Ikebana in Your Own Backyard

Bitterbrush in bloom. Here shown with cluster roses and salal.

I recently bought a gardening book called Plant This, Not That. It’s all about going native: considering your place on the planet, leaning into your local landscape, and planting what grows there. Native plants support local bird and insect populations, conserve water, and help create gardens that feel connected to their surroundings.  Believe me, I have taken this to heart after many failed experiments with impulse buys from random nurseries and big box stores -- but...they looked so beautiful on the shelf!

As I read, I suddenly realized that in my ikebana practice I've been following the same principle. More and more, I'm drawn to materials that come from my own garden, neighborhood walks, and the landscapes of Central Oregon, my home. One of ikebana's gifts is that it encourages us to see beauty everywhere. A branch, a dried fern, a seed pod, or a shrub growing unnoticed along a trail can become the foundation of an arrangement. Over time, I've come to appreciate so many native or naturalized plants growing right outside my door that I wanted to share some of my favorites here.

Bitterbrush: Deer Ice Cream

When we first moved into our Bend home, the backyard wasn't enclosed. The local deer munched freely and found the bitterbrush growing there so irresistible they had almost annihilated it. There's a reason it's called deer ice cream!

After much deliberation on how to preserve the deers' migratory paths while safeguarding our grandchildren and various pets, we installed a fence. Slowly the bitterbrush recovered. After a few years, its sculptural shapes now dominate the landscape. But not only mine - they grow everywhere around here! In spring, its delicate yellow flowers play a big part in our classes. You may not see a lot of bitterbrush while scouring the internet for ikebana arrangements, but when you do, it's probably me or one of my students saying, "We're here."

An autumn ikebana arrangement with dried bracken fern, gerbera daisy and Russian sage.

Bracken Fern: Unexpected Drama

Growing along the curb outside my living room window, is a patch of bracken fern. "Let's tear that out," my husband said flatly one day. What?! I lobbied heatedly for its continued survival. I was sure I could find some way to use it.

Fortunately, around the same time, I happened upon an ikebana demonstration in Portland where an artist used a mass of its dried, coppery fronds with a smattering of mums. The result was pure sculpture, and I was off! As useful in summer, when it's a rich, emerald green, as it is in autumn, when the leaves turn gold, it's an ikebana show-stopper.

An example of an ikebana arrangement with all one material -- manzanita.

Manzanita: Nature's Bonsai

I often encounter manzanita while hiking and am always struck by its muscularity and exuberance. It grows so prolifically around Bend, Sisters, and Sunriver that I've seen fire crews crushing whole thickets with heavy machinery to create fuel breaks.

In ikebana, with leaves or without, it's a natural. Large or small, twisted and gnarled branches instantly add interest and its mahogany bark is the cherry on top.

It has such an organic sense of movement, wabi-sabi immediately comes to mind - the value of imperfection and impermanence. Prepare yourself though, because that wood is hard! Fixating will be a challenge, but it's worth it!

Chokecherry: Beauty with a Caution

Bobbling chokecherry seed pods meet carnations in an ikebana arrangement with two kenzans.

I once made an arrangement featuring blooming chokecherry and set it on our dining room table. The flowers are white cylindrical clusters -- so tantalizing for ikebana - but the smell! While perhaps sweet and welcome as it wafts through the air in the great outdoors, it can be sickly and polarizing in a closed space. That arrangement didn't last long indoors!

A month later, though, while pruning branches that overhung the street, I discovered that chokecherry offers other possibilities. I took branches bearing the dried seed clusters that followed the flowering and, with my students, created arrangements. Without the scent, they were perfect—delicate, architectural, and full of interest. Best of all? No stink at all.

From Branch to Berry

Juniper branches, hydrangea and manzanita leaves on the march in an ikebana arrangement without kenzan or vase.

Perhaps the most prolific and iconic tree around here is the Juniper. These resilient evergreens are the ultimate survivors, often twisting themselves into gorgeous, wind-sculpted shapes that look like spooky art pieces. Instead of traditional pinecones, they carry a bounty of dusty-blue, berries that, in an ikebana arrangement, can stand all on their own.

Juniper embodies the Japanese principle of fūryū  -- elegance, harmony and acceptance.

Line, mass, space -- it doesn't get any better than that.

Stepping outside with a pair of shears makes you realize that ikebana isn't about finding the "perfect" flower at a store. It's about spotting the line of a wind-twisted manzanita or juniper branch, the glow of a dried fern, the surprising seed pods of a stinky bloom.

This is just a taste of my world. What's in yours?