

Some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouth. Kelly D. Norris was born “with a trowel in his hands,” wrote Gardenista contributor Melissa Ozawa, in her story about his “New Naturalism” gardening philosophy. This may sound like hyperbole, but it isn’t so far from the truth: He planted his first garden at the age of 9. And for his 15th birthday, he begged for (and received) a mail-order bearded iris nursery. (Kelly ran the nursery along with his parents for more than a decade.) “When I wasn’t digging irises, I traipsed the road ditches and abandoned railroad right-of-ways, looking for prairie remnants. [Later] in graduate school, I immersed myself in plant ecology and genetics,” the landscape designer and artist tells us. “The throughline in my life is a fascination and respect for plant life.”
Today Kelly oversees a thriving eponymous studio practice and a landscape management firm called The Public Horticulture Co—but that plant-obsessed child prone to wandering onto off-the-beaten paths is still very much in him. “It’s funny. I work for a wide range of clients in public and private places that bring me a lot of joy and meaning. But I really just want to find a few abandoned lots out there to love up for a season or two with a plant community that might surprise people. Or at least do so honestly and without trespassing.”
Below, you’ll find his reflections on gardening and its transformative powers—as well as glimpses of Three Oaks Garden (in Des Moines, Iowa), “the creative refuge and planting field” where he lives and works.
Photography by Kelly D. Norris, unless otherwise noted.
My parents rented and worked a farm where I spent my formative childhood years. A sizable fernleaf peony (Paeonia tenuifolia) grew by the front doorstep, which everyone revered and respected. It’s my first memory of people valuing a plant on its merits.
The Planetary Garden and Other Writings by Gilles Clément.
@palimpsestparade (Tansy Hargan).
Atmospheric, lyrical, immersive.
In no particular order: Rudbeckia maxima, Liatris pycnostachya, Eragrostis trichodes, Hepatica acutiloba, and Hamamelis vernalis. I love plants that set the pace and seemingly hold everything else in orbit at that moment.
I initially scrolled past this question, as prejudice against plants doesn’t make much sense to me. But honestly, I have never needed Calamagrostis x acutiflora ‘Karl Foerster’ and am happy to help redirect anyone who feels the opposite.
Few species say “spring on the prairie” than Penstemon digitalis, so it’s often in our models because it’s just so essential.
Tillage is rarely helpful in a garden with long-term, natural objectives. Growing up in the agricultural heartland, tillage is reflexive, so it’s a hard spec to move away from.
I love cut branches, seed pods, and artifacts of the garden’s natural history. We’ve had the skeleton of a Baptisia alba in a ceramic drop vase next to our fireplace for years now.
Recycled concrete, especially the old stuff, before the days of rebar reinforcement. It’s often closely linked to the history of places, is cheap and readily available, and lends patina to a space from the day it’s installed.
Sneeboer perennial spade.
I have an arsenal of staple L.L. Bean work shirts that I will wear until they are threadbare.
It’s really hard to pick a favorite, so the first three that come to mind (for whatever that’s worth) are Issima, Hayefield, and Native American Seed.
I lost a young specimen of Hamamelis virginiana ‘Winter Champagne’ in the drought a couple years ago that I’m eager to replace. There a couple of weeping forms of eastern red cedar (Juniperus virginiana) that I’m on the lookout for, too.
SummerHome Garden in Denver. It’s a pocket garden open to the public in the Washington Park neighborhood. A brilliant, brave example of the kinds of planting and places we need more in our communities.
It’s the only way I know how to make sense of the world. Gardening is often framed as a personal odyssey. I recognize how ephemeral my garden is in the grand scheme of time and place, but the ecology that matters most is that which we can participate in today. I go to the garden to be part of something nonhuman.
Following the success of my exhibit “A Beautiful Disturbance” for the 2024 Philadelphia Flower Show, I’m hunting for real-world places to intervene in, using the same principles and methods we put on display.
Thanks so much, Kelly! (Follow him on Instagram @kellydnorris.)
For our full archive of Quick Takes, go here.
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