Water mirrors yield layers of meaning the longer you study them
THERE ARE A few things that I would have if our garden were larger – and if money and time were more abundant. In other words, this is pure fantasy. In my dream, I’d have a bigger greenhouse, so that I could grow a dozen varieties of tomatoes at a time (and lots of all of them); a securely fenced-in orchard, which would double as a fox-proof run for the hens; more fruit bushes; more perennial vegetables; in fact, more of everything edible; and a nicely designed space to grow them in. These are all good, practical things, helping to fill the belly and the larder – and all glowing with a virtuous halo of self-sufficiency.
There is something else I’d have too, but this would be a complete self-indulgence. I would have a reflecting pool: a simple, rectangular sheet of water, with no fountain, no plants, no ornamentation. Water such as this doesn’t fit in with my usual way of gardening – which is to be as mindful as possible of the rest of the planet, and my tiny part in it. A shallow body of empty, still, clean water offers nothing much to wildlife: it’s not a rich habitat or a useful ecosystem (except perhaps for midge larvae and a desperate frog or two). It is an entirely man-made article, with no equivalent in nature.
French baroque landscape architects (who knew a thing or two about contrivance in the garden) called this sort of construction a miroir d’eau – a water mirror. It is as artificial as a poem. But like a poem, it may seem to be uncomplicated to begin with, only to yield up layers of meaning the longer you study it. And just like a good poem, a liquid looking glass can feed the soul, free the weary mind, and give us a new way of seeing the world. But enough of the poetry talk. Let’s instead reflect upon reflections and the other qualities of this fluid element.
A quiet pool of water has the power to mirror whatever is around it, effectively doubling the impact of the subject. André Le Nôtre, the 17th-century landscape architect who designed the gardens at Versailles, Chantilly, Fontainebleau and various other châteaux, was the master of the reflective pane of water. He used them next to buildings, where they emphasised the grandeur of the structures in shimmering, gently undulating duplicates. Further away, his canals could be seen stretching into the (carefully designed) countryside. There they reflected the light from the sky, and appeared as vast illuminated panels laid between avenues of trees.
In India, at around the same time, the Taj Mahal and its gardens were being built, along with one of the most famous reflecting pools in the world. Of course, decorative sheets of water in the garden have a long history, stretching back to ancient Rome and early Islam. They served a practical purpose, as well as an aesthetic one, cooling and irrigating a space. They were also an expression (and still are) of man’s dominance over this powerful and skittish element, demonstrating that it could be imprisoned, controlled and turned into a work of art.
I'm reflecting on water mirrors at the moment because I've been admiring a number of them recently. The grandest of these (which I wrote about here in June) are the so-called Long Ponds at Killruddery, near Bray, in Co Wicklow (www.killruddery.com). The pair of 17th-century canals was designed by a Monsieur Bonet, a follower of Le Nôtre. They may be the earliest such miroirs d'eauin Britain and Ireland.
A much later one is that at the Dillon garden in Ranelagh (www.dillongarden.com). A decade ago, Helen Dillon swept away her tyrannous, prima donna of a perfect lawn, and replaced it with a soothing 28-metre stretch of water. Running down the centre of the garden, it provides a mirror for her truly beautiful borders and the ever-changing sky. It liberates the space from its relatively narrow confines. The chameleon surface is endlessly interesting: now glassy, now rumpled by the wind, now dimpled with rain, and now making a landing strip for a pair of water-skiing mallards.
June Blake, another brave garden-maker, is creating an exceptional space near Blessington in Co Wicklow (www.juneblake.ie). A couple of years ago she whooshed away a neat box parterre and put in a long reflecting pool. Painted black, it mirrors the capricious west Wicklow sky and her always fascinating planting – which, in this instance includes (yes!) an upside-down tree. As with all liquid looking glasses, this one acts as a magnet, drawing one irresistibly to stare into its shallow, but engrossing depths.
A few guidelines
* Unless you are a DIY wizard with the skills of an engineer and the precision of a watchmaker, don’t attempt to put in your own reflecting pool.
* The depth need be only 10 or 15cm, but it is crucial that the top of the structure is level.
* If the water mirror is near the house it should be visually tied to it in some way. Make sure that it is centred or pleasingly aligned on the building, and that materials are sympathetic.
* If there are small children in the house, either wait until they are grown up, or secure the pool with a childproof gate; and don’t put gravel nearby – it will end up being thrown in.
* Still water equals stagnant water, which means that algae will build up. Either install a pump to gently move the water, or fit a valve so that you can change the water a couple of times during the summer.
* Position the pool so that if the water overflows in wet weather it can do so without making a mess or doing damage. Drainage may be necessary.
Diary date
Next Saturday, August 8th, 2-5.30pm, South County Dublin Horticultural Society summer flower show at the County Hall, Marine Road, Dún Laoghaire. Adm free
THIS WEEK'S WORK
Deadhead plants regularly to keep them flowering longer. If you leave the spent blooms to turn into seedheads, the plant will be sent chemical messages that its year’s work is done, and will stop performing. Where flowers are produced in clusters, as with roses, don’t be tempted to snip off singletons. Instead, remove the entire truss, cutting it back to a strong leaf junction. Any buds or intact blooms that are sacrificed along the way can be made into little posies for the house.
Some ground-covering plants, such as lady’s mantle and various hardy geraniums (Alchemilla mollis), can be cut back to 5-10cm from the ground – leaves and all – after flowering. They will sprout fresh leaves, and possibly a second flush of blooms in September. Remember that some plants bloom only once in a season, and may have pretty seedheads. Leave those to decorate the autumn garden and to feed the birds.