Everyone has an opinion regarding topiary. The cheeky collection of garden gossip, Yew and Non-Yew, Gardening for Horticultural Climbers by James Bartholomew (Century Books, 1996), lays it out so: “Not all types of topiary are Yew. A tall pyramid or standard is certainly Yew. . . . A peacock or chicken is borderline. . . . A teapot, space rocket, car or telephone . . . is non-Yew.”
Whether you adore or abhor, topiary is a venerable horticultural art. Pliny the Elder (23–79 AD), who perished in the eruption of Vesuvius, was one of the first to describe the shaping of trees and shrubs by clipping. Ancient Romans often had their names spelled out in manicured boxwood, foreshadowing modern roadside spectacles of factory names carved in shrubs. The Middle Ages gave rise to geometrically shaped trees and shrubs, which gave way to Renaissance representations of mushrooms, urns, temples, apes, donkeys, oxen, carts, and peacocks. But then the 16th-century English philosopher Sir Francis Bacon dismissed the art form, stating, “They be for children.”
Topiary became Yew again in the early 1900s, when prime examples were entered in horticultural shows in London. The most desired supplier for potted show topiary was the aptly named Highgate nursery William Cutbush & Son. Modern topiary art is still entered for judging at the Philadelphia Flower Show, carted in from huge estate greenhouses, and, every year, winners are pinned with blue ribbons.
The October issue of AD features Valentino’s magnificent topiary-bedecked gardens, inspiring us to compile a collection of the most interesting topiary gardens open to the public. They are listed in roughly chronological order with contact information; open days and hours vary seasonally and according to special holidays and events, so be sure to contact them before your visit.
Click here to see our slide show of magical topiary gardens.