Praxis in Landscape Architecture

One of my favorite stories about discovering the profession of landscape architecture comes from the autobiography of Ian McHarg (A Quest For Life, 1996). I am reminded of this story when I read about some landscape urbanist proposals. First, the story, and, later, an explanation of what it might have in common with landscape urbanism.

For several years now, I have asked students in my classes if they have heard of McHarg. Routinely, in a class of 40 ro 50, one or two hands go up. For a quick introduction, I refer them to the classic book, Design With Nature, and often – even though I hate to use them – one of the obits written after his death in 2001, like this one from the NY Times. Wikipedia is always a choice too. McHarg was born in Scotland in 1920. At the age of 16, he spoke with a career counselor who suggested that he might try landscape architecture. It still amazes me that this happened in Scotland in 1936. McHarg tells the story (pp. 21-22):

Then he said, “Have you ever considered landscape architecture?” I had never heard of it. “I have a friend who is a landscape architect,” he said. “His name is Donald Wintersgill. I will arrange to have you meet him.”

Donald Wintersgill, a Yorkshireman, was trained as an architect but had gravitated into landscape architecture. He had designed large and beautiful estates for the Rothschilds in France and Canada.  [snip]

Mr. Wintersgill told me that the best introduction to the profession would be to accompany him on a trip to a job. Could I receive my parent’s consent to travel with him to Glenlivet?

We drove to Perthshire where we met the client, Captain Grant, owner of the Glenlivet Distillery. He also owned an enormous tract of Perthshire, much of it barren, bracken and heather. He had a large labor force that worked sporadically in growing the grain and distilling the whiskey and spent much time drinking it. What he had in mind was employing this labor force more productively to improve his place. He needed a plan.

We proceeded to an eminence where we could see most of the property. Wintersgill was quite a sight. He wore an Inverness cape, a deerstalker hat, a bow tie and spats; around his neck hung a Rolleiflex camara and Zeiss-Ikon binoculars. He held a shooting stick.

He viewed the great panorama and, raising his stick, made a great arc of 180 degrees from west to east and pronounced: “This should be planted to forest… but these,” pointing to the heather and russet bracken foothills, “should be left alone. Now the bottom of the valley should have a loch, so let us build a dam there. Your tenants are spread about; why don’t you build a village, near the dam, overlooking the loch, protecting by the high grounds and the forest from north winds, flat, facing south? There is a good place, warmed by the sun, protected from the cold winds, a pretty view.”

My mouth dropped open. Here was a man covering land in forests to the horizon, making dams, lakes, a village. “Could I do this for a living?” I asked.

“Indeed, yes, if you become my apprentice. I will direct your education, and in four or more years you will be a landscape architect.”

That moment, that event crystallized my resolve. I would become a landscape architect.