ISSUE NO. 18 | Oct. 10, 2026
Your garden is not a YouTube Short...
The summer was full, yet freeing - in the best and most demanding ways - with gardens, flowers, clients, the farm, and the ongoing, endlessly fascinating work of paying attention to what happens when people and place begin to come into relationship.
And recently, while caring for one of my clients' garden installed this spring, I had one of those small encounters that made me stop and think about something much bigger.
It involved a plant.
Bergenia, to be exact.
Yes. The very wide-leafed, evergreen perennial groundcover.
Stay with me.
THE ALBUM, NOT THE SINGLE
I've fallen back into the habit of listening to albums from beginning to end.
My husband and I are GenXers raising a GenAlpha and we remember when this was how you listened to music. Randomly shuffling tracks wasn't really a thing. You followed the creative journey.
The nuances.
The tension.
The resolution.
You listened to the whole thing - and only then, perhaps, did you fully understand the album cover, the artwork, the story, the experience the artist was inviting you into.
I was thinking about this recently while primping The Cobbler Coffee Shop courtyard garden, which I designed earlier this year.
A young woman came 'round to check out the garden. She looked around and said, rather flatly:
"I don't know if I like the Bergenia."
I smiled.
Because the Bergenia wasn't a random track.
It wasn't a plant I pulled from a playlist because the algorithm suggested it.
It was one small part of an entire composition.
THE ALBUM, NOT THE SINGLE
I've fallen back into the habit of listening to albums from beginning to end.
My husband and I are GenXers raising a GenAlpha and we remember when this was how you listened to music. Randomly shuffling tracks wasn't really a thing. You followed the creative journey.
The nuances.
The tension.
The resolution.
You listened to the whole thing - and only then, perhaps, did you fully understand the album cover, the artwork, the story, the experience the artist was inviting you into.
I was thinking about this recently while primping The Cobbler Coffee Shop courtyard garden, which I designed earlier this year.
A young woman came 'round to check out the garden. She looked around and said, rather flatly:
"I don't know if I like the Bergenia."
I smiled.
Because the Bergenia wasn't a random track.
It wasn't a plant I pulled from a playlist because the algorithm suggested it.
It was one small part of an entire composition.
THE CREATIVE JOURNEY
As an artist, designer, and visionary, my work involves a constant zooming in while simultaneously zooming out.
I am paying exquisite attention to the smallest detail while holding the entire composition in view.
Plants.
Materials.
Architecture.
Light.
Season.
People.
Movement.
Vendors.
Craft.
Magic.
The practical realities of a site.
The spirit of place.
The thing the client hasn't quite been able to articulate yet.
A constant tension exists between all of these things. And that tension is necessary. It is where the design begins to reveal itself.
The parts begin to speak to one another.
And when they do, something happens that is difficult to put into words.
Harmony.
We feel it.
We experience it.
We may not know exactly why a space feels so good, but our bodies and our attention register the relationship between all the parts.
This is what I mean by sanctuary.
A sanctuary isn't simply a collection of beautiful things.
It is whole.
YOUR GARDEN IS NOT A YOUTUBE SHORT.
Don't pick plants from a random playlist.
Your garden - your sanctuary - is not a series of isolated choices assembled by an algorithm or Pinterest board.
It is an album.
A story.
A composition.
A living experience.
And every part matters because every part speaks to every other part.
That is how designers make harmony.
And that is why the creative journey matters.
What do you want your garden to make possible...?
This is one of the questions I return to again and again:
What do you want your landscape or garden to make possible in your life?
Because the answer changes everything.
It changes what we notice.
What we choose.
What we leave out.
Where we place things.
How we move through the space.
And ultimately, how the space can hold you.
Creating a sanctuary space for who you can become there.
A LITTLE RED BIRD IN REAL LIFE
And speaking of flowers and gardens, Red Bird Florals will be at White Rabbit Bakery in Aurora this weekend with a small pop-up of seasonal Red Bird local, farm-grown, woman-owned, curated bouquets.
Saturday + Sunday - 10/10 + 10/11
9 am - close
21368 Hwy 99E, Aurora, Oregon 97002
I'm featuring autumnal color collections in bold tones and the flower magic of Sunflower, Zinnia, Dahlia and companion wildflowers in gorgeous wrapped bouquets. Limited quantities.
If you're nearby, come get yourself some Something Wild.
And let me know what you selected (I'm on IG at @red_bird_florals, so tag me!).
Thank you for sharing these minutes with me. I look forward to connecting through this newsletter. There is so much to share with you as this next season unfolds - gardens, flowers, beauty, sanctuary, and some of the ideas I've been carrying with me after nearly 30 years of this work.
For now, I'm off to cut flowers, select a shade tree just right for an established garden (to complete the "album"), and get a photoshoot done so I can share more inspiration for you.
Until next, take good care of your precious Self,
Annie Red Bird
Founder, Red Bird & Co. & The Red Bird Way
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