of the house. It is easy to make the lightweight armature indoors, in short sections. They are easily carried out and installed piece by piece. Fall, after the dry season and the tyranny of irrigation are over and winter vegetables planted, is a good time for projects like this. The wall can then be stuccoed one section at a time between rain showers. Stucco can be tinted with dry pigments, painted, and even engraved. I expect this wall to last forever, too. Passersby tend to sit on it, which is a good sign. 

Walls, water, meadows, and above all space, not only enhance the natural scene, they give the eyes a break. Perennial lavender, for instance, is so much more charmingly set off when it is allowed to grow huge and splendid and alone in a large clay or stone urn, than when it is a spindly shrub crammed into a hodgepodge of incompatible species. A row of same variety lavenders is equally effective below a brick wall, as is a row of scarlet poppies against a wooden one. Too much variety simply fatigues the eye. 

Garden architecture need not only be a divider, or a focal point. It might be a hidden surprise. In my own garden, this is a teahouse, something I had wanted for a long time. It is very simply made of found materials, just large enough for one camp bed. One piece of discarded lumber had so much hardware attached, that if I’d sold just the screws, they would have paid for the cement that secures the four corner verticals. I might even have made a profit. It is amazing what people throw away. 

The teahouse is at the end of a meandering path. I was secretly delighted when a recent visitor failed to notice it. At this time of year a clump of scarlet canna lilies, glowing without distraction against greenery, seem to make a natural lantern at the head of the path, indicating the way for the initiated. 

Similarly, the triangular architectural planting at Hopkins points the way towards the library. On Oct. 11 this space will be dedicated, with appropriate rituals. Take a look, and give your eyes restful delight.