From Grunge to Gorgeous
Tiny patio, small budget, six seasons, much joy.
March of 2020: lockdown.
What I crave more than anything: a garden.
What I’ve got: 100 square feet of broken concrete, surrounded by a broken fence, looking onto a vacant lot which the guy down the block insists is his. (It’s not.) I’ve gotten into a guerrilla gardening war over this lot, and lost.
So I start with what I’ve got.
March2020
In March of 2020, my 100 sf patio contained a few pots of dirt, a rotten fence and broken concrete. And a strawberry plant.
May 2020
By May of 2020, I had scrounged some more pots and a baker's rack, and Sticker and I were hanging out with my seedlings daily.
Gifted Plants
In late summer 2020, I visited a dear client who gardens. She gifted me as many perennials as I could haul away.
September 2020
By September of 2020, the patio is a ramshackle tangle of vines, flowers and fairy lights.
At this point, I had virtually no budget. My materials are:
- Plants and junk salvaged from vacant lot (under cover of darkness)
- Stuff in my basement
- Cuttings and seedlings from fellow gardeners
- Some amazing finds from Philly Reclaim, which offered $100 free store credit on Instagram in the midst of the pandemic.
The pictures don’t look like much, but I got SO MUCH JOY from tending my tiny sanctuary. I spent hours out there every day, tending, listening to music and making plans.
In May of 2020, my next-door neighbor informed me that the guy squatting the vacant lot was stomping my plants. I turned the hose on him. He left me alone.
The Fence, April 2021
In April of 2021, I was able to replace the ancient fence. My perennials had good roots from the year before, and were coming back nicely.
Mostly Tiled
While the fence was curing, I tiled over the cinder block wall with a patchwork of patterned ceramic tile.
Chiminea
Envisioning wood fires in late autumn and early spring, I measured the space and found there was barely enough for a cast-iron chiminea.
LookingLIkeSomething
I spent happy mornings tending and rearranging plants, with my coffee.
By April of 2021, I had a few more resources.
- Perennials, bought on clearance in November
- The roots of last years’ plants
- Stimulus check (thank you, Biden!)
There was also a house going up in the vacant lot (I TOLD YOU HE DIDN’T OWN IT) so I was strongly motivated to replace the fence.
While tiling the cinder block wall, I listened to podcasts by Brene Brown and Amanda Palmer. Bliss.
Stained Fence
Once the fence had cured, I stained it with wood varnish and hung some intricate solar lanterns. Now it feels like an outdoor room.
Late Summer Chiminea
As hardy hibiscus and clematis grow like gangbusters around the chiminea, the patio takes on the flavor of an Italian terrace.
Late Summer Foliage
By August, plants are overflowing their pots.
MagicalFairyland
Evenings in my fairyland garden are filled with music, anti-mosquito incense, magical lighting, long conversations and meditation.
August 2021: A zero tolerance policy with morning glories, and anti-mosquito incense, means that I can spend my evenings chatting with friends in FREAKING FAIRYLAND. I can’t believe I get to live here.
Two things:
- Transformation is a PROCESS. It takes time.
- That process must be full of joy on a moment-by-moment basis, or why bother?
Joyful Transformation: What We Do
Over the months I was transforming my patio, I was leading numerous interior design clients through similar processes of transformation. When we got stuck, we’d dig into the obstacles–physical, psychological, spiritual. We sat with the tough stuff, and we turned a few hoses on bad actors.
And that’s how we created Restorative Interior Design. Accountability, sustainability, joy and transformation: built in.
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