423b2e
423b2e

9.23.2011

through the garden gates


These are a few photos of gates we've discovered and liked during our travels together. As a former landscape designer, I tend towards simple farm gates because their lines are pleasing to most customers (and cheaper to build as well.) The first three photos are from Soubry's recent trip to Texas. The rest of the gates are from 'somewheres in England.' The photos span a 4 year period.

Thank you to Soubriquet for providing such lovely anecdotal tales about these gates. You should read them in the comments. ~ RDG ~ oh heck, I'm just going to add them to the post. They are THAT good!

Gay Hill, TX - I designed this front gate for a client 7 or 8 years ago.
Nice post....
gate the first, I like this, its geometry, I like the way it frames the house beyond, echoing the roofline of the porch. I like the way it form a clear boundary, like the gatehouse of a mediaeval castle, or a church, it seems to offer sanctuary, a pause, a place to kiss goodnight, hello, goodbye, a place to rummage for your keys in the pouring rain, a place to square your shoulders and ready yourself for whatever comes next.
A place to stop, and smile, as you walk out of one world, and toward another.


Independence, TX

The second gate, Independence, Tx, the house looks abandoned, looks as though nobody's lived there for a while, but as though someone keeps an eye on it, drops by every now and then. But once, oh once it was new. Once it was a home. I can only guess, there's a barn with a gas pump. Next door. By that gate.
Maybe, long ago, before at road was straightened, and traffic dwindled, maybe the man from the house, and his son came through that gate in the morning, to work on cars and trucks, to pump gas, sell tyres and fanbelts, oil and grease, sparkplugs and paint. Maybe the garden within rang to the sound of children playing. Maybe the men waited for the squeal of that gate, heralding the smiling woman who brought a can of coffee, and told them not to be late in, because she was cooking, and if they were late, the little ones would get it all..
Back then, that gate was a big deal. It could have been a simple wooden one, but she said "No, Joe, I want one that's pretty, one like we saw at that house in town, we may live out here in the middle of nowhere, but we're not nobodies. " And he smiled. He'd be happy with anything that worked, but he said "Give me a kiss, and on saturday we'll go into town and order your gate."
Which they did, and it would come, next week, on the train to the little station in town. And when it did, the store would load it onto Hank's truck, along with the drums of oil, and the tyres, and the boxes of parts, and it would come, some day. With the little can of bright paint. And she'd sit, in the hot sun, painting it, looking proudly at the entrance to her home, wondering if that gate would outlive her, who would paint it when she and Joe were just names on a stone? Would they think of her, wonder who chose that fancy metal?


Arch made out of stacked terracotta pots at the Antique Rose Emporium,
Independence, TX

Gate the third. I had to photograph it. hundreds, maybe thousands of plantpots, coiling like a terracotta wisteria around the gate to a rose-garden. I loved it. I wonder who thought of it, who did it, were they all old redundant pots, that someone said... "get rid of them, we don't use them any more"?
They make an unforgettable portal.


I think this is in Masham?

Next We're in England. a gate of splendour, guarding an archway off a little town square. Oh, it's in a stone arch, but its exuberant steel foliage hints at the leafy garden beyond.
(Masham, North Yorkshire. Where I own shares in a brewery...)


Broadway in the Cotswolds

Now we come to a solid oaken farm-gate, in the Cotswolds, Broadway is the village. A place of beautiful old houses, warm creamy limestone, lots of flowers, very expensive houses, the moneyed classes supplanting country folk.


I love this gate. Estate in Leeds - Harrowood

Harewood. Harewood House, a gate into a paddock, very fancy, because it can be seen from the stately home, Arts and Crafts period, William Morris era. Heaven knows what this gate would have cost. Wrought iron. Hammered glowing metal, bent and twisted in the forge. Wreak, wrought.
Close to this gate, by the steps to the formal garden, there's a tree. Evergreen, laden with sweet scented white flowers, Eucryphia. The bees get drunk on fermenting nectar, I think of this place, smile a smile. You know why.


somewheres in England - Riveulx

We're moving on, to a gate from the beechwoods onto the lawn of Rievaulx Terrace, a landscaped overview on the edge of the North York moors. Beyond this gate, we pass out of the beechwoods onto a grassy sward, at each end of which, is a classical building, an ionic temple at one end, a tuscan temple at the other. They've been here since the 18th century, when they were built by the owners of Duncomb Park, as a banqueting house and summer pavilion, a private fantasy, a few miles from the great house, overlooking the romantic ruins of a far older place, Rievaulx Abbey.
A plce for romance, I think.


somewheres in England - Leeds, Oakwood

The last gate in your photo-odyssey is on Montague Place in Oakwood, Leeds. Or it was. I think it's gone now. I think the house it belonged to was sold, the buyers built an extension. ans the gate's gone. I think. I'll look for it on monday, as I drive to work.
You liked the gate, and the old garages at the back of the houses. I quite like it, but it's the product of a guy with an arc welder and a scroll-forming jig, and he's gone overboard on scrolls...

xxx

8 comments:

gz said...

(o)

soubriquet said...

Nice post....
gate the first, I like this, its geometry, I like the way it frames the house beyond, echoing the roofline of the porch. I like the way it form a clear boundary, like the gatehouse of a mediaeval castle, or a church, it seems to offer sanctuary, a pause, a place to kiss goodnight, hello, goodbye, a place to rummage for your keys in the pouring rain, a place to square your shoulders and ready yourself for whatever comes next.
A place to stop, and smile, as you walk out of one world, and toward another.
The second gate, Independence, Tx, the house looks abandoned, looks as though nobody's lived there for a while, but as though someone keeps an eye on it, drops by every now and then. But once, oh once it was new. Once it was a home. I can only guess, there's a barn with a gas pump. Next door. By that gate.
Maybe, long ago, before at road was straightened, and traffic dwindled, maybe the man from the house, and his son came through that gate in the morning, to work on cars and trucks, to pump gas, sell tyres and fanbelts, oil and grease, sparkplugs and paint. Maybe the garden within rang to the sound of children playing. Maybe the men waited for the squeal of that gate, heralding the smiling woman who brought a can of coffee, and told them not to be late in, because she was cooking, and if they were late, the little ones would get it all..
Back then, that gate was a big deal. It could have been a simple wooden one, but she said "No, Joe, I want one that's pretty, one like we saw at that house in town, we may live out here in the middle of nowhere, but we're not nobodies. " And he smiled. He'd be happy with anything that worked, but he said "Give me a kiss, and on saturday we'll go into town and order your gate."
Which they did, and it would come, next week, on the train to the little station in town. And when it did, the store would load it onto Hank's truck, along with the drums of oil, and the tyres, and the boxes of parts, and it would come, some day. With the little can of bright paint. And she'd sit, in the hot sun, painting it, looking proudly at the entrance to her home, wondering if that gate would outlive her, who would paint it when she and Joe were just names on a stone? Would they think of her, wonder who chose that fancy metal?

soubriquet said...

Gate the third. I had to photograph it. hundreds, maybe thousands of plantpots, coiling like a terracotta wisteria around the gate to a rose-garden. I loved it. I wonder who thought of it, who did it, were they all old redundant pots, that someone said... "get rid of them, we don't use them any more"?
They make an unforgettable portal.

Next We're in England. a gate of splendour, guarding an archway off a little town square. Oh, it's in a stone arch, but its exuberant steel foliage hints at the leafy garden beyond.
(Masham, North Yorkshire. Where I own shares in a brewery...)

Now we come to a solid oaken farm-gate, in the Cotswolds, Broadway is the village. A place of beautiful old houses, warm creamy limestone, lots of flowers, very expensive houses, the moneyed classes supplanting country folk.

Harewood. Harewood House, a gate into a paddock, very fancy, because it can be seen from the stately home, Arts and Crafts period, William Morris era. Heaven knows what this gate would have cost. Wrought iron. Hammered glowing metal, bent and twisted in the forge. Wreak, wrought.
Close to this gate, by the steps to the formal garden, there's a tree. Evergreen, laden with sweet scented white flowers, Eucryphia. The bees get drunk on fermenting nectar, I think of this place, smile a smile. You know why.

soubriquet said...

We're moving on, to a gate from the beechwoods onto the lawn of Rievaulx Terrace, a landscaped overview on the edge of the North York moors. Beyond this gate, we pass out of the beechwoods onto a grassy sward, at each end of which, is a classical building, an ionic temple at one end, a tuscan temple at the other. They've been here since the 18th century, when they were built by the owners of Duncomb Park, as a banqueting house and summer pavilion, a private fantasy, a few miles from the great house, overlooking the romantic ruins of a far older place, Rievaulx Abbey.
A plce for romance, I think.

The last gate in your photo-odyssey is on Montague Place in Oakwood, Leeds. Or it was. I think it's gone now. I think the house it belonged to was sold, the buyers built an extension. ans the gate's gone. I think. I'll look for it on monday, as I drive to work.
You liked the gate, and the old garages at the back of the houses. I quite like it, but it's the product of a guy with an arc welder and a scroll-forming jig, and he's gone overboard on scrolls...

Here ends my commentary. XXXXX!

Adullamite said...

Wonderful stuff!

red dirt girl said...

Soubry ~

Thank you for annotating our travels so beautifully and especially for having a much better memory than I !! You wrote an entire post for me.

xxx

red dirt girl said...

Adullamite ~

thank you!
xxx

Bullets said...

Very nice Souby!