Post written by (recently graduated) UW-Madison Student Mason Borchardt

My first memory of Madison was at the Allen Centennial Garden. It was summer orientation, and my future dorm, Leopold Hall, was located directly next to the grounds. During our tour, we stepped into the fourth-floor den where the bay windows offered a bird’s-eye view of the English and Kitchen gardens. Before I knew it, I was heading down the elevator to take a closer look. A conversation with the head gardener turned into many as visits to the Allen Centennial Garden became a regular fixture of my life at Madison. I’m now wrapping up my third and final year, receiving my degree in Horticulture. For the students of the College of Agriculture and Life Science, the last few semesters are spent working on what is known as a “capstone project”. Capstones are specific classes, research, or independent projects that are meant to combine and apply varied aspects from the student’s education. These projects focus on solving problems or giving students essential experience to aid in a transition into their desired field. 

My Horticultural capstone at the Allen Centennial aims to challenge my problem solving skills, develop my interpersonal skills, and effectively communicate the work I have done with the public (that’s what I am doing right now!) We decided that these goals would best be accomplished through multiple projects that I was to work on over the course of the year, one big design project supplemented with volunteer work throughout the fall semester. Working around the garden, I helped transport plants to the Walnut Street Greenhouse, dug and divided dahlias, covered vulnerable plants, and assembled winter wreath kits. 

My design project focused on a reimagining of the half-moon garden, the garden surrounded by the parking loop near the front of the Allen Centennial.The Half-Moon garden is probably most recognized for the large weeping mulberry (Morus alba ‘Pendula’) that shades the space. A wood bench underneath invites visitors to enjoy the tranquil beauty of the tree’s canopy. As is, this garden’s understory was primarily planted with Siberian squill (Scilla siberica) that created large drifts of blue at the feet of the trees, alongside Heuchera, (Heuchera villosa ‘Autumn Bride’), Brunnera  (Brunnera macrophylla ‘Jack Frost’) and a few Hostas. The northern side, free from the deep shade of established trees, was planted with daylilies, poppies, and goldenrods.

During the design process, I identified the siting conditions of the garden and noted any potential difficult spots. I wanted to create a garden that was both  beautiful and functional. My first and my biggest challenge was, of course, the trees. I would be working almost exclusively in siting that is typically dreaded by gardeners; dry shade. Both maples and mulberries have shallow, dense root systems that not only make it difficult to plant, but also saps up any moisture that would otherwise be available for the perennials that I plant. Secondly, any plant that was going into the design needed to be rabbit-proof. In recent years, rabbits have been terrorizing plantings all over campus. From stripping plants bare of foliage to girdling the woody stems of shrubs in winter, it seemed that no garden was safe from the ravages of these dreaded, adorable animals. 

I spent the first month of fall semester gathering inspiration for the design, looking off-campus at Olbrich, Epic Campus, or the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum for ideas, and cross referencing to plantings that work on campus at the UW-Botany Gardens or Allen Centennial. Jeff Epping, former director at Olbrich and designer of Epic Campus’ landscapes, provided major inspiration. Most of Epping’s designs were in full sun, but when he planted in shady spots, he would fill any gaps between perennials with native woodland sedges. These plants have evolved with hardwood forests in a similar way that many of our woodland wildflowers have; take up solar energy when it hits the forest floor before the canopy closes in spring (sedges also photosynthesis in fall when the canopy opens up again after leaves fall.) Epping noted that this strategy easily translates to an establishing shade garden. If sedges can close the gap between snowmelt and perennial leaf-out, you can minimize the amount of bare earth, and thus limit weed growth. Woodland sedges have also adapted to seasonal water availability during the summer months, when trees are in active growth. Thus a vision was born; the bare, sunless earth of our half-moon garden transformed into an emerald carpet of beautiful native sedges.I presented some ideas of various gardens to the Allen Centennial staff, who gave me feedback before we settled on a winner. 

I called my design “The New Shade Garden” (Inspired by Ken Druses’ book, which emphasized an “Ecosystemic” approach to shade gardening) as in it, I wanted to use mainly native plants in a design that would serve to accentuate and extend the season of the garden’s more desirable attributes. I knew that the wood bench, being a personal favorite spot, was going to be a large part of this design. It really made me think about what makes a garden interesting, not just to someone who walks by the garden for thirty seconds, but for someone who really observes. Texture and color, yes. Fragrance and isolation (garden rooms, per se) I think can add to a level of immersion, but upon reflection, what really drives me to observe and admire a garden is its interactivity with the environment. I remember reading an article that likened hostas ecological value to that of “plastic lawn flamingos”, and while a tad hyperbolic, I think the sentiment stands true. Plants that attract insects whether it’s for its nectar, shelter, or food, are enticing to the gardener in a post-wild world because it illustrates in a small way, ecosystem function. In an increasingly static world, I wanted to create a garden that allowed the viewer to see plants that interacted with their environment, not simply existed in it.

I drew inspiration from the dry, upland Oak forests near me back home in Minnesota, both in plant selection and in repetition. When walking in the woods, a few species often predominate a particular spot: whether it’s all of the south facing slopes, lowland spots, or canopy breaks. I figured if nature wasn’t scared of repetition, I shouldn’t be either and kept the plant list relatively simple. One might accuse me of opting for some of the more “unglamorous” native plants, but I hope that by choosing my plants carefully, and selecting species that I know could tolerate these difficult conditions, that my design will be low maintenance and eventually self-sustaining. Underneath the canopy of the mulberry, a large planting of Rosy (Carex rosea) and Appalachian (Carex appalachia) Sedge echo the “lawn” of squill that covers the half-moon every April. Noticing how the ground nearest the fence received a couple hours of evening sun, I planned for Northern Sea Oats (Chasmanthium latifolium) to grow along the fence line. Sea oats is an incredibly shade tolerant species, able to fix carbon at levels ten times lower than other grasses. I could sit for hours watching the seedpods of this wonderful native sway in the slightest breeze, I hope others will feel the same way. Working from a bench-sitters sightlines, I planned a native shade garden along the understory of the trees. Using taller plants like our native clematis, Clematis virginiana, pollinator-friendly smooth hydrangea (Hydrangea arborescens ‘Haas Halo’), and Aralia Racemosa, I tried to obscure the view from the fence and create a more ‘closed in’ feel. In the deepest shade and driest soil near the trunks of the trees, I planned leather wood fern (Dryopteris marginalis) and false solomon’s seal (Maianthemum racemosum) both of which are familiar to my forests back home. Bowman’s Root (Gillenia trifoliata), White Wood Aster (Aster divaricatus), Autumn Bride Heuchera (Heuchera villosa ‘Autumn Bride’), fill the gap between the center of the bed and the lighter shade nearer the roundabout. Sweet woodruff (Galium odoratum) and (you guessed it) more sedges line the edge of the walkway and the curb of the planting. On the sunnier, northern side, I had a little more liberty in deciding what to plant. I wanted this garden to feel tranquil, and not distract from the vibrant color of the annual and cottage plantings opposite, so I opted for white. Nearest the fence, Japanese anemones (Anemone x hybrida ‘Honorine Jobert’) will bloom alongside white wood aster, attracting swarms of pollinators, gathering nectar and pollen as fall looms around the corner. Clusters of Solomon’s seal (Polygonatum odoratum var. pluriflorum ‘Variegatum’) provide interest all summer with creamy white variegated leaves and dark red stems. A personal favorite among pollinators, clustered mountain mint, will bloom from July to September with light pink, silvery-bracted flowers, and aromatic foliage. For those who aren’t in the lingering or observing mood, an urn filled with shade annuals provide interest and fill a blank spot in the center of the bed. 

As the plants arrive and the design begins to take shape, I’m realizing that this project is about more than just filling a difficult planting space. It represents the culmination of everything I’ve learned: how to read a site, work with ecological constraints rather than against them, and design with both people and ecosystems in mind. The Half-Moon Garden won’t be “finished” when it’s planted; like any good garden, it will grow, shift, and settle into itself over time.

In many ways, it feels fitting. My time in Madison has followed a similar trajectory…what began as curiosity during a visit to Allen Centennial Garden has developed into a deeper understanding of horticulture, design, and the role gardens can play in connecting people to the natural world. This space, once just something I looked down on from a dorm window, has become something I’ve had the privilege to shape. As I leave Madison, I know I’ll carry these lessons with me, but a part of my work will remain here…rooted, quite literally, in the garden that first drew me in.