As with most plants used in the Chinese garden, pines are a hugely important symbol in Chinese culture, and have been grown for thousands of years. Originally associated with religion and funerary practices thousands of years BCE, they have long been essential plants in the Chinese garden.
Pine, bamboo and plum (Prunus mume) make up the Three Friends of Winter. Pine symbolises strength and endurance. Many Chinese sayings relate to this- for example, Confucius said that only in winter do we see that the pine and cypress are evergreen, meaning that only in adversity do we see a person’s true strength. Growing in isolated places and clinging to life on inhospitable rocky cliffs, they represent longevity, resilience, and the noble hermit of Chinese literary tradition.
Ma Lin, 1180-1256 靜聽松風圖 Listening Quietly to Soughing Pines
There are a number of ancient pine trees in China, often planted beside temples. Possibly the most famous is the Guest Greeting Pine on the sacred mountain of Huangshan. A specimen of Pinus hwangshanensis believed to be between 800 and 1000 years old, it has become a symbol of China and Chinese hospitality, and is so precious that it is guarded 24 hours a day, carefully protected from adverse weather, lightning, disease, animal damage, and over-enthusiastic tourists. It was represented in firework form in the opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympics, and is currently being digitised in a 5 year long 3D modelling project.
迎客松, Guest Greeting Pine, Huangshan
Like bamboo, pines are valued for the sound of the wind blowing through them. In ancient times, this was known as songtao, which translates roughly as pine waves or pine surf. The wind in the pines is a recurring motif in both Chinese poetry and landscape painting, and the music of the traditional instrument, the qin, has been likened to the sound of pines and vice versa.
Pine in the Couple’s Retreat Garden, Suzhou
Pines planted in the Chinese garden, like almost all the plants used, are local species intended to evoke the natural landscape of China. Pinus bungeana, the lacebark pine, is often used for its attractive scaly bark. Pinus tabuliformis, the Chinese red pine, is the most commonly used, along with Pinus massoniana and Pinus armandii, the Chinese white pine. Gnarled and misshapen specimens are particularly prized, suggesting trees growing on windswept mountains, or bringing to mind dragons with their scaly bark and twisted limbs.
Bark of Pinus bungeana
Pines are also very popular subjects for penjing, the miniature landscapes that were the ancestors of bonsai.
Pine penjing in the Bamboo Garden, West Lake, Hangzhou
Deinanthe is a small genus, of only two species, closely related to hydrangeas and rarely grown in U.K. gardens. Commonly known as false Hydrangeas, the botanical name comes from the Greek Deinos meaning extraordinary, and anthos meaning flower. They are herbaceous perennials, very hardy, slowly forming a clump about 15-18″, 40-50cm tall and wide. They are woodland plants and need partial to full shade and a humus rich soil. Summer moisture is essential – they will not tolerate drying out. Watering should be reduced as the growing season comes to an end.
Deinanthe bifida ‘Pink-Shi’
Deinanthe bifida is a Japanese endemic, introduced to the West by the Russian botanist C. J. Maximowicz in 1860. The flowers are white. A few varieties are available, such as ‘Pink Shi’ and ‘Pink-Kii’, which have pink buds opening to slightly pink-tinged flowers, and may occasionally produce a few sterile florets. It is slightly larger and easier to grow than Deinanthe caerulea. The hydrangea-like leaves are split at the end rather attractively.
Deinanthe caerulea
Deinanthe caerulea is a Chinese species, native to Hubei, introduced by E.H. Wilson in about 1911. Smaller and slower-growing than D. bifida, it is even less tolerant of summer drought. The flowers are a remarkable waxy purplish blue. It is sometimes sold under the trade name ‘Blue Wonder’. There is also a hybrid between the two species, sometimes known incorrectly as D. caerulea European Form, which has pale blue flowers.
Propagation is by seed, when produced, or more reliably by division in spring.
In 1899, the plant hunter Ernest Wilson set out on his first plant hunting expedition to China for James Veitch and Sons nursery. He was looking for Davidia involucrata, the fabled Dove Tree, discovered by Père Armand David in 1869. “Stick to the one thing you are after and don’t spend time and money wandering about. Probably every worthwhile plant in China has now been introduced to Europe,” he was advised by his employers. They could hardly have been more wrong. In his 1929 book “China, Mother of Gardens”, Wilson wrote about collecting some 3500 species in China alone, of which about 1800 were new introductions to the West.
China is second only to Brazil in the number of native plant species and its botanical diversity is unparalleled amongst temperate countries. With a similar land area to the USA, China has about twice as many plant species – 31000. About half of these are endemic. Where does this biodiversity come from? One important factor was the relative lack of glaciation in China during the last major ice age. Some species which would once have been found across the northern hemisphere were wiped out elsewhere, surviving only in China. This accounts for the ‘living fossils’ such as Metasequioa glyptostroboides, the Dawn Redwood, described as a species from fossils of the Mesozoic Era in 1941 and discovered as a living plant in China in the same year (although the connection was not made until 1946).
Metasequioa glyptostroboides
Similarly, Ginkgo biloba, the Maidenhair tree, is the last remaining species of a genus found in the fossil record around the world. By the end of the Pliocene, Ginkgo species were restricted to central China. Introduced to the West from Japan in the 17th century, having made its way there from China in the 14th century, Ginkgo biloba was long believed to be extinct in the wild. Some specimens planted by temples are said to be 1500 years old or more, with one perhaps 4000 years old. Such a long history of cultivation in China makes it hard to determine whether plant populations are wild or cultivated – small existing populations of Ginkgo in Zhejiang province have very little genetic diversity, suggesting they may have been planted, probably by monks, about 1000 years ago. Small populations recently studied in the Dalou mountains show much greater genetic diversity, suggesting they may be of wild origin.
This long history of cultivation may be another, though lesser, factor in China’s remarkable diversity of plant species. Many ornamental species were first cultivated in China for food and/or medicinal purposes, and a number of trees were grown for symbolic and religious reasons as far back as 5000 years ago. This may have preserved species now extinct in the wild. For example Trachycarpus fortunei, the Chusan or Windmill palm, though widely grown, may have no truly wild specimens in existence.
Trachycarpus fortunei
China is the centre of distribution for roses (93 out of 150 species); camellias (the number of species varies depending on the authority – the Flora of China counts about 120 species, 97 native to China with 76 endemic); maples (half of the 110 species are found in China); peonies (about 30 species, half native to China, 10 endemic), and many other plants, without which our gardens would be very much the poorer.
Auspicious Dragon Rock, painting and poem by Zhao Ji (the personal name of Emperor Huizong)
The Song dynasty was founded in 960AD following 60 years of turmoil after the fall of the Tang, China’s golden age. Like the Tang, it was a great era of garden building. It was a time of commercial prosperity, scientific and technological advancement, agricultural development and, as a consequence, population expansion. However, with powerful rivals to the north and west, contested borders, factionalism at court and the long shadow of the An Lushan Rebellion (which broke the power of the Tang) behind it, Song prosperity was tinged with hedonism and excess.
Portrait of Emperor Huizong, artist unknown
The eighth Emperor of the Northern Song was Huizong (1082-1135AD). He was a great painter – arguably one of China’s greatest – a calligrapher, a musician and poet. He wrote treatises on medicine and on tea. He was a patron of the arts, a fervent Daoist, an avid collector of paintings and antiques, and passionate about gardens. In particular, he loved rocks.
Five-coloured Parakeet on Blossoming Apricot Tree, attributed to Zhao Ji (the personal name of Emperor Huizong)
There were five Imperial parks in the Song capital Bianjing (now Kaifeng), four of which were situated at the gates on the four sides of the city. These parks were opened to courtiers and officials on set occasions, and one was opened to the general public for a short while each year. The fifth park, Genyue, the Northeast Marchmount, was for the private use of the Emperor and his guests. It was built beside the imperial residence on a site selected by a geomancer in the northeast of the city. He recommended that the earth be heaped up and artificial mountains constructed, to ensure the Emperor plenty of heirs. (The character ‘Gen’ 艮 of Genyue is from the I Ching and represents mountains, the northeast, and sons).
The construction of Genyue was, after long preparation, begun in 1118, but Huizong had been collecting plants, rocks, animals, and birds from much earlier in his reign. In 1105 a ‘Provision Bureau’ was set up in Suzhou. This was the base of the merchant Zhu Mian, who was especially talented at finding scarce and valuable Lake Tai stones, often in other people’s gardens. Some of these ended up in Zhu Mian’s own garden. To find materials for Genyue a ‘Flower and Rock Network’ was set up to transport huge quantities of rarities from all corners of the empire. The scale of this undertaking is hard to comprehend. Collectors sourced rare plants from as far as 900 miles to the south of the capital. The military were drafted in to help with transportation, and commoners were sent out to search in swamps and mountains for rare plants. A dedicated fleet of boats transported huge rocks along the Grand Canal to the capital, day and night, interrupting the normal transport of food and raw materials. In some places bridges were knocked down and irrigation systems destroyed to allow their passage. As well as the physical damage and disruption, the Flower and Rock Network spawned largescale corruption and waste, drained the imperial treasury, and was greatly resented by the common people.
The Cloud-Capped Peak, Lingering Garden, Suzhou, said to be one of a handful of ‘relic stones’ from those collected by Huizong. 6.5 metres tall, it weighs about 5 tons.
Completed in 1122, Genyue was a representation of the empire in miniature, a tradition dating back to earlier Emperors, most notably Qin Shi Huangdi himself. Depleting an empire to build a garden seems supremely frivolous now, but at the time such gardens had a ritual and religious aspect, giving the project a deeper meaning. As well as ensuring more sons, Huizong hoped to gain the favour of the Immortals for himself, his dynasty, and for Song China. Zhang Hao, an official writing soon after the events, during the Southern Song, recounted the story of the site’s geomantic significance:
…as predicted, there was a response [in the form] of numerous sons. From this time forward, there was regular security within the seas and lack of incident at the imperial court, and His Highness devoted quite a bit of attention to parks and preserves.
Record of the Northern Marchmount, Zhang Hao, translated by James M. Hargett p. 185 in The Dunbarton Oaks Anthology Of Chinese Garden Literature, A. Hardie and D.M. Campbell (Eds,)
The garden was not particularly large, when compared to other imperial parks. What was most remarkable about it was the size of the artificial mountain landscape,
…an artificial pile more than ten li in circumference, of ‘ten thousand layered peaks’, with ranges, cliffs, deep gullies, escarpments and chasms. In some places the structure rose two hundred and twenty-five feet above the surrounding countryside, and in others it fell away, through foothills of excavated earth and rubble, to ponds and streams and thickly planted orchards of plum and apricot.
The Chinese Garden, Maggie Keswick, p.53. ‘Li‘ is a historical measurement which has varied over time. In the Song dynasty, ten li was about 2.5 miles.
There were dozens of buildings dotted about this landscape, enumerated and named by the Emperor in his own account of the garden. There was an artificial cascade, operated by workers who rushed to open the sluice gate when the Emperor arrived. More prosaically, there was a farm with fields, orchards, and a herb garden. Besides entire transplanted forests of bamboo there were plants of all kinds. Huizong himself records some of the plants that were sent from around the empire.
…loquat (Eriobotrya japonica), orange (Citrus sinensis), pomelo (Citrus grandis), sourpeel tangerine (Citrus deliciosa), sweetpeel tangerine (Citrus reticulata), betel-nut palm (Areca catechu), Chinese juniper (Juniperus chinensis), and lichee (Litchi chinensis) trees, as well as gold moth (unidentified), jade bashfulness (unidentified), tiger ear (Saxifraga stolonifera), phoenix tail (Pteris multifida), jasmine (Jasminum grandiflorum), oleander (Nerium oleander), Indian jasmine (Jasminum sambac), and magnolia (Michelia figo) plants. Ignoring variations in geography and differences in climate, all the trees and plants generated and grew…
Record of the Northern Marchmount, Emperor Huizong, translated by James M. Hargett ibid p.186
Above all, of course, there were rocks. Scholars’ rocks had become popular in gardens in the Tang dynasty, but Huizong took petromania to new extremes. Fantastically shaped rocks were arranged all over the garden. Names were bestowed upon them, and engraved, with the most important inscribed in gold.
Rock landscape in the Lion Grove Garden, Suzhou. Dating from the following Yuan dynasty, these contorted rocks are said to resemble lions and to this day are immensely popular.
Unfortunately, the use of the vast amounts of money and manpower expended on the garden weakened an empire surrounded by warlike rivals. Focusing on his garden and the arts, Huizong neglected economic policy and, most crucially, the military. In 1126 – just four years after Genyue was completed – the Jurchen, of the Jin empire to the north, laid siege to Bianjing. The garden was destroyed, its precious rocks flung from catapults, its trees cut for firewood, its rare animals killed and eaten by the army. Huizong was persuaded to abdicate in favour of his son. A temporary peace was cobbled together, but within a year, the Jurchen returned in greater force. They took Bianjing, sacked the city, destroyed or looted its treasures, and massacred many of the inhabitants. Huizong was taken north as a captive, given the mocking title Duke Hunde ‘Besotted Duke’. One of his sons, who avoided capture, withdrew south of the Yangtze and founded the Southern Song. Huizong died in Heilongjiang in 1135, a prisoner of the Jin dynasty to whom he had lost the heartlands of his country.
During the turbulent Six Dynasties period (220-589AD) after the fall of the Han, ministers and officials came and went as power at court changed hands. Having lost their positions, disappointed scholars retired to the country to live in seclusion and build gardens. This became a recurring theme in Chinese garden history. One of these, a wealthy aristocrat and former provincial governor called Shi Chong, built a garden northeast of the capital Luoyang in 296AD, called Jingu Yuan, the Garden of the Golden Valley. This was no simple rural retreat, however, but an extravagant and elaborate garden which inspired emulation through the centuries.
Hua Yan (1682–1756) Golden Valley Garden 金谷園圖
He invited thirty poets to a banquet at which they were required to compose a poem each – those who failed were ‘punished’ by being required to drink an immoderate quantity of wine. The resulting collection Poems from the Golden Valley began a long association between poems and gardens in Chinese culture, in which gardens became both a location for composing poetry and the subject thereof. In turn, gardens were inspired by poems and literary works.
Wen Zhengming (1470–1559) A Graceful Gathering at the Orchid Pavilion 兰亭修禊图
Another famous early example of this association was the Liubei Tang, the Garden of the Floating Cup. In 353AD, the poet, calligrapher, and general Wang Xizhi held a gathering of poets at a garden called the Orchid Pavilion, where King Guojian of Yue is supposed to have planted an orchid in the 5th century BC. Seating them beside a winding stream, he floated cups of wine. If a poem came to rest beside a guest, he had to drink the wine and compose a poem on the spot. This was much imitated and became a feature of many later gardens. The poems themselves are much less well regarded than Wang’s Preface to them. The pavilion and garden still exist, as well as a stele bearing what is said to be Wang Xizhi’s calligraphy.
Chen Hongshou (1598-1652) Painting of Tao Yuanming
Tao Yuanming (365-427AD), author of The Peach Blossom Spring, was another scholar who withdrew from the world. Always reluctant to participate in public life, he endured poverty to live in seclusion and cultivate himself in the Daoist tradition. He wrote poetry and gardened, as well as farming to feed himself and his family.
Drinking Wine (#5) I’ve built my house where others dwell And yet there is no clamour of carriages and horses You ask me how this is possible– (And so I say): When the heart is far, one is transported I pluck chrysanthemums under the eastern fence And serenely I gaze at the southern mountains At dusk, the mountain air is good Flocks of flying birds are returning home In this, there is a great truth But wanting to explain it, I forget the words
Tao Yuanming
To this day he is the archetype of the refined gentleman hermit, and chrysanthemums have been closely associated with him throughout history. He was one of the originators of the ‘Field and Garden’ genre of poetry.
Wang Wei, Wangchuan Villa
The Tang dynasty, which followed the turbulent Six Dynasties period, was a golden age of Chinese culture, including gardens. One famous Tang garden was the Wangchuan garden of the poet, painter, and administrator Wang Wei (701-761AD). The garden included 20 landscape scenes to be viewed from set viewpoints. Wang wrote poems to go with each scene and also painted them. The gardens, poems, and paintings were hugely influential in later years.
The Garden of the Golden Valley
Scattered pomp has turned to scented dust Streaming waters know no care, grass spreads and claims spring as its own At sunset, an East Wind carries the sound of crying birds Petals on the ground are her likeness still, beneath the tower where she fell
Du Mu (803–852)
In the late Tang the poet Du Mu wrote this poem (translation from here) about Shi Chong’s Garden of the Golden Valley, built 500 years earlier. Shi Chong ultimately came to a sad end. A rival, jealous of Shi Chong’s beautiful concubine Lüzhu, framed him for treachery. Shi Chong was executed and Lüzhu threw herself to her death from a tower in the garden.
Peaches have been cultivated in China for about 3000 years, originally for food and medicinal purposes, and poems about the beauty of peach blossom date to 600BC, showing their early use as an ornamental. By the Song dynasty (960-1279AD), several varieties had been bred with double flowers in reds and whites as well as pinks.
Each part of the tree has its own symbolism. Peach blossom opens in spring, the season of romance, and is strongly associated with love, and with feminine beauty.
Within this gate on this same day last year, Cheeks and peach flowers out bloomed each other here. Her very cheeks can now be found no more. The peach flowers smile in spring wind as before
Cui Hu (translated by Ma Hongjun).
This very well known poem from the Tang dynasty has formed the basis for many romantic stories and operas and given rise to a chengyu (Chinese idiom) 人面桃花 rén miàn táo huā, her face is like a peach blossom, to describe a woman’s beauty.
Today, peach blossom is one of the flowers used to decorate at Chinese New Year, and is especially popular with single people hoping for ‘peach blossom luck’ – luck in love.
The peach itself has long been a Taoist symbol of immortality. Xiwangmu, the Queen Mother of the West, lives on the mythical Mount Kunlun and grows peaches in her orchard. They produce fruit every three thousand years and confer immortality on anyone who eats them.
The wood of the peach tree is said to ward off demons. Swords carved from peach wood were used in Taoist exorcisms, and feature as magical weapons in martial arts legends.
Peach Blossom Spring by Zhang Hong, Ming dynasty
One further literary association which was highly influential in the development of the Chinese garden was the story of ‘The Peach Blossom Spring’. Written in 421 AD by Tao Yuanming, it told of a fisherman who followed a stream through a forest of blossoming peach trees to a cave at its source. Squeezing through this cave he found a hidden village, surrounded by beautiful scenery and fertile fields, where people lived happy and tranquil lives, cut off from the world for many generations. He met with a warm welcome and stayed for a while, but then wanted to return home. He was warned that it was pointless to tell anyone else or to try to find his way back to the village later, and so it proved. The story inspired many paintings and poems, as well as influencing gardens, and gave rise to a chengyu – 世外桃源 shìwaì taóyuán, the Peach Spring beyond this world, which means a utopia.
Willows are one of the plants most closely associated with Chinese gardens. In the West, they are inextricably linked with China through ‘Willow Pattern’ plates – though in fact the pattern originated in England, part of the 18th century craze for Chinoiserie.
Though the ‘Willow Pattern’ itself is inauthentic, willows are truly an essential plant in the Chinese garden.
The weeping willow, Salix babylonica, is native to northern China and probably made its way to Europe along the Silk Road. It was named by Linnaeus, and the specific epithet is due to the fact that, through a mistranslation, it was incorrectly believed to be the tree mentioned in the Bible as growing ‘by the rivers of Babylon’. Many of the weeping willows seen in the U.K. nowadays are hybrids between Salix babylonica and forms of our native willow, Salix alba, which are better suited to our climate.
Willows in Tongli water town, Jiangsu
In Chinese culture, willow has a number of symbolic meanings. It is associated with spring and rebirth. Its pliability suggests meekness and humility. It is associated with friendship, because of its intertwining branches, and also with parting from friends. Traditionally a willow branch was given as a parting gift, because its name in Chinese – 柳 liǔ – sounds like a word for ‘stay’. It was believed to have the power to repel evil spirits, and was used to sweep tombs on the Qingming festival. A branch might be fixed to the front door of a house to ward off harm.
Leifeng pagoda, West Lake, Hangzhou
Willow was also a symbol of female beauty, sometimes compared to the waist of a beautiful woman in poems. Its pliability also suggested frailty, however, and its combined associations with spring, the season of sexual desire, and femininity, meant it was also used as a symbol for prostitution. So the innocent sounding chengyu (Chinese idiom) 花街柳巷 Flower Street and Willow Lane actually means a red light district.
Willows by the pond in the Lingering garden, Suzhou
In the Chinese garden, willows are planted beside water. They are one of the few plants mentioned by name in Ji Chang’s The Craft of Gardens, where he always mentions planting them by water. The rectangular lattice work windows were known as willow leaf pattern.
It is sometimes said that a Chinese garden is built rather than planted. The essential physical elements are rocks, water, plants, and buildings. Ji Cheng, in the Ming classic The Craft of Gardens (1631) recommended starting a garden with water. In the Chinese garden, as in the landscape, water is yin, the opposite of mountains which are yang. The two opposites in balance embody the harmony of nature.
“For every ten parts of land, three should be made into a pond, of irregular shape so that it is interesting, and preferably made by dredging out an existing stream. Of the remaining seven-tenths, four should be built up with earth – how high or low is of no importance – and be planted with bamboo in a harmonious way.”
(Ji Cheng, The Craft of Gardens)
Artificial mountain with grotto beneath overlooking a pond. Pearl Pagoda Garden, Tongli
Rocks in the garden are often piled up to make an artificial mountain, with a path leading to a pavilion on top. The views from the top are carefully planned. There may be a grotto beneath. Both mountain and grotto echo the abodes of the Daoist Immortals.
‘Bamboo Shoot’ rocks in the Couple’s Retreat Garden, Suzhou
Individual rocks are admired for their aesthetic qualities, and have been for centuries. The most famous of these ‘Scholars’ Rocks’ are called Taihu rocks, limestone features formed by erosion deep in Lake Tai. From the Tang dynasty onwards it became fashionable to use these in gardens. The ‘Cloud Capped Peak’ in the first photo is a famous Taihu rock, said to be a relic from the collection of rocks ordered by Emperor Huizong (reigned 1100-1126 AD) of the Song dynasty.
Rocks may also represent imaginary landscapes, as in this penjing in the Lion Grove Garden, Suzhou:
Buildings are a vital part of the Chinese garden. A large part of The Craft of Gardens enumerates the many types of different structures that can be constructed, as well as discussing in detail elements such as walls, doorways, lattice windows, paving, and bridges.
Doorway in the Couple’s Retreat Garden, Suzhou. This is a visual pun – ‘ping’, the word for vase, sounds like the word for peace.
Many traditional Chinese houses are built around one or more courtyards. With the addition of various pavilions, halls, and of course a library (no scholar’s garden could be without one) the division between inside and outside is often not clearly marked, especially in the warm sub-tropical south of the country. Buildings in the garden are released from the formal Confucian regularity of the main house, and indeed symmetry is to be avoided.
“…buildings in gardens are different from ordinary dwelling-houses, for they must have order in variety and yet their orderliness should not be too rigid: even this orderliness should have a pleasing unpredictability, and yet at their most diverse there should be an underlying consistency.”
(Ji Cheng, The Craft of Gardens)
Building in the Lion Grove Garden, Suzhou
The last element in the Chinese garden is the plants. Although China – described by E.H. Wilson as ‘The Mother of Gardens’ – has huge botanical diversity, Chinese gardens use a fairly restrained palette of plants.
Lotus pond in the Humble Administrator’s Garden, Suzhou
They are mostly chosen for their symbolic value, with meanings acquired over many centuries. Many of these will be dealt with in more detail in later posts. Key Chinese garden plants include bamboo; pines; willows; chrysanthemums; orchids; peonies; plum (Prunus mume, more commonly known in the West as Japanese Apricot); lotus; wisteria; and peach.
Bamboo and rock, framed through a window and against a white wall to create a living painting in the Lingering Garden, Suzhou
A Westerner reading The Craft of Gardens may be surprised by how little mention is made of plants, with very few mentioned by name, and only one snippet of what we might consider gardening advice (on training roses).
Subtropical planting in the Qinghui Garden, Shunde, Guangdong. This southern garden in the Lingnan style boasts over 100 species of plants.
Ji Cheng considered the placing of garden buildings and features, perhaps especially rocks, as more difficult and requiring of a refined taste and a sensitivity to the nature of the site.
“The hidden significance of mountains and forests needs deep study, whereas the temperament of flowers and trees is easy to grasp.”
(Ji Cheng, The Craft of Gardens)
Indeed it is the atmosphere of a Chinese garden, its indefinable essence, that is the most important element of all. A Chinese garden is a microcosm of the world, and a retreat from it. Inspired by nature, it is a work of careful artifice. It is a search for immortality which at the same time reminds us of the passing of the seasons and the transience of life.
It is hard to appreciate all the beauty of the Chinese garden without some understanding of its history and place in an ancient horticultural tradition, its religious and philosophical roots, its inspiration in the Chinese landscape and its links to Chinese artistic culture, especially painting and poetry. These elements will be addressed in later posts.
Japonica Plants Nursery 