A garden is a living organism. Just like humans and animals, if it isn’t continuously cared for, it becomes unhealthy, falls ill, and in severe cases, dies. Yet if treated before it is too late, it breathes anew. This summer, I experienced this simple truth firsthand.

I helped facilitate a pruning workshop led by Mr. Seiho Umeno, a Japanese master gardener. Through gardens, his goal is to help people connect with nature—and ultimately, with one another. He selected the garden at the Friendship House at Frost Valley YMCA as one of his workshop sites. To put the result simply: the garden was quite literally brought back to life.

The garden at Friendship House was one of the very first Japanese gardens we ever designed. Completed in 2014, we maintained it whenever we had the opportunity to revisit. However, since the outbreak of COVID-19, we were unable to visit the site for about six years. Returning now made us realize that it stood as a prime example of what happens to a Japanese garden left completely untended for six years. Every tree and shrub had grown wild; in particular, the garden junipers had spread across the entire plot, completely obscuring all the garden stones.

Pruning does more than tidy a plant’s external appearance; it creates space inside for light and air to flow, allowing the plant to tap into its natural self-healing capacity. There was so much to learn—such as looking beyond individual plants to consider the balance of the surrounding space.

Mr. Umeno moved his shears with swiftness and absolute conviction, demonstrating the physical, embodied knowledge unique to Japanese artisans. The post-pruning form of the trees was not a finished product; it evoked the slightly weary atmosphere of a patient that had just emerged from surgery. Yet it left no negative impression—rather, it conveyed a sense of impending vitality and healing.

It is often said that the Japanese gardens in Japan embody an aesthetic of subtraction. By intentionally leaving open space, one controls time itself, connecting the garden to the future. Once again, I realized that the true uniqueness of a Japanese garden lies not merely in its distinct visual appearance, but in a culture that allows the garden to transcend time.