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Some gardeners have to cultivate their green thumbs, and others are born with them. Molly Sedlacek is in the latter camp. The founder of landscape design and outdoor product studio ORCA, Molly spent much of her childhood romping through her wild family garden located in the woods of Oregon, learning firsthand from the trials and errors of her garden designer mother, Lisa. But, true to the old adage, everything has a season, and Molly’s parents are now moving on to another home that better suits their current lifestyle. Before they officially hit the road, we caught up with the mother-daughter duo about their favorite memories in the space, the importance of using what you have, and why a good garden design process starts with taking off your socks.
How long have you been gardening the space for and why are you leaving it?
Lisa: We have been gardening here since we bought the house in 1980, so 45 years. It makes me sad to leave, but we are building a new house a little ways from here. It will need a new garden, and I am excited about that. The sadness of saying goodbye to certain plants, flowering rituals, harvesting times is tempered by the joy of creating something new, something that is more fitting to what we want at this time.
Was there any kind of existing garden when you moved here?
Lisa: There was a huge overgrown laurel hedge, and a small lawn in the front yard. I think we had one lilac bush by the house. The rest was woods, brush. Cutting the huge laurel hedge…is not a fun memory, but it was satisfying to start taking control of the yard.
Molly, what’s your first memory in the garden?
Molly: My earliest memories are running around the garden feeling the squishy soil and grass between my toes, then the smooth and firm pea gravel path along the berry patch that gave a little foot massage. Feeling the garden beneath my feet connected me to the land, and to this day, I walk barefoot in my garden and always encourage clients to consider materials that feel good to stand on.
What other lessons have you learned from your parents garden that you incorporate into your work today?
Molly: The beauty is in the chaos. My childhood garden had edgeless drifts of annuals and perennials, mixed with an odd shaped rock koi pond and a giant rhubarb dangling over the water. Old redwood timber ties lined our raised beds. The brush pile was always filling up, then burning down. There was an ongoing cycle of life and death, creating perpetual chaotic beauty.
Lisa: [The garden] has grown over the years with moments of “Let’s put in a new bed over here, it’s really sunny!” And the clumping bamboo has been moved around to do privacy blocking as we have changed the house shape and structure. The house used to be much smaller; with the adding on and building projects, we’ve had to move and change the landscape so many times.
What are some of the biggest successes you’ve had? What about the biggest failures?
Lisa: We’ve had some great successes with vegetables, and some failures. One year we had the best vegetable spaghetti squash, the next two years we had total squash failure due to powdery mildew. Last year we had the most beautiful purple pole beans and sunflowers; the garden was a joy to wander through. You celebrate your success and you learn to move on from your mistakes.
The structures and hardscaping you’ve made are fascinating. Did you make these yourself, and did you have a reference point when designing them?
Lisa: We would look up in gardening books or magazines and see something we liked and then create it. Many of the structures are for people and dog traffic control. Others are to provide support for plants. I’ve always loved arbors and creating gates and entries into a garden.
Molly, how does this inform the hardscaping you make in your projects with ORCA?
Molly: My parents used upcycled stone, wood, bamboo poles, found basins. Materials used to landscape the garden were not shiny, but found and already with a patina, often native to the land. My dad built all of the gates out of the dried bamboo poles, then made the latches to keep the deer out from the shorter broken pieces.
Can you point to any other areas in your own personal garden in California that have been directly inspired by your parents’ garden?
Molly: So many! I have two clumps of bamboo from my dad’s collection, cutting flowers that allow me to bring plants to friends, sages and milkweed for pollinators, and a big laurel hedge. We have a big Sycamore in front of our bedroom window where we listen to birds sing in the morning. I think my parents built their garden for the birds.
When I see my Australian plants, I think of my mom as I know how much she loves them but can’t grow them in Oregon. A part of me feels like I grow them for both of us and my garden is an extension of her.
Lisa: I am always in love with Zone 9 and Australian plants and try desperately to grow them here.
Lisa, do you plan on taking any cuttings or seeds with you?
Lisa: I have been taking cuttings of my arbor roses. I’m digging up plants that I love and that might not be appreciated by new owners: my rodgersii, heirloom roses, unusual bulbs. There are some that are too happy where they are and I will have to leave them.
What do you anticipate being the hardest part of saying goodbye to this garden?
Lisa: When we drive out the driveway the last time, wondering if the new person will know where the bulbs will come up in the spring, whether they will feed the wild birds, or know that the swallows will come back in May to roost. I know that most people will not appreciate the care and work that we put into the nurturing of the plants. We will have to let it go.
Why was it important to you to capture and photograph the garden in this way?
Molly: You can’t grow time, but you can grow a garden. It’s important to document this sacred and symbolic space that humans create and tend to. The story of someone’s garden is a story of their life.
We chose to shoot it in fall because the autumn Oregon garden really demonstrates this juxtaposition of tough resiliency and decay, with soft beauty and late blooms. There’s nothing quite like filtered October light filtering through a cedar tree and landing gently on Eupatorium purpureum. Then next to this alive and lacey-texture, the brown paper-like afterlife of Cascade hops.
Do you think gardens continue to exist even if the people who made them are gone?
Lisa: Oh yes! My favorite moments when we go hiking are finding forgotten homestead plants. The houses and the people are gone, but the apple tree and the flowering quince shout forth every spring with the urge to grow and live.