When Tim Bushe decided to trim the hedge one recent evening, he attracted more attention than usual for a routine garden job.
Hikers slowed to take photos and ask questions. Neighbors stepped over piles of leaf litter to thank him. A driver honked and gave a thumbs-up.
Mr. Bushe is used to attention. It comes every time he trims his two giant, hairy elephants. They are just one set in a collection of residential street hedges that Mr. Bushe has transformed from overgrown plants into whimsical creations.
His hedge menagerie includes two cats, a squirrel, a hippo and a fish. There is also, experimentally, a reclining naked woman. He hopes to add a giant rabbit this summer.
His hedges have delighted residents for years and baffled others who stumble over them, even racking up reviews as local landmarks on Google mapsfrom the no-nonsense (“Well maintained”) to the exuberant (“My life is now complete after seeing this beautiful hedge.”).
Mr Bushe, 70, an art graduate and architect, has built many things in his long career, from schools and shops to houses and offices. But it is perhaps his mischievous hedges dotted across north London that are the most intriguing.
“I realize how much joy they bring,” said Mr. Bushe, who donates his hedge-trimming income to environmental causes. “They lift the urban streetscape in a very positive way.”
“Why not do something playful?”
Hedges have a centuries-old history in Britain, being used to enclose land as early as the Bronze Age and becoming increasingly popular during an agricultural revolution in the 18th century. And the idea of forming those hedges has deep roots too: the world’s oldest topiary gardenFounded in 1694, it is located in Levens Hall, a country house about five hours’ drive north of London.
“Hedges provide much-needed shelter for buildings, people, farms and livestock,” said Guy Barter, chief horticultural officer at the Royal Horticultural Society, adding that they thrive in Britain’s climate.
In more recent times, Mr. Barter said, a well-trimmed garden hedge has become a symbol of a certain kind of aspiration: a serious homeowner who took his neighborhood duties seriously. A poorly trimmed hedge, however, is considered scandalous enough to cause legal disputes.
But wilder hedges are also coming into fashion, Mr Barter said. “Hedges are very flamboyant and an easy-to-see way to express who you are,” he said.
“It’s a bit like having a white fence and something warping in the middle,” says Tim Alden, a friend of Mr Bushe’s who was inspired to trim his own hedge in east London. a topiary of a dog.
There was something about the surprising oddity of a dog-shaped hedge, he said, that seemed to make for cheerful notes in his mailbox. “Why not do something playful every now and then,” he said, “for no other reason than to make us laugh?”
Mr. Bushe is picky about his assignments, accepting only those close to his home in north London. “I like the idea of having a collection of them near where I live,” he said. (And yes, he knows his name more than suits the job. “Maybe it was my destiny,” he said.)
It all started about 15 years ago, with an overgrown hedge in his own front garden, Mr Bushe said. His late wife, Philippa, asked if he could sculpt a cat for her. “I thought a cat would be a hassle,” he said.
Instead, another shape came to mind as he cut the hedge: a train. He then tried his hand at carving the head of a lizard-like monster. Neighbors began asking him to shape their hedges into shapes, including a huge set that he thought would make perfect elephants.
“That’s where it kind of snowballed,” he said. His wife eventually got her cat into the hedges across the road.
But the journey from flora to faux fauna requires patience, perseverance and the luxury of time. Mr Bushe starts with the first cuts to shape the hedge. Then it has to grow. It can take three years or more for the trimmed hedges to take on their final shape.
“For example, I could end up with one ear and have to wait years for the other ear to grow,” he said.
Bringing his designs to life is a process more like sculpting than gardening. “I can visualize it in my head, the whole thing,” he said. “It’s just a matter of finding it.”
Hedge becomes edge
Unlike marble, the common privet hedge quickly grows out of shape: several prunings a year are needed to maintain its shape. “People get very upset when they get hairy,” Mr Bushe said.
But, he added, they are becoming harder to maintain as he gets older. Nature will be the ultimate judge of how long these topiaries will live. Two previous elephants died from honey fungus and the dog hedge is being stripped bare by a few hungry weevils. “I live in fear of them being attacked,” Mr Bushe said.
On a recent evening, Mr. Bushe enlisted his dog, Spike, and Mr. Alden to transform what were beginning to look more like woolly mammoths than elephants. With electric trimmers in hand, they cut away, leaving piles of leaves covering the ground. Legs, ears and trunks came into sharp focus.
Simon Massey was among the neighbors who stopped by to show their appreciation. “It’s just a beautiful piece of art,” he said, adding that he’s seen all sorts of people come to the neighborhood to visit and photograph the creatures.
Abdirasjid Obsiye, a science teacher, had walked past Mr. Alden’s dog-shaped hedge several times before he saw it listed online as a tourist attraction. He wrote his own review, calling it an “inspired piece.”
Mr. Obsiye said he appreciated the effort that went into the sculpture. But he also saw the humorous side of the mundane becoming alluring. “Some people ask, why is a hedge a tourist attraction?” Mr. Obsiye said. “Why not? Who made the rules?”
