Design/construction by Harrison Bates for Loretta and Terrill Fischer [photography by William Wright] 

“Plant conservatory meets pool party when a brother-and-sister team designs a steel-framed backyard shed.”

This opening line to the “Mod Pod” chapter in Stylish Sheds introduces one of the hottest projects we’ve come across. It resides in a modest Austin backyard. Owner Loretta Fischer wanted a greenhouse to store her tropical plants during the winter months. When she asked her brother Harrison Bates to build it, the project quickly changed from ordinary to outrageous. These two know how to have fun. Their project started out as a rectangular building with a traditional pitched roof. Things changed dramatically, seemingly overnight, when Harrison’s wild imagination exploded to create the hippest greenhouse ever built.

Here is the original design, sketched by Harrison on a post-it note:

As Harrison recalled when I interviewed him last year: “Loretta said, ‘why don’t you build me a greenhouse?’ So I gave her a sketch and said, ‘here’s your greenhouse with a little pointy roof.'”

The rest is history. For his second version of the design, Harrison addressed Loretta’s concern about wanting to see into her yard (she didn’t want the shed to block her view of the rest of the garden) and to save a mature bur oak. 

According to Loretta, Harrison’s new design blew her away: “The next day he brought me this elaborate drawing of a fancy, modern greenhouse. I don’t even know what he was thinking. We both love modern architecture, but I was really surprised with his sketch.”

Here’s what the Pod schematic looked like after Harrison “tweaked” it.

Elevation of new shed

Floor plan, showing where the shed wraps around the bur oak

Site plan showing how the footprint of the Mod Pod fits into the Fischer backyard

Harrison designed the asymmetrical, V-shaped structure with roof sections tilted at shallow angles. He used combinations of 7-foot squares and right-angle triangles to engineer this wildly imaginative building. A slant on its south side wraps around the oak tree and juts toward Loretta and Terrill’s house.

I love this story about Loretta and Harrison because it encourages the breaking of conventions, the bending of rules — coloring outside the lines, so to speak. Who says a greenhouse has to be shoebox-shaped? Why can’t it be a parallelogram? Surrounded by a pentagonal moat-fountain? Built from conventional materials in an highly unconventional manner?

Today I stumbled across a surprise from Harrison. He visited our book’s page on Amazon.com and posted photos taken from design-through-construction of his sister’s playful structure. Here is the link. You’ll enjoy the slide show! Thanks, Harrison – you rock!

P.S., I couldn’t resist this photo of the Bates kids playing in the swimming pool one Texas summer decades ago. With their brother Doug (left), Harrison (center) and big Sis’ Loretta (right), this Polaroid shot hints at the future pool-inspired water element that Harrison and Loretta created surrounding her Mod Pod (Photo and illustrations: courtesy Harrison Bates)

Marty Wingate’s review of Stylish Sheds and Elegant Hideaways appears in today’s issue of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer.

My former colleague, also known as The Grounded Gardener, devotes her column to “Retooling the old garden shed.”

I love the way that Marty weaves an engaging tale about the relationship between garden-makers and the structures that occupy their landscapes.

These new “garden accessories,” as one of my editors describes the architectural gems cropping up between the herb garden and the mixed perennial border, are places that draw us outdoors, to spend even more time in the garden. Marty writes:

“Once the denizen of dusty corners in the backyard, the garden shed has emerged to become an outdoor living space. No longer does it store lawn mowers, bags of grass seed and rakes – or if it does, you’d never know by its exterior.”

Marty’s piece features Bill Wright’s photography of Jennie Hammill’s lovely glass house in Seattle’s Ballard neighborhood. First of all, we should acknowledge that Gillian Mathews of Ravenna Gardens suggested the inclusion of Jennie’s delightful “room with a view.”

Out of the blue, as often happened during the course of working on Stylish Sheds, I received a letter in the mail. It read:

“Dear Debra, Gillian, of Ravenna Gardens, tells me that you are writing a book on Garden Houses. I wondered if you would be interested in mine. It was designed by Randy Keller, ASLA, and I built it. Randy has a really neat garden house as well, built of of recycled windows and doors (as is mine)….please feel free to call if you would like to come visit.” Sincerely, Jennifer Hammill.

I remember visiting Jennie and her husband Tully on a misty June morning in 2006. After walking through their bungalow (where there are two side-by-side grand pianos occupying the heart of their living room – Jennie is also an accomplished pianist and teacher), we exited the kitchen door onto the back porch. As I noticed the fabulous glass house, constructed with no fewer than 43 recycled and hand-built windows and doors, I nearly began to hyperventilate with excitement.

Like a miniature conservatory, the glass house is fascinating to study (Volunteer Park Conservatory, seen at left, has crossed windows that inspired those on Jennie’s structure). She calls hers the Teahouse. Light pours into, through, and out of the 10-by-14-foot shelter. The divided windows – glass squares, rectangles and triangles — form the shapes between mullions and render a slightly surreal scene. Depending on where one stands, at dawn when the garden day is awakening or at dusk when Ballard’s sky is illuminated by a setting sun, the distinct shape of each glass pane is outlined in sharp detail.

While she first worried that the teahouse would crowd her garden, Jennie says it has done the opposite. “I thought it would make the garden look totally minuscule, but the garden feels more spacious now,” she says.

Randy’s tiny glass house at Rosentangle, his garden

Her partner-in-design, Randolph Scott Keller, ASLA Landscape Architecture, has been urging Jennie to get into the glass house-building business. An accomplished fine cabinetmaker who owns Ballard Woodworks, Jennie has many beautiful pieces of furniture and cabinetry to her credit. But this project is probably her most personal. And she’s not ready to build one again for a long time. I like to imagine that Jennie’s time is divided between teaching piano, building exquisite cabinetry, and spending moments in the teahouse. That’s pretty satisfying.

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

“Old garden sheds can see new life as office space, artist studio, dining pavilion, party room or just private hideaway.” 

Alice Joyce, author of Gardenwalks in California and Gardenwalks in the Pacific Northwest, wrote a very kind review of Stylish Sheds and Elegant Hideaways in yesterday’s San Francisco Chronicle. We couldn’t be more excited to read her generous words describing this project:

Here is an excerpt:

“Maybe you’ve conjured up a funky backyard folly purposefully set aside for daydreaming. Or considered adding a sophisticated retreat in which to enjoy cocktail hour, an intimate space separate from the home yet connected in spirit. If so, you might be inspired to take action after perusing Prinzing’s handsomely produced sourcebook, with nearly 30 projects pictured, five in the Bay Area. . . .

“Whether restored, refitted or built from the ground up, the ‘cool backyard structures’ presented are brought to life by Prinzing’s engaging writing and Wright’s alluring photographs, revealing personalities and design sensibilities.”

Riding on the celebratory wave of two festive book parties in the Austin area, we are so thrilled with Alice’s affirming review. Here is a link to the full article in the San Francisco Chronicle, May 3rd.

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.

I traveled last month to Seattle’s fabulous Northwest Flower & Garden Show, spending a week in my beloved former city absorbing the magical effect of rare February sunshine filtered through a dewy atmosphere. Here is a field report of some of my favorite gardens at the show:

Stained chocolate brown, a sleek, 10-by-15 foot “slat house” provides a sense of shelter while allowing views into and out of the room-like space.

The cool-blue palette appears in large-scale urns.

Silver and blue-grey foliage defines a monochromatic design by Tami Ott-Ostberg

I enjoyed serving as a judge for Seattle Homes & Lifestyles’ “First in Home and Design 2008” award, an honor given to the best example of residential garden design. I evaluated more than 25 display gardens with publisher Jill Mogen, editor Giselle Smith, art director Shawn Williams, and assistant editor Lindsey Rowe. Unanimously, we selected “Garden Getaway,” created by Tami Ott-Ostberg of Garden Dreams Design, and Ian Wilson of Outdoor Living Environments. With a fashion-forward aqua-and-brown palette, the two interpreted an interior design aesthetic for the landscape.

My shed obsession was satisfied when I viewed “Sommarstuga: Summer Living, Simply and Sustainably,” a fantastic take on a Swedish summer cottage (see above), designed by Janine Anderson and Terry LeLievre for the Washington State Nursery & Landscape Association. How fitting that Sunset magazine selected this garden for its award. Here’s what the designers had to say: “Similar to the Northwest, Sweden has short summers and long summer days. Swedes often spend their summers in simple, airy cottages . . . . Though such a retreat might sit on an island in the Stockholm archipelago, it could just as easily straddle rocks on a Northwest promontory. . . .wherever it sits, a Sommarstuga is an icon of summer living.”

corn and sunflowers rooted in the roof of an arbor

edibles planted in the roof of the chicken coop

I was thrilled to learn that judges for Pacific Horticulture, the awesome journal for Western gardeners, gave the nod to “A Backyard Farm: Urban Agriculture in the Northwest.” Designed by Colin McCrate and Brad Halm of Seattle Urban Farm Co., the garden featured a vegetable patch, mini orchard and chicken coop, an illustration of how a Seattle resident might bring the concept of urban agriculture to their own backyard. The open kitchen situated next to the garden emphasizes the connection of the landscape to the dinner table. The inclusion of traditionally rural elements (chickens, corn stalks, sunflowers and more) in an urban setting shows how a small but functional garden space can also be beautiful. 

Robyn Cannon’s edible parterre, created with Lucca Statuary

 

Ravenna Gardens’ Northwest-style courtyard

Wendy Welch’s urban terrace

Kudos to Northwest Horticultural Society and its members, volunteers and president Nita-Jo Rountree for pulling off an inspiring educational display called “Eat Your Vegetables: Garden 2 Table.” Each of three designers showed how edibles can be beautiful elements of residential garden design. I loved it!

“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.

As long ago as the Tong Dynasty (616 to 906), Chinese scholars and poets sought refuge in small, distant places – such as a pavilion – to write, observe nature, and seek understanding.  Powerful and universal is the desire to separate from everyday life for quiet, spiritual, and artistic pursuits.  I was reminded of this notion, one that bridges cultures and centuries, when taking a pre-tour of Liu Fan Yuan, or the “Garden of Flowing Fragrance,” at the Huntington Library, Art Collections, and Botanical Gardens, in San Marino, Calif., near Pasadena.

On a crisp, sunny January morning, June Li, Chinese Garden curator, and Lisa Blackburn, Huntington’s communications coordinator, escorted me behind the construction barriers to stroll this magnificent new garden, which opens to the public this weekend.

With an initial phase that includes a 1.5-acre lake, a complex of pavilions, a tea house and tea shop, and five stone bridges, the $18.3 million project has been a decade in the making. It covers about 3.5 acres of a planned 12-acre site.

Amidst architectural majesty of carved stone and wood, handmade roof-tiles, and a dynamic entry wall that undulates like an ancient river, appears the most arresting visual sight: Di Lu Ting, or, the “Pavilion for Washing Away Thoughts.” Other features of this garden are pristine and elegant, but the pavilion is humble by comparison.

The Pavilion for Washing Away Thoughts

This rustic thatched structure, situated a distance from grand pavilions, soaring moon bridges and pebble-patterned courtyards, appears at the edge of a rushing stream in a canyon-like setting. Constructed with traditional post-and-beam craftsmanship, the round, open-air shelter orients its occupant’s eyes upstream, past mature winter-flowering camellias, toward the heart of the Chinese Garden.

A couplet is inscribed in Chinese characters on two wood columns:

“Flowing water can purify the mind; Fragrant mountains are good for quiet contemplation.”

(by Shi Tingquan, also known as Richard Strassberg, professor of Chinese at UCLA)

June Li told me that the 21th century Chinese landscape designers who worked with the Huntington included the thatched-roof pavilion as a symbolic reference to Chinese literary traditions. Ancient poetry and essays, she says, “talk about scholars wanting to retreat to a thatched cottage or pavilion by a stream.”

It is pleasing to see this peaceful, soul-nurturing place at the wilder edges of the Chinese garden. Just viewing it reminds me that my interest in the architecture and design of sheds and hideaways is nothing new. Centuries ago, on another continent far from here, others sought solitude to pursue art and beauty. 

In an article I wrote about the garden for the San Diego Union-Tribune, I ended the piece with this paragraph:

For anyone living in the fast-paced, twenty-first century Western world, time spent in this “living painting” is to be savored. When you visit, perhaps you’ll recall the story Li shares about Tao Yuan Ming, a fourth-century Chinese poet whose favorite flower was the chrysanthemum: “As we all do sometimes, he was frustrated with a life of compromises. So he retired to his garden, which for him was more of a form a protest to uphold his moral principals, rather than just giving up. He desired the ideal of living a simple life.”