Landscape designer Cevan Forristt uses old stonework to give character to his garden.
If you think Cevan Forristt has an altered take on gardening, consider his horticultural beginnings:
“When did I start gardening?” he says. “When I was 3 years old. I had a fascination with sprinklers. I went out in my diapers and stole a neighbor’s sprinklers. There’s a picture of me in my diapers with my sprinkler collection. I had a vegetable garden by the time I was 4 or 5 – me eating everything before it was ripe.”
Those in the know may think of Cevan Forristt (pronounce it “Kevin Forest”) as an extremely talented professional landscape designer. But he doesn’t think of himself that way.
“I am an ambiential engineer,” he says. “A spatial dramatist. Or I can be an ambiential facilitator.”
What he also is is a guy madly in love with rocks. Big ones. And lots of them.
The garden that surrounds his 1870 house in downtown San Jose, Calif., is peopled by maybe the greatest collection of architectural and ethnological stone this side of, oh, Easter Island.
“I got some [pre-1906]-earthquake stone – some Italian people in San Francisco five generations ago had piles of this stone. I got 800 tons from the old Grace Cathedral rectory. I brought back 100 tons from China. Some stuff I buy is ethnically anonymous: You wouldn’t know where it came from,” he says.
“I build walls and stack ’em up. And clients can’t come into my garden and say, ‘I want that and that and that.’ Most of it I hoard myself. I collect it because before long it’s going to be gone. It won’t be there anymore.”
Historical salvation aside, there’s this: “It’s so permanent. If my garden died, there’d still be a ‘there’ there.”
So, yes, there is a sense of drama at work in Mr. Forristt’s garden, also by way of his skewed background.