If that sounds as if I am awed by bonsai—I am. I would never have the talent and patience to prune and shape, trim and train, in minute detail year after year, so that every branch, twig, and tiny needle or leaf would be perfectly placed and proportioned. Even if I were an artist, I doubt that I could create the illusion of grandeur in minuscule scale. Nor would I ever dare assume the responsibility for caring for these priceless, age-old plants.
But that doesn’t mean that bonsai is beyond me, or any other gardener who admires it. Without committing the sacrilege of inept imitation, we can have our own version of these miniature trees and make them artistic and satisfying in our own way.
The original bonsai trees look old and weather-beaten because they are old and weather-beaten. The Japanese adopted this art from the Chinese many centuries ago. Our trees in bonsai-style are not likely to have that venerable age, but they can have character. They can have the lines of trees that have held a precarious footing on the side of a rocky slope, have been bent by the wind or twisted by mighty storms.
Because every part of it is in perfect proportion to every other part, a fine bonsai tree creates an illusion of tremendous size—as if you were looking through the wrong end of a telescope to a giant more than a hundred years old. Our dwarfed trees can be perfectly proportioned and create the same illusion. Although there is no substitute for true antiquity, our dwarfed trees can be artistic in their own way without pretending to be ancient.
By making some concessions (without desecrating the art) we can take suitable trees and turn them into “Orientalized” garden ornaments, and do it in one year, not ten. If the pruning and training is done with care and artistry, the result will be a bonsai which is a distinguished ornament and particularly appropriate for contemporary architecture, and also for landscape architecture.
I have seen a bonsai of Sargent’s juniper set beside a garden pool, its twisting branches swaying out and over the water, and reflected in it. Twin (but not identical) bonsai trees are startlingly effective; for example, one on each side at the top of a set of formal steps. Bonsai can be used as a center of interest on a patio or terrace to accent an entrance, on top of low walls, or against the wall at the end of a path.
Last summer, in our wild garden, my husband dammed up a tiny stream at a point where it began to run down a short but rather steep and shaded slope. This created a small pool from which the water trickles over the dam and drops onto a series of rock ledges below. We planted the banks on both sides with ferns, wild ginger, bloodroot, trillium, and other wildlings. But something was needed at the top, some small tree or shrub that would integrate the dam into the picture and would be in harmony with the woodsy surroundings.
We considered all the dwarf, shade-tolerant evergreens our local nurseries had to offer, but nothing seemed just right. We scoured our woods, but the only low-growing trees (which are mighty few in our area) were too straight and erect. The mountain laurels and other shrubs with interesting lines would eventually grow too large. So we decided to try what, for us, is an experiment.
We found a white pine less than two feet tall with a suggestion of the irregular shape we had been looking for. We lifted it carefully, took it home, root-pruned it, and planted it in the best bonsai tradition, in a sturdy box just large enough to hold the roots but leaving a little room to spare around the edge. Then we took the tree to the top of the dam and planted it by sinking the box in the soil. After some weeks, when the pine showed no sign of ill effects from being moved, and was making new growth, we shaped and pruned it, and then wired it, bonsai-style, along the lines of the tree we had been hunting for.
