—on cost, quality, and why good gardens are so rare
You know what a white button mushroom is.
You’ve seen it, sliced and wet, in a salad bar tray.
And you know what a truffle is. Maybe you’ve never held one—but you know it’s rare. Expensive. Earthy. Elusive. Something only chefs and insiders work with.
In the 1990s, that distinction between the button mushroom and the truffle started to enter the public consciousness. The food world began educating its audience: There are levels. Some ingredients are basic, others are rare. Some meals are fast; others are crafted. And if you want to taste the difference, you have to pay for the difference.
Gardening has never had that conversation.
Not in the public, not on the front lawns of America, and certainly not in the way homeowners approach building outdoor space.
The Lawn is the Salad Bar
Drive through almost any neighborhood in Middle Tennessee—wealthy, working class, new development, or historic core—and you’ll see the same thing:
• Sod,
• Shrubs,
• Mulch,
• Maybe some Nepeta.
Even in the highest-end homes, the same landscape formula gets rubber-stamped: plug-and-play plantings, shaped for resale, not resonance.
I drove across Nashville recently and barely saw a flower. Not a border, not a bloom sequence, not a single designed garden. This in a city full of creatives, full of homeowners who love beauty, full of cultural buzz—and almost no visible evidence that the land in front of their homes has been imagined or loved.
So why does that happen?
Because we haven’t taught people there’s a difference between white button mushrooms and truffles.
We haven’t told them: There’s another way.
The Truffle in the Garden
There’s a kind of garden many of my clients dream about:
A cottage-style, meadow-informed, perennial-driven, seasonally expressive, pollinator-rich, floral place.
It’s not a row of shrubs.
It’s not a splash of annuals.
It’s not a Pinterest moodboard that dies by July.
It’s a living system—artful, ecological, and resilient.
It’s built from plant combinations that work together over time.
And it takes decades of practice to know how to build one.
Just like the home cook doesn’t go online and buy white truffles from Italy for dinner, the average homeowner isn’t going to build this kind of garden on their own. Not because they lack the passion—but because they lack the experience, access, and time.
That’s where a good garden designer comes in.
That’s where someone like me comes in.
So, What Does It Cost?
Let’s talk numbers. Real ones.
•A quality perennial garden starts around $15–20 per square foot installed.
•A full-scale front yard garden for a small home can run $8k–$12k.
•A comprehensive floral border on a ½-acre site could be $25k–$50k, depending on prep, plant sourcing, and layout.
•A multi-acre estate garden? That’s custom. But we’re not playing with mulch rings anymore.
It’s not cheap. It’s not fast.
It’s good.
And good, as we’ve said before, lives at the top of the triangle:
CheapFastGood
Cheap + FastSod and mulch. It’ll look “done” in 48 hours and fail by year two.
Fast + GoodRequires a massive crew and an open checkbook.
Cheap + GoodPossible, but it takes time and a clear, phased plan.
A real garden is an investment—like a kitchen renovation, a library, or a piece of art. And when built well, it pays dividends in beauty, biodiversity, and identity for years to come.
The Designer Is the Chef
In food, we’ve come to understand:
•There are levels of talent.
•There are rare ingredients.
•There are kitchens you trust.
Gardening should be no different.
• A landscaper cuts grass.
• A contractor lays stone and mulch.
• A garden designer builds soul into soil.
• A gardener knows how to keep it alive.
When I walk into a project, I’m not thinking in months. I’m thinking in seasons.
When I place plants, I’m not just thinking in shapes. I’m thinking in timing, texture, bloom sequence, pollinator support, and root structures.
That’s not landscape installation. That’s gardening.
And it takes years to learn.
What We Need to Do Next
If we want to see better gardens, we need to help people see the difference.
• Start talking about levels.
• Start naming the craftsmanship.
• Start comparing the white button to the truffle.
• Start showing the timelines—what year 1 looks like vs. year 5.
And above all, we need to stop pretending that anyone can make a mature, biodiverse, four-season garden in a weekend from plants picked up at the big box store.
Who This Is For
If you’re a homeowner dreaming of a real garden—something flower-rich, wild but intentional, intimate but seasonal—I can help. But you’ll need to invest in time, trust, and quality.
If you’re a landscape contractor or architect who wants to bring this layer into your work, I’d love to collaborate.
And if you’re just someone wondering why you haven’t seen a garden that moved you lately—now you know why.
It’s not that they don’t exist.
It’s that no one’s told you where to look, or how they’re made.
