Seeing the World Through Gardens
Every time I travel, I make it a point to visit a garden. Some people plan their trips around museums or restaurants; for me, it’s landscapes. Gardens tell you everything about a place, its climate, its history, its relationship with nature. They reveal how people see beauty and how they adapt to their environment.
As a landscape architect from Florida, I’m always comparing what I see abroad to the challenges we face back home along the Gulf Coast. Rising seas, strong storms, and fragile ecosystems are part of our daily design vocabulary. Yet when I travel to places like Singapore or Costa Rica, I realize that these challenges are shared globally. The difference lies in how each culture responds, with creativity, respect, and innovation.
Singapore’s Gardens by the Bay: Nature Meets Technology
The first time I visited Gardens by the Bay in Singapore, I felt like I had stepped into the future. Towering vertical gardens shaped like trees soared over a landscape filled with orchids, ferns, and sculptures. But what impressed me most wasn’t the spectacle; it was the purpose behind it.
Singapore is a small island nation with limited land and a hot, humid climate, yet it’s managed to become one of the greenest cities on Earth. Every inch of space in Gardens by the Bay is designed to work hard. The “Supertrees” aren’t just beautiful, they collect rainwater, generate solar power, and vent heat from nearby conservatories. The entire garden functions like a living machine.
What I took away from that visit is the power of integration. The designers didn’t separate nature from technology, they made them partners. In Florida, we can apply that same idea. Our irrigation systems can harvest rainwater, our lighting can run on solar energy, and our plantings can serve ecological functions like filtering runoff and stabilizing soil. Sustainability doesn’t have to look rustic or simple; it can look bold and futuristic when done thoughtfully.
Japan’s Kyoto Gardens: The Art of Restraint
A few years ago, I spent several days walking through the gardens of Kyoto. Each one felt like a lesson in patience. Every stone, every patch of moss, and every ripple of sand had a reason to be there. What stood out most was the quiet. You could hear the wind in the pines and the sound of your own breath.
Japanese gardens taught me that design doesn’t always mean adding more, it often means editing carefully. The beauty comes from balance and proportion, not abundance. That principle has shaped how I approach luxury coastal properties in Florida. Instead of filling every corner with ornamentals, I focus on framing views, using light, and celebrating texture. A single gumbo-limbo tree in the right place can have more impact than a dozen mismatched palms.
Restraint is also about respect, for space, for time, and for nature’s pace. In Kyoto, I watched gardeners trim moss by hand, not to control it but to help it thrive. That relationship between people and landscape reminded me that maintenance is part of design. The way we care for a space is as important as how we build it.
Costa Rica’s Cloud Forests: Letting Nature Lead
Costa Rica is a place that humbles you. Walking through the Monteverde Cloud Forest, you’re surrounded by a living green so thick it seems to breathe. Moss hangs from branches, orchids grow on tree trunks, and the air feels alive with moisture. The forest is untamed, but it’s not chaotic, it’s perfectly organized in its own natural way.
As a designer, what struck me there was the idea of letting go of control. In Florida, we often try to tame our landscapes. We prune, mow, and irrigate until the environment looks neat. But in Costa Rica, the landscape leads, and people design around it. Resorts and trails are built lightly on the land, allowing water and wildlife to move freely.
That philosophy has changed how I think about site planning. When designing near wetlands or coastal dunes, I now look for ways to step back, literally. Instead of reshaping the terrain, I let the natural contours guide paths and gathering spaces. When we stop forcing nature to fit our plans and instead fit our plans around nature, everything works better.
The Netherlands: Living with Water
On another trip, I visited the Netherlands, a country where water isn’t the enemy, it’s a neighbor. Much of the land sits below sea level, yet the Dutch have learned to live with constant flooding threats through design. In Rotterdam, I saw playgrounds and plazas built inside large basins that fill with rainwater during storms. These spaces don’t fight the flood; they absorb it and then return to normal once the water drains.
That idea of multi-functional design is something Florida desperately needs. Our retention ponds and drainage canals could be beautiful, usable spaces instead of fenced-off basins. Imagine parks that double as stormwater buffers or streetscapes that hold water during heavy rain instead of flooding nearby homes. The Dutch reminded me that the smartest landscapes don’t separate safety from beauty, they blend them seamlessly.
Universal Lessons in Design
After seeing so many incredible places, I’ve learned that the best gardens share a few universal truths. They all respect their environment, they serve both people and nature, and they embrace change. Whether it’s a Japanese courtyard, a Costa Rican forest, or a Florida shoreline, the goal is the same, to create harmony.
Travel has given me perspective, but it’s also deepened my appreciation for home. Florida has all the raw materials for world-class ecological design: sunlight, native biodiversity, and vibrant coastal life. Our challenge is learning to use them wisely.
When I design a space now, I think of those lessons. From Singapore, I remember innovation; from Japan, restraint; from Costa Rica, humility; and from the Netherlands, adaptability. Each place teaches something that translates across borders.
In the end, gardens aren’t just about plants, they’re about people. They reflect what we value and how we see our role in the natural world. Every landscape we design is part of a global story, one that reminds us we’re all gardeners tending to the same planet.