It was the view that convinced us. The wide, open landscape was the reason we bought this house twelve years ago. We wanted to create a garden here — not just any garden, but a place that moves with the seasons, where something new reveals itself every day.

For decades, we had visited gardens at home and abroad. We admired them, learned from them, and gradually felt the desire to create one of our own. And here, in this place, we knew immediately: this was the moment. We also had an advantage. The garden had once been designed by a landscape architect, with a clear structure of hedges, paths, and trees. It felt like a perfect canvas — strong in its framework, yet open enough to let a new story unfold.

That story had to be ecological, shaped by as many native plants as possible. All over the world, you encounter the same species and cultivars time and again, as if indigenous plants were somehow unworthy of a place in our gardens. 

Native plants form the backbone of our planting. At the same time, we consciously combine them with carefully chosen non-native flowers, grasses, and shrubs in the borders around the house. In doing so, we create a dialogue between traditional garden design and a more spontaneous, ecological approach — not as opposites, but in harmony.

Our inspiration? The Dutch Wave — a planting style in which ornamental grasses, perennials, and bulbs bring colour, texture, and movement throughout the year. Plants with a natural character and strong structure that suit the soil. We do not till or hoe; we weed selectively. Artificial fertilizers and chemical pesticides have no place here. We garden with nature, not against it.

If you ask us which part of the garden we cherish most, the answer comes easily: the flower-rich meadows. Meadows are so much more spontaneous — far less controlled than planted borders. Yet creating them is no simple task. Ten years ago, we transformed a large part of the lawn into a flower meadow. We collected seeds from roadside verges: oxeye daisy (Leucanthemum vulgare), rough hawk’s-beard (Crepis biennis), and brown knapweed (Centaurea jacea). They still form the foundationtoday. We sowed them into freshly opened patches of lawn, but success did not come immediately. On our naturally rich loam soil, grasses continued to dominate stubbornly. Only with the help of Rattle — a semi-parasitic plant that weakens grasses — did space open up for wildflowers to thrive. We applied the same method in the orchard, where the grassland grows richer in flowers year after year. It takes time. And patience.

In summer, we mow the flower meadows. The cut grass and flowers are dried and partly stored as hay on traditional wooden hayracks. An orchard bordered by hawthorn hedges and dotted with hayracks in summer recalls the bocage landscape of times past. In autumn, a small flock of sheep provides secondary grazing. The hay becomes their winter feed. Within this closed cycle, very little is wasted.

In 2021, our garden was given a name: Malushof. That same year, we opened it to the public for the first time. The name refers to the many apple varieties that shape the character of the garden. Throughout the grounds, the ornamental apple Malus × robusta ‘Red Sentinel’ forms a vibrant thread. Especially in autumn and winter, thousands of small red apples create a colourful display.

In the orchard, heirloom apple varieties grow alongside a specimen of the rare native crab apple, Malus sylvestris. It perfectly embodies what this garden stands for: preserving what is precious, and allowing what truly belongs here to flourish.

Annemie & Erwin