As a horticulturist, I travel to museums and historical sites, but I also like to see gardens and learn what plants grow in a region (and whether they would grow in my hometown). When gardening friends heard I was going to Bulgaria, they warned me that there would be very little to see in terms of garden culture, and I imagine this is probably true in many Eastern countries where the demands of life leave little room for leisurely gardening, but I was excited about the trip nonetheless.
I had been wanting to see Varna's Sea Garden. This large public park connects the city to the Black Sea shore. And like so many landscapes, this park has both taught me and inspired me. Having lived in Chicago most of my life, waterfront parks have been a part of my life since I was a child. Walking down Lake Shore Drive or biking along the footpath along Lake Michigan, I see the lakeshore on one side and the city and its stunning architecture on the other, a wonderful sight that connects the natural world with the urban. This connection was inspiring, but Varna's Sea Garden creates an unexpected and powerful effect. Rather than connecting city views with sea views, the park, which stretches for a good length of the city, is filled with huge, ancient trees – cedars, pines, chestnuts, plane trees, black locusts, and oaks. The effect is like a forest separating the sea from the city, creating a forest wall along the edge of the city and, more importantly, the sea, making the heavily used beach feel more like a summer resort than part of Varna's urban area.
Views across the landscape to the Black Sea invite visitors to the Sea Garden into the landscape.
As we entered the park, the emerald green of the Black Sea was occasionally glimpsed, creating a magical atmosphere. There is an old Zen adage that beautiful things should not be looked at all the time, but rather viewed with reverence. Perhaps this was the logic behind the development of Sea Gardens, or it may have simply evolved, but either way the effect is powerful. As we walked through the park, the beach came into view, and we felt transported away from the heat and hustle of the city.
An avenue at the Sea Gardens in Varna, Bulgaria.
In America, blocking an ocean view is unthinkable because it increases property values. But by creating parks filled with avenues of oaks and plane trees, the city of Varna has done more than increase property values; it has increased the value of the beach and the natural beauty that all will share. Maybe there's something good in the socialist idea of common property after all.
Clematis and other plants blend into the landscape, giving the Sea Garden a wild feel.
Many of the park's older trees were planted in the 19th century when the park was first created. Legend has it that farmers and locals helped plant the saplings in donkey-drawn carts, giving many of these trees a majesty not found in other parks here. Some are also uniquely powerful in that many trees damaged by storms and other activities have been left untouched. This may be due to a labor shortage, or perhaps the Thracian logic of letting nature take its course. Whatever the reason, the trees are allowed to continue to grow not as perfectly pruned straight trees, but in twisted shapes that add to the sense of wildness and nature to the park.
Trees damaged by the storm were left behind in the sea gardens and evolved into magical sculptures with a sublime aura.
I walked away from this scene feeling excited about my own garden and how I can grow and show the beauty of my plants. I can't wait to see how the fir tree of the same color will take shape after it loses its central trunk, how the trees continue to block the view and how things slowly become clear as you enter this landscape, how the landscape takes on a life of its own.
I was also reminded of the sage advice from my friend Marco Polo Stufano that when guests are not impressed with their host's horticulture, they should comment on the mature trees in the landscape. I thought his advice was about avoiding awkward moments with hosts, but maybe it was actually about seeing the bigger picture and embracing the eternal.
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Gardeners grow by observing, experimenting, and learning from their own and others' failures, successes, and efforts. In this sense, all gardeners are self-taught, but at the same time, they are intrinsically connected to traditions and communities that derive satisfaction from working the soil and sharing experiences with one another. In this column, we explore these connections and the ways in which we can learn about the world around us from plants and from fellow gardeners.
