Genus loci means the spirit of a place. Simply put, it’s storytelling.

The best gardens are shaped by a clear narrative that blends culture, environment, architecture, and the people who live there. That story gives decisions context and hierarchy.

Without a story, design choices become arbitrary. With one, a garden holds together — and continues to make sense as it changes.

This way of thinking extends well beyond gardens.

It usually starts with good intentions. A patio here. A birdbath there. A path added later, drawn as the shortest line between two points because it seems efficient at the time.

Individually, none of these decisions are wrong. The problem is that they’re made in isolation. Without a plan, they accumulate into a garden that feels awkward, fragmented, and harder to use than it should be.

Good garden design isn’t about dropping elements into space. It’s about understanding how those elements relate — to each other, to the house, and to how the garden is meant to be lived in.

Most “plop and drop” gardens aren’t disasters — they just never quite settle.

Knowing more plants doesn’t lead to better design. More knowledge can create noise.

It isn’t about how much you know.  It’s as much about what you choose to leave out, as how elements relate. A smaller, well-considered palette almost always works better than an encyclopedic one.

Design improves with clarity, not accumulation.

Many gardens become complicated in the pursuit of being interesting. More elements, more ideas, more variety — all added with the hope that richness will emerge.

Strong garden design works differently. It’s built from clear, simple layers: spatial structure, material choices, and planting. When those layers are thoughtfully composed, depth and interest follow naturally.

What makes a garden feel distinctive isn’t how many ideas it contains, but how well its layers work together.

Successful gardening isn’t a personality trait. It’s a set of skills.

Plant care, creative decision-making, and design improve through observation, repetition, and experience. When something fails, it’s rarely because you “don’t have a green thumb.” It’s usually because the conditions, timing, or decisions didn’t line up.

When gardeners understand how a space works and how plants respond, results improve — not all at once, but steadily and predictably.

It feels intuitive to begin with plants. They’re tangible, emotional, and full of promise. But in a professional design process, plants come later.

Garden design follows a sequence. Before plant selection, there are questions of space, structure, circulation, and use. When those earlier steps are skipped, even good plants struggle to succeed.

Plants are expressive, but they’re not mind readers.

Choosing plants without understanding the framework they need to support often leads to frustration — not because the plants are wrong, but because the context hasn’t been established.