Photography by R. Todd Davis
An elegant brick Cotswolds cottage sits on a corner lot in Clayton, a quick walk from the Ritz. This bit of suburban acreage is an enchanted garden, richly designed and densely planted under the direction of owner Matt Moynihan, of the landscape design firm Moynihan & Associates. His 1928 house has good bones, the brick a nice patina. But at first glance it’s the garden, not the building, that takes your breath away. The initial perception is of a diminutive forest. Varieties of boxwood—some up to 50 years old—suggest the mystery of a maze. Entry to this kingdom comes via generous curving limestone steps leading to a flower-strewn path. The walk directs you either to the front door or, if you’re tempted to “pass go,” to the garden beyond.
When Mr. Moynihan bought the house in 1991, the landscaping was traditional: shade trees, front lawn, congested foundation shrubs. First, Mr. Moynihan repositioned the magnolias, dogwoods and yews to form privacy screens on the west and north sides of the property. Next, he constructed a low retaining wall across the front, which enabled him to elevate the garden. The lawn was banished. Removing the traditional brick stairs that serrated the middle of the bank and thus relieving the garden of all their dominant right angles, Mr. Moynihan turned the land into a rhythmic field of intuitive curves.
The true labor of love started in the mid-’90s, when Mr. Moynihan transformed the south-facing front yard into a place where his partner, architect Brian Smith, could grow flowers. Mr. Moynihan, in collaboration with California-based grasses expert John Greenlee, had already established a winding path of 3,000 sedge plugs as “a lawn substitute.” (Sedges form a tight evergreen mat that can be walked on.) The sedge matrix became “the visual as well as the physical support for the drifts of flowering bulbs, tubers, corms and perennials” that Mr. Smith wanted. Imagine the Unicorn Tapestries at the Cloisters. Mr. Smith describes the meadow as an “urban Eden.” His ebullience matches Mr. Moynihan’s earnest enthusiasm.
On the practical side, the meadow, unlike a lawn, requires infrequent mowing or watering. Good drainage was essential, so Mr. Moynihan built up the soil accordingly. In addition, the perennials, bulbs and grasses are drought-tolerant.
The predominant colors are blues, purples (almost black), yellow and white (no pink, because it would clash with the brick). Chartreuse and silver foliage accents add texture. A drastically abridged catalogue of plants includes German iris, lilies, alliums, peonies, asters, anemones, columbine, dahlias, salvias, hellebores, geraniums and phlox. Early-blooming spring bulbs cede to oceans of blue and purple alliums, regally floating over the tulip tops. June scores a new profusion of lavish lilies, with scents to swoon over. Clematis scrambles over spent bulbs, skirting transparent grasses. Climbing roses (Rosa veilchenblau) scale the house on stainless supports. Other vines include soaring morning glories, moonflowers, sprawling sweet potato and wisteria.
As flowers weave together, the effect of a single individual bloom is intensified by its relationship to the mass. Contiguous to the meadow, Mr. Moynihan deliberately uses plants, like crape myrtle and Caryopteris, that bloom on new wood. Everywhere the exuberant growth is unfettered, unimpeded, uninhibited. Of course, it’s always reproducing: Alliums beget more alliums, species tulips colonize, blue hopscotches to white, plants zigzag and cross.
Now this jewel, the meadow, is hidden in plain sight. But when it was first put in, it was too exposed—views of houses, cars and pedestrians disturbed the mood. After an elderly acquaintance who was a long-standing member of the Boxwood Society died in 1999, Mr. Moynihan bought a significant part of her collection and installed it on his property. En masse, the boxwoods read as a giant hedge, which he describes as “the architecture of the garden.”
As you move counterclockwise through the garden away from late afternoon sun, ligularias, azaleas, white camassia and rhododendrons grow. Mr. Moynihan calls this section “the rain garden,” and it’s a horticulturist’s dream. Nearby stands his favorite tree, a sourwood. Just beyond, on the roof of their garage, Messrs. Moynihan and Smith installed a brick terrace, which boasts an eclectic array of potted herbs, vegetables, annuals and tender perennials, from elephant ears to tuberoses. Two architectural elements complement the hardscape—a diamond picket fence designed by Mr. Moynihan and the living screen of yellow-groove bamboo that borders the driveway. The terrace connects to a jigsaw limestone patio that clasps the house on the north and west sides of the property.
What is now horticultural instinct, disciplined by years of education and experience, was instilled early. As a 9-year-old living in Marietta, Ohio, Mr. Moynihan launched his career by helping out in a garden owned by a glamorous bohemian friend of his mother’s who wore thigh-high leather boots and drove race cars. Later, after his family had moved to the country, he helped restore a terraced woodland. Given leftover plants to take home (“gimmes”), he designed his own gardens. “They weren’t much,” he says with a shrug. But it was a start. On his application to Washington University, Mr. Moynihan inserted a comment that he “liked to garden.” The rest, as they say, is history. He graduated with a degree in architecture and a pocketful of prospective projects.
Diploma in hand, Mr. Moynihan headed to Holland to work for the renowned Dutch landscape architect Mien Ruys. Before long, Mr. Moynihan received awards from the American Society of Landscape Architects. The Central West End is full of early Moynihan designs. Since then, his talent has been put to use at sites all over the city, including the Saint Louis Zoo and Enclave at Bellerive.
As for what’s next in Moynihan’s “urban Eden,” there’s little room left for more trees and shrubs. The future will be all about maintaining the equilibrium, tweaking and refining existing collections. But this garden’s always in transition, propelled by Mr. Moynihan’s curiosity and zeal to try new plants. Last fall he got ahold of some Oriental lilies “the size of softballs” from Washington state, acquisitions he knew would please Mr. Smith.
So yes, there will be additions and sometimes subtractions—even in Arcadia, plants fail. Big shrubs outgrow their spots; tiny boxwoods sprouting from the wall become gifts to the Boxwood Society. Yet the gospel of gardening—the practice of stewardship—endures.
