Month: June 2016

Open concept, urban lots, a 5,000-square-foot weekend home and more, all in this month’s issue of Abode. On stands now!

• Keith Scott‘s design influences.
• Agnor-Hurt’s multi-age learning space.
• The open concept tide is still high.
• Kathy Heiner‘s favorite things.
• How to buy land in the city.
• Thank heaven for hell strips.

This month’s featured home:   

Southern and subtle

To take advantage of the 275-acre property belonging to homeowners Burton and Yardly Gray, architect Jim Burton splayed the house laterally. The design keeps the couple’s secondary home from appearing too massive on the hillside. Plus, says Burton, “You get more natural light.” READ MORE HERE

This month’s featured landscape: 

Flowering freely

At Cole Burrell’s home in Free Union, he takes what he jokes is the “lazy” approach to landscaping. That is, the landscape architect lets the chips fall where they may. “I emphasize things that are free-seeding, that will come up wherever they get a chance,” he says. READ MORE HERE

When Jim Burton began designing a weekend home for Burton and Yardly Gray, he took a cue from the direction they’d be traveling to reach the house from their primary home in Washington, D.C. The getaway would be an hour and a half south, and a world apart from the city. Its site, overlooking a 275-acre parcel of land along the Rapidan River, immerses the Grays and their three children in a landscape of woods and fields.

The house needed to nurture a connection to the outdoors and to function well in the local climate. “In the South, you spread out for light and ventilation,” says Burton. He wanted the house to take advantage of the panoramic views from its hillside, without dominating, as though it were a castle. “How do you nestle a design into the hill?” was a key question.

The eventual answer was to splay out laterally, with the master and guest suites located in opposite wings, and to berm the bedrooms into the slope. Meanwhile, the two-story center of the house contains the public spaces, and opens a tall, transparent face toward the best of the views.

“You break the massing down so it doesn’t feel too big on the land,” says Burton, “and you get more natural light.”

It’s a sizable house, but it’s deceptively low-profile, especially from the rear, where one stands uphill and looks down past the house to the view. Installing living roofs on the two bedroom wings made them visually blend in with the ground.

In this spot, just behind the house, stands a storied white oak—a wide shade tree with a massive trunk. The family had established it as a special spot long before construction on the house began; Burton’s brother had even gotten married there. “The house feels smaller from up there,” he says. “It’s not ruining the view from that tree.”

New angles

One thing that’s clear from the vantage point under the oak is that not-exactly-90-degree angles abound throughout the structure. Rooflines pitch slightly downward; an overhang widens from one end to another; the cut-flagstone chimney leans away from the house as though tucking its chin.

And, though they are in part inspired by those at Monticello, the long lateral wings of the house do not extend straight along the axis of the central volume. Instead they bend backward—one very subtly at its extremity, the other more noticeably. “We bent the bermed wing to the south, which welcomes people to the entrance,” says Burton. Pushing the south wing back into the hill lets in more daylight, creates room for the monumental chimney and funnels foot traffic from the parking area toward the oversized cedar-clad main door.

The unconventional angles also prevent clear sightlines between the guest and master suites, allowing for more privacy.

Burton worked to make the house efficient through simple, passive-solar principles: protecting the interior from daylight in summer, while inviting the sun to soak concrete floors and walls in winter. The main public spaces face west, and the roof overhang is calculated to exclude
summer afternoon sun. During the hours when the sun does enter the windows directly, sliding wall sections form a screen that can shade the kitchen.

Double-height ceilings allow heat to rise out of the living space on hot days, but in winter, radiant floor heat keeps the warmth grounded in objects and people.

A turn on tradition

Across the bucolic landscape that fills these big windows are vernacular, rural structures. “You see standing-seam roofs, gray siding and concrete,” says Burton. In homage to the neighborhood, “We used very traditional, common materials in different ways.”

One example: Board-form concrete walls were poured so they retain the texture and rhythm of lumber. In this they echo the wood-clad portions of the house’s walls—cedar on the exterior, and horizontal fir inside.

Concrete, cedar and flagstone appear on both sides of the tall glass walls, visually tying inside and outside together. Concrete and fir also dominate the bathrooms. “We were very subtractive in the palettes,” says Burton. Lime-green upholstered dining chairs provide one of the few moments of non-neutral color—though they, too, connect irrevocably to the green surroundings outside.

The Grays wanted an ultra-minimal kitchen, and white Glassos countertops, white Snaidero cabinets and white resin walls provide the cool, clean look they sought. On the sculptural central island, white cabinetry cantilevers slightly from a concrete base.

Many appliances are hidden around the corner in the butler’s pantry, along with laundry, storage and access to the outdoor grill. Fir doors can close off these functional areas to eliminate clutter, or open to provide multiple paths of access.

The family has been using the house for about a year—sledding down to the river in winter, tubing and fly fishing in summer. Having waited years to build after buying this property in 2006, Burton Gray says they are glad they took the time to find Carter + Burton Architecture. “Right from the beginning, the first set of preliminary ideas, we were really excited,” says Burton Gray. “It felt like things worked.”

THE BREAKDOWN

River House

5,416 square feet

Structural system: Steel, concrete and wood framing, including slab on grade with partial mechanical basement

Exterior material: Concrete and cedar siding

Interior finishes: Concrete, fir, cedar, tile and resin panels

Roof materials: Galvalume standing seam and living roof system

Window system: Custom cedar

Mechanical systems: Geothermal and radiant heat

Even though Cole Burrell has lived and gardened at Bird Hill, his wooded Free Union property, for 17 years, there are still visible signs of the previous owners written into the garden.

“I want to honor the place and how it was used by the people who lived here before,” says Burrell, a garden designer and author. Yet everything has evolved to support Burrell’s vision of a woodland garden threaded with pathways. So, for example, a simple wooden archway, which used to lead to a treehouse beloved by the previous owners’ children, still stands; but now it opens onto a stone walk that curves downhill. And an old sledding route survives as the primary path between the house and the sunny lawn.

Even the bones of the garden—a series of promontories that step down from the house—are inspired by the house itself, a 1980 structure clad in natural wood. Its windows and porches are like lookout points from which to survey the woods as they slope downward toward the creek.

“That’s how the garden began to develop,” says Burrell. The first “promontory” that he established is on the site of a former sandbox.

Under a canopy of mature poplar trees, beds full of ferns, hellebores, trilliums and many other shade-loving species carpet the ground. Stone steps and gravel paths thread through the foliage, with circular “nodes” at the intersections: repurposed millstones and whetstones set into the paths. Set among a natural cathedral of large trees, the first promontory has a large millstone in its center, glass marbles strewn among the gravel and a view of a large pignut hickory across the lawn.

“That’s the venerable tree in the garden,” says Burrell. “It’s just spectacular”—especially in the fall when it turns golden yellow.

Burrell has tried to respect the trees he inherited, carefully pruning out windows so that patches of sky will be visible from the house and rear deck. The verticality of their trunks would be compromised by too much shrubbery, so Burrell has largely avoided planting evergreen shrubs.

Having literally written the book on hellebores (it’s called Hellebores: A Comprehensive Guide), Burrell has unsurprisingly strewn these hardy, early-blooming perennials throughout his planting beds. Other favorites include phloxes, peonies, ferns, primroses, native azaleas, disporum (“They’re tough as nails, and they look good all the time”) and daffodils (“the smaller, more wild ones”).

A stone walk leads downhill below the deck, a lighthearted homage to Jefferson’s serpentine walks. This version is made of mossy fieldstone, and it ends with a zigzagging section inspired by Japanese garden traditions.

Burrell constantly seeks to vary the colors and textures of foliage, pointing out, for example, how a gold hosta brings a touch of brightness to an especially shady corner of the garden. Even tropical plants like cannas and elephant ear have a place in this palette. In winter, species like daphnes and witch hazel add interest, and early spring blooms (like snowdrops and quince) are a priority.

Rustic salvaged items lend cultural interest here and there: an antique pot where Burrell is now raising wood frog tadpoles, or a series of rusted tire irons, like oversized metal Xs, that surround a container.

Burrell jokes that his is a “lazy approach” to gardening—clearly not the case when one considers the scope of this landscape. Still, the garden does reflect a willingness to cede control in some cases, and to work with what plants themselves want to do.

“I emphasize things that are free-seeding, that will come up wherever they get a chance,” says Burrell. Wildflowers like wild geranium and Virginia bluebells fit the bill. Shrubs that proliferate on their own are welcome too: “Anything that makes a big thicket I just love.”

In the newer garden above the house, things are evolving after the loss of a large oak tree and some diseased Virginia pines, whose absence has allowed some smaller plants to thrive in the newly sunny areas. “I planted trilliums and camellias,” says Burrell. “And the dogwoods and redbuds are blooming more.”

The bones of the garden are, he says, a response to the trees. “The thing I enjoy is having a really strong design, but not looking strongly designed,” he says.

A wooded hillside is not always an easy place to garden. Burrell installed a deer fence, but moles and voles still wreak havoc. But he’s mindful of the big picture. “The birds and reptiles and amphibians are as important as the plants,” he says. “I don’t poison voles, because it goes up the food chain.”

Gardening mostly in shade is what he prefers: “It’s the plants I love and the environment I love. I want to hear wood thrushes.”

Scrolling lazily through the MLS, looking for a vacant city lot on which to build your dream home? You can scroll to your heart’s content, but you’re not too likely to nab your quarry. “They don’t come on the market very often at all, but when decent lots do come on the market, they’re gone within a day,” says Lindsay Milby, associate broker with Loring Woodriff.

Part of the reason: Builders and developers are always on the hunt for attractive city lots, and often approach property owners privately. Thus, sales happen without the properties ever officially going on the market. Same goes for larger lots that can be subdivided—the pros are on the case. Just outside city limits, Milby says, lots may linger a teensy bit longer, but still go quickly.

If you want to make a serious attempt at finding a lot to purchase (and if you have no relevant personal connections), Milby recommends just driving around the city with your eyes peeled. Spot something? Find the nearest address and use it to search public records to find out whether the “vacant lot” is indeed a separate property, or just an extra-large one attached to a house next door. “It’s not easy, and it takes time and a lot of effort,” she says.

(Occasionally, those large lots can be subdivided—if they have enough road frontage and the proper zoning.)

If you do locate something you like, know that the property owner has likely been approached by other parties in the past. “A lot of it is timing,” says Milby. “It’s all a matter of, are they willing to do it now?”

And, of course, it’s about making the right offer. Consider not only what number would be attractive to a potential seller, but the long-term implications of your investment. In the city, says Milby, the value of a property is usually about 30 percent in the land, 70 percent in structures. Using neighborhood comparables, you can roughly price an empty lot accordingly, keeping in mind the eventual resale value. “If the houses in the neighborhood around you are priced at $400,000, you can’t spend $200,000 on a lot, because you would be pricing yourself out of the neighborhood once you put the structure on that property,” says Milby.

What about buying an existing house in order to tear it down and rebuild? Prices are usually prohibitive, Milby says. “Sellers expect someone to come in and rehab them, rather than knock them down,” she says. Considering all the costs —buying a house, having it demolished, then building anew—the numbers rarely work.

Ready for some good news? “Once you find the lot, confirming that your project will work on it is not hard,” Milby says. It’s a good idea to connect with a builder or architect early in the process, so that you’ll have a clear idea of the footprint of your proposed building. Will you be able to fit a house and, say, a garage on a narrow lot? Or is the lot potentially too steep to build on? You can check your plans against setback and other requirements through the city’s Neighborhood Development Services.

There are a few other things to consider. Building a new house means paying a “tap fee” to hook up to city water and sewer service (which can be close to $10,000), and may also require you to put in a sidewalk. Finally, it’s a good idea to make sure you have an up-to-date survey, in order to protect yourself from nasty surprises like utility easements or encroachments from neighboring properties. This is another expense—roughly $500 to $1,000.

It may not be easy, but it sure is a nice dream to put a new house on an unbuilt city lot. And it is possible—after all, we’re not Manhattan (yet).

Waves move in cycles.

If you want to know the status of the open concept trend among homeowners, that’s pretty much all you need to know, according to Robert Nichols of Formwork Architecture.

“There are almost always cycles, and there are subwaves too,” he says. “Some hybrids start to get developed. I kind of feel like the thrill [of open floor plans] must be having some sense of exhaustion about now.”

Nichols concedes this particular wave has been slow to fall. Open concept home planning has been all the rage for a decade now; and, truth be told, you can trace it all the way back to mid-century modern design in the 1950s, he says.

But the wave is evolving as folks find there are some things about opening their space that doesn’t suit them. Here’s how local designers are accounting for those concerns.

There’s no place to hide

Open floor plans can lead to visible clutter, according to Nichols. So designers have to take measures to include storage and discreet, concealable spaces.

“Just thinking of the kitchen, where you prep food, and dishes stack up, you don’t want to end up sitting in your living room looking at the dishes from dinner,” Nichols says.

Joey Conover of design-build firm Latitude 38 says that while most people still want an open floor plan, they also want what she calls an “away room.” The traditional, closed-off space is on the same floor as the great room and can be used as a den, study or office, among other things. If you don’t have the square footage for another room, a desk and office area in the kitchen can get the job done.

“People appreciate that away room because they can use it for different things, and its function can change over time,” she says.

Furnishing is difficult

No one wants a room with a bunch of furniture lining the walls. Conover says she thinks that’s one of the reasons sectional sofas and console tables behind them have become popular.

But the concern can also be alleviated by clever design. Conover says built-ins—not just desks but bookshelves and even daybeds—can offer natural breaks in vast spaces.

“People appreciate some kind of division in space…things that visually divide the rooms,” she says. “And the furnishing thing is a legitimate issue.”

Light and sound travel

Dan Zimmerman of Alloy Workshop agrees the open concept trend isn’t dead. But it is altering as people find they want “some elements of acoustic privacy or visual privacy.”

“What I have heard is, with the chaos of daily life, the super-open plan doesn’t really allow any sort of mediation,” he says.

Alloy Workshop solves that problem by changing the focus in rooms. If the kitchen is connected to the living room north to south, for example, it might be oriented east to west so the cook isn’t necessarily exposed to a blaring television. The idea is to position people in such a way that “when you are in that space, you can feel like it is fun in a different way,” Zimmerman says. Flooring materials, changes in ceiling height and other strategies can also be helpful for making those divisions.

Nichols warns open residential spaces can have some of the same acoustic concerns that commercial restaurants have. And while noise-dampening panels and the like aren’t appropriate in the home, carefully selected furnishings and floor coverings can help deaden bouncing sound waves.

The house is finite

Every owner is different, but Conover says folks in homes 2,000 square feet and under are typically willing to deal with the conflict of shared spaces because of the flexibility they provide.

Zimmerman agrees. “When folks do downsize, you have to make sacrifices and changes to the way you’ve been living in the past 15 to 20 years,” he says. “That can be challenging. What you tend to find is, instead of having distinct rooms, they have rooms that serve multiple purposes.”

To make a shared space even more effective, Nichols suggests looking outside your walls.

“It turns out, [open planning] is hard to get right, and in many cases it’s just not transferable,” he says. “It really works when the combined spaces continue to have openness out to the landscape, so that sense of openness is greater still.”

Having already earned a degree in landscape architecture from Virginia Tech, Keith Scott decided that, in order to deepen his understanding of the built environment, an architecture degree would be necessary as well. So he got both.

“As a result of the two degrees, many of my favorite places are where building and landscape are inextricably connected,” he says. His company, Rosney Co. Architects, which he founded with business partner Julie Dixon, reflects those interests to this day. The two take on residential projects comprising everything from historic renovations to new constructions, including last year’s Southern Living Idea House at Bundoran Farm. We asked Scott to tell us about growing up in Virginia, what he finds inspiring and what’s in the studio right now.

Why architecture?

I certainly don’t think architecture was inevitable for me. I did not have anyone in my family that was a builder or an architect pushing me towards the pursuit of architecture. Neither was I a kid who knew from an early age that he wanted to be an architect (though I did think Mike Brady had an awesome job). It was the ’70s, so, like most kids back then, I was left to explore the world around me and find my own path. That said, I was a kid who built his fair share of forts in the woods with friends and siblings and spent an inordinate amount of time building with Legos, Erector Sets and Lincoln Logs. I also spent a lot of time drawing elaborate concepts for amusement parks as well as other, more prosaic themes such as farms and barns (this was often done during my father’s sermons). One of the earliest drawings that I can recall making was a detailed barnyard scene that hung on my grandmother’s refrigerator for years. Fast forward 40 years later and I occasionally still find myself drawing barns in the office for various clients, so maybe it was meant to be after all.

Shortly after arriving at Virginia Tech I wandered through the landscape architecture studios and immediately felt a connection to the work being done and studio environment and quickly decided that was where I wanted to be. As I was finishing my undergraduate degree, I became convinced that I also needed an architecture degree in order to further explore and develop a broader understanding of the built environment. Exploring the connection between building and landscape was and continues to be an important part of the work done in our office.

On a very basic level, architecture provides me with a vocation that I love and am passionate about. I think I would get bored if I had to do the same thing over and over, so I thrive on the variety inherent in the practice of architecture given that every job and client is different. The process of taking a project from concept to a finished building is very satisfying, as each part of the process draws on a different set of skills; from creative, conceptual thinking during the design phase to creative, analytical thinking during the construction drawing phase.

Why did you choose to practice in Virginia?

Other than the ubiquitous “few years working in New York City” where I worked for the Italian architect Aldo Rossi, I have lived here all of my life, so it is a natural and maybe inevitable place for me to live and work. As my family grew and New York apartments became less and less spacious, moving back to Charlottesville seemed like a logical path. Plus, Charlottesville is such a beautiful place, why wouldn’t you want to live here? Being back in Virginia gave me the opportunity to revisit and study Virginia’s rich architectural legacy, which is the source of inspiration for much of the work in our office. In Charlottesville, we are also fortunate to have a well-educated and sophisticated population that fosters a thriving architectural community.

Tell us about your college experience. Was there a standout teacher who had a lasting impact on you?

Both my undergraduate landscape architecture and graduate architecture degrees are from Virginia Tech and it was the perfect place for me to pursue my design education. There are so many good professors at Virginia Tech, but landscape architecture professor Paul Kelsch stood out in the program. Robert Dunay and Hans Rott were the standouts during graduate school. They never accepted the easy answer and continually challenged my thinking. Broadly speaking, the professors were outstanding and encouraged students to explore the worlds of design and architecture wherever it took us, and I thrived on the dynamic and wide variety of exploration that resulted.

I spent a lot of time in the wood shop, dark room and silk screen studio producing design studies for my studio projects. During graduate school, I became slightly obsessed with mid-century abstract and minimalist artists like Barnett Newman, Richard Serra and Donald Judd. I was encouraged to follow this interest and challenged to find connections to what I was exploring in my studio projects. During my last semester of graduate school, I visited the Shaker community at Pleasant Hill, Kentucky, at the encouragement of my thesis advisor and the simple, elegant architecture that I found there seemed like a logical extension of the type of exploration I had been doing during graduate school. The strong relationship between their work, lives and place continues to inform the work that I do.

On process: How does it begin?

I imagine most architects will say that the process begins with the clients and that is absolutely true in our office. We begin each project getting to know the clients and working with them to clearly define their building program, budget and stylistic goals. When these basic project goals are well-defined, my partner, Julie Dixon, and I begin to study the site, whether that is an existing building where we need to understand and analyze the existing structure, or a pastoral farmland property where we need to understand topography, solar orientation, wind directions, views, site circulation, etc. Once the site and the client goals are understood we get the trace paper out and start sketching.

What inspires you?

The people I interact with day-to-day; our clients, my business partner, our employees, the builders and craftsmen that we work with. They are what keep my job interesting. I get to work with an amazing array of people with a wide variety of backgrounds, interests and goals and their passion for what they do is infectious. In particular, discovering what the clients are passionate about, having that inform the design and finding an architectural solution that excites them is incredibly satisfying.

Any building that exhibits thoughtful design, elegant simplicity and a high level of craftsmanship inspires me. That may be the Lawn at UVA, a barn in Albemarle County, a mill in the Shenandoah Valley or one of the many simple farmhouses that dot our landscape.

What are you working on now?

We have a really interesting mix of work in the office at the moment. The bulk of our work is residential, but we have some interesting commercial renovation projects in progress, which are located in Farmville, Virginia. One is a four-story 1905 tobacco prizery (warehouse) that the developer is converting into student apartments. The other is a mid-century art deco bank building on Main Street that will be a mix of commercial and residential. Both buildings are located within the Farmville downtown historic district, which makes them eligible for state and historic tax credits. We are working on some new houses in the Bundoran Farm development, as well as a renovation and addition of the property known as Hard Bargain on Park Street in downtown Charlottesville. We are also working on a cottage renovation at Shrine Mont, which is an Episcopal camp and conference center in the small town of Orkney Springs, Virginia, just north of Harrisonburg. It has an amazing collection of buildings and is one of my favorite places.

Décor-wise, designer Kathy Heiner says homeowners should never scrimp on art. As she puts it, “Paintings, pottery and sculpture can transform a space, create interest and provide a topic for conversation.” And she practices what she preaches in her own home, where each wall is a veritable gallery of framed pieces—from prints and line drawings to portraits of her French bulldogs. It’s no wonder she’s interested in big visual impact: Heiner spent the early part of her career working at ELLE magazine, then transitioned to the television and film industry.

In 2007, she launched KLH Designs to utilize her range of interests in fashion, art and film. We asked Heiner to tell us about the house she grew up in, the design rule she likes to break and what piece of furniture she’d like to be reborn as

Antique or modern?

I gravitate toward clean lines in both antique and contemporary pieces. If I have to choose one, it would be contemporary.

Which colors do you gravitate toward?

Cooler colors: blues, grays, taupes and whites for walls, to provide a backdrop for brighter, more saturated accents.

Which materials or textures do you frequently use in your own home?

I have a lot of bright, colorful art, family photos, Moroccan rugs and books.

What is your favorite interior design-related word?

Transitions, which I like to minimize, and function, which I like to maximize.

Does your home look like the one you grew up in?

It’s similar. My mother was an interior designer based in Atlanta. I got my love of design from her, and the home we grew up in was very eclectic. It was also filled with interesting things from family and travels and lots of art.

If you were reborn as a piece of furniture or an object, what would it be?

A Saarinen pedestal table. It is pure elegance meets perfect function.

If you could live in one historical figure’s house, whose would it be?

Picasso’s home in the south of France.

What’s one thing that can really transform a room?

Lighting. Bright, well-lit spaces can have a tremendous impact on mood. I always prefer to use dimmers that can be adjusted to suit.

Favorite designer?

Peter Dunham out of L.A. I like the way he mixes antique, mid-century and contemporary pieces with color and ethnic prints. He maintains clean lines while creating a high level of interest. His spaces always look like a place where I would love to hang out.

Which design blog, website, TV show or magazine do you peruse religiously?

Houzz, Veranda, Milieu and ELLE Décor.

Design rule you like to break?

Perfect symmetry. Sometimes it’s more fun to create the illusion of symmetry than have it be perfect.

What is your favorite room in the house?

The kitchen, because it is always the heart of the house.

What is your most treasured possession?

Besides my two sons and my Frenchies, a Milton Avery charcoal from my mother.

What do you wish you could do without?

Firewood. I love a wood-burning fire, but would rather not have all the accoutrements that junk up the hearth.

What are you afraid to DIY?

Painting. I am too much of a perfectionist and would end up making a big mess!

Have you ever had a change of heart about an object or a style?

I used to collect 1950s ceramics when I worked in costuming in the film industry. We would spend our downtime on location searching flea markets and antique stores for these treasures. When I think back on those days, it just seems like a lot of clutter.

On what movie set would you like to live?

Anything by Nancy Meyers. Her sense of production design is very strong and her team creates very comfortable-looking spaces in the movies It’s Complicated and Something’s Gotta Give.

What is your first design memory?

The first time my mother let me decorate my room at age 12. Everything was green and white. I even had beads hanging in my closet door. It was the ’70s after all.

Unlike the devil, it’s impossible to mistake a hell strip for anything else. Sterile concrete medians, inhospitable sidewalk patches and blazing afternoon decks do not appear in disguise. They differ from ordinary sunny garden sites in their sometimes polluted but always harsh exposure to reflective heat from asphalt and walls bereft of the buffering effects of surrounding plants.

Yet there is a possibility of redemption in introducing a bit of greenery, and, though challenging, hell strips offer surprising opportunities. Native plant enthusiasts see a place to nourish butterflies and other pollinators; permaculturists seize a chance to manage storm water and heal toxic sites; cooks and locavores can cultivate herbs and vegetables; and flower-lovers glory in jonquils, roses and petunias.

Many native plants and herbs prefer a hot, dry environment and prosper in lean soils and unadorned Virginia clay. Butterfly weed, goldenrod, switchgrass, lavender, thyme, sage and oregano can beautify bare hot spots with little amendment or extra care once you get them going. After removing existing scurf of neglected grass and weeds—use herbicide if you must, but it’s better just to scrape it off with a good sharp spade or solarize with plastic—turn the soil with a sturdy garden fork or light tilling, rake out stones and break up clods with a steel rake. (No one said this would be easy; it is hell, after all.)

Fill the space with quart-sized plants on 1′ centers. Mulch with pebbles or a scant inch of organic material like shredded hardwood or pine bark after an initial deep watering—muddy it in. Regular follow-up with water is essential for several weeks until plants begin pushing out new roots. Afterward, if you have chosen wisely, they should be content to bask.

A hybrid of hell strips includes bioretention filters, sometimes called rain gardens, that we see increasingly popping up along city streets and parking lots, designed to hold and filter overflow stormwater when they’re not baking in summer heat. Crozet has installed a number of these along Crozet Avenue in front of the new library, and Charlottesville’s Region Ten sports a fine planting at Preston Avenue and Eighth Street. Urban rain gardens demand a particular plant palette, able to endure not only periodic flooding and drought periods in between but also capable of withstanding and filtering toxins washing off surrounding pavement.

The effect of these poisons—oil and gas, excess lawn fertilizers, pesticides—on the Chesapeake Bay is the reason the city has begun taxing impermeable surfaces like asphalt and concrete and giving credit for mitigation. Engineered rain gardens have mixtures of sand and gravel beneath heavy mulch at their lowest points to hold and filter polluted stormwater, but in the home landscape, a simple buffer of appropriate plants along drives and walkways can slow stormwater without special filtration.

Another subset—a higher rung in hell, usually free of pollution—consists of containers and raised or enclosed beds that can be heavily amended and watered. Decks, patios and hot patches by the garage, where you can create a rich growing medium, are perfect for heavy summer feeders like tomatoes, peppers, basil, dahlias, lantana and geraniums. (However, if you’re growing herbs keep their soil mix lean and don’t fertilize.) Select large pots or boxes that hold ample soil and raise containers above decking with blocks of wood or clay “feet.” Long-lived perennials like peonies, roses and bearded iris can fill odd spots between a walk and building with minimal care once established in soil that has been well-prepared with compost and rotted manure.

Ponder the possibilities in the heat of the day beneath a broad-brimmed hat with an icy drink in hand. Though the road may seem steep and strewn with rubble, take heart. What seems at first sight like hell could turn out to be heaven-sent in the end.