Backyards of the Lower Haight, Part Five

Backyards of the Lower Haight, Part Five
Genevieve Brennan
Published on December 14, 2013
In the fifth of a series (here are parts one, two, three, and four), Genevieve Brennan takes a glimpse into the Lower Haight’s hidden backyard oases. (Oasi? Oasises?)

When Bernard Schweigert bought his house on Oak Street in 1975, the garden was a mess. "People had dumped junk in the backyard for years," he says. Over time he cleared it out, let native plants take hold, and put in new ones of his own. Now, decades later, the garden looks nothing like a junkyard.
A stone path wends its way through a wooden arbor covered in yellow trumpet vines, past a deck hanging with potted plants, and into space lined with an olive tree, a giant philodendron, Australian tree ferns and more. Wild ginger spikes and calla lilies pop from the flower beds.
A large clay obelisk, sculpted and aged by an artist friend ("She decided she would never make a living being an artist, and that was one of the last few pieces she did") marks the divide between the sunny front of the yard and the largely shaded back. There are also palm trees, thirty feet tall now, that Bernard bought when just a few feet high from a Macy's that was using them as props.
Bernard's props include stone figurines tucked in among the plants - an cherub here, and eagle and a frog there - and two oversized cement toadstools. Rusty, one of Bernard's two dogs, obligingly poses on one, then hops down to join his brother Max in following Bernard as he walks through the garden.
"Even on a busy street it's really quiet back here," Bernard says. He explains that his calm, lush garden is the product of trial and error. "I gradually kept adding things, and probably one tenth of what I've planted over the years has survived." His approach is zen: "If it lives it lives, if it dies it dies... It's not like I'm looking for a totally organized garden. I spend a little bit of time on it, not a ton of it, and what it is, is." His laid-back attitude extends to his prized orchids, some of which are ten years old and flower all winter and spring. "These are cool growers," Bernard says. "Some want full sun, some want less sun, but they're easy to grow in San Francisco. I just keep the weeds out, fertilize them, and water them once a week. "
While the orchids fill the bottommost of his three decks, the other two are draped in wisteria and trumpet vines and dotted with darting hummingbirds. "I did go vertical," he says modestly. He built the decks himself, in addition to taking on extensive renovations of the house. (He refers to himself as "just handy," which is an understatement for someone who has "replumbed, rewired, the whole works.") The topmost deck commands a view of the neighborhood, albeit one largely blocked by tall trees at the back of the property. "I kind of wish those trees would die," he admits, looking over the space, which is bordered by ivy-covered fencing.
Years ago, that fence kept mysteriously falling over into his yard. He'd prop it back upright, but he'd soon find it back on his property again. Eventually he caught the elderly lady next door heaving the fence into his garden with gusto. With no end to the back and forth in sight, Bernard looked up the property law, had a new fence built, and sent the neighbor a request for half the cost of the fence along with a photocopy of the relevant law. She paid up. Score one for good fences making good neighbors.