Now imagine this: You are at a pedestrian crossing. You are waiting for the green light to cross the street.
As soon as the light turns green, you step down from a height difference of just a few centimeters without even noticing it. If you have a stroller with you, you instinctively lift its front wheels slightly.
You do not do this consciously. But you know there is a change in level there.

This is exactly what I want to talk about:
Are these small differences in grade really necessary in public spaces?

At this point, let us take a look at the effects that changes in level have on us as users.

What Is a Change in Grade, and Why Is It Created?

A change in grade refers to the height difference of one surface in relation to another. Sometimes it appears as a barely noticeable variation, and at other times as a step that directly affects movement. While walking during the day, stepping down from a sidewalk, or moving from one area to another, we actually encounter this difference constantly. In general, it is not accidental; it is created in response to certain needs. It directly affects how a space is perceived, how it is used, and even how people move within it. From a design perspective, levels give depth to a place. A single-level area often creates a monotonous perception, while the use of different levels together offers the user a sense of discovery. People experience space not only by seeing it, but by moving through it. For example, a rise of just a few steps can separate a seating area from a walking axis while also giving the space a natural rhythm. Boundaries that are not felt on a flat surface begin to form almost by themselves through level play.

However, when these necessities are not interpreted correctly, they can create outcomes that negatively affect the user experience.

The main reasons for creating changes in grade in spaces can be summarized as follows:

• Drainage and Water Management: I think this is one of the most invisible benefits of level differences in our daily lives. Grade changes are created to prevent water accumulation and to direct water movement. If they are not resolved correctly, however, this situation can reverse itself and lead to puddles and surface deterioration.
• Separation of Circulation: Today, we frequently encounter the concept of level difference in separating pedestrian, vehicle, and bicycle routes. However, because such differences can create barriers in terms of accessibility, we will discuss in the following sections how these changes are increasingly being eliminated in new design approaches.
• Safety and Boundary Definition: In dense urban areas, this method is often used as a control mechanism. It helps make different use areas more legible and guides the user through the space.
• Separating Spaces from One Another: We use changes in grade to define spaces and boundaries belonging to different use scenarios. Step differences created between seating areas and green spaces, or between circulation routes and green areas, can be given as examples. However, defining such separation through sharp level differences may create problems in terms of accessibility and continuity, especially in public spaces. In current design approaches, these kinds of distinctions have begun to be defined through material changes or surface language rather than changes in grade. We will examine this issue in more detail in the following sections.

What Has Modern Design Changed?

In the traditional design approach we are familiar with, spaces serving different uses were separated from one another by sharp boundaries. Sidewalks, curbs, and visible grade changes were seen as the most basic ways of defining space.

Over time, however, this approach began to be questioned in terms of user experience. Accessibility, in particular, became an issue concerning everyone in public spaces, from people with disabilities and users with strollers to children aged three or four and people over the age of sixty-five.

The emergence of all these issues created the need for a new design approach. Differences between surfaces were softened and made more fluid, reducing changes in grade to a minimum. In this way, the main aim became to guide user movement without interrupting its flow.

In this newly shaped approach, the goal is not to restrict the user, but to create a natural flow within the space.

Minimizing grade differences in this way does not mean leaving the space undefined. On the contrary, it increases the importance of details such as texture and color in material selection. In this changing design language, these details now enter our lives as tools of navigation.

In more traditional designs, hardscape materials were often handled in a visual and commercial manner. In the new approach, however, aesthetic perception gains importance, and the harmony between materials becomes more central. The perception of the space as a whole has led to the emergence of new strategies.

This design evolution is not only a technical solution; it also brings an ethical stance into the present day. The ability of a wheelchair user and an athlete to move on the same plane with the same level of comfort increases the inclusive power of public space. The success of design at this point lies in removing physical barriers while also making social barriers invisible.

The point where aesthetics meets function, and function meets social justice, is, I must say with pride, a real victory of modern landscape architecture.

The Blending of Surfaces

The disappearance of sharp boundaries allows space to break free from its rigid form and take on a more flexible identity. In traditional design, an area defined only as a passageway can, in a modern approach, become a meeting point, an exhibition area, or a resting corner through the blending of surfaces. The disappearance of boundaries can also be understood as the user redefining the space according to their own initiative or needs. In this respect, modern design does not draw strict limits around the function of a space; instead, it opens a field of experience for it.

The physical boundaries and curbs we are used to seeing in daily life have a guiding effect on users, telling them where to stop, where to pass, or how to move. In the spatial logic developed by modern design, however, users enter a more intuitive process of wayfinding. This turns movement into a strategy in which the user draws their own route.

When design begins to manage possibilities instead of drawing boundaries, landscape becomes not just a place to look at, but a process to be lived.

The most concrete and functional expression of the principle of blending surfaces is the meeting of bicycle paths and pedestrian axes on a single flush surface. The high sidewalks and curbstones that sharply separate these routes in traditional urban planning are giving way, in modern landscape design, to a smooth continuity.

In this approach, the distinction between bicycle paths and pedestrian routes is defined not by a physical barrier, but by the character of the material itself. By material character, we can understand differences such as color, texture, size, and joint pattern.

These clean surfaces, where people do not encounter any step or noticeable slope difference while crossing from one side to another, minimize visual clutter in spaces while also highlighting the clarity of the design.

This design language developed on a single plane does not divide the space into fragments; instead, it brings all parts together on a common ground.

The result is a holistic landscape in which design is freed from unnecessary complexity and movement continues in flow without interruption.

Examples of Modern Landscape Approaches from Around the World

1- Road Design Examples from Budapest and Prague

These are photographs I took in Budapest and Prague. Although the roads in question serve both vehicle and pedestrian circulation, they are separated without creating any change in grade, through differences in paving and various guiding elements. Stormwater management is provided through slopes that are almost imperceptible on the surface, preventing water from accumulating above ground.

2- Queens Plaza North, Long Island City, New York

This image shows the Queens Plaza North (Dutch Kills Green) project, a modern and functional example of urban landscape architecture. Planned in 2003 by a team led by Margie Ruddick, the project aimed to resolve complex infrastructure on a single, step-free ground plane for pedestrians and cyclists, transforming it into a corridor that also includes greenery. As can be seen in the photograph, everything is accessible and barrier-free.

The large slabs used in pedestrian paths and resting areas were designed with permeable concrete and stone materials that allow rainwater to move into the ground. Asphalt was preferred for the bicycle paths, while bicycle icons and pedestrian crossing lines were marked in white paint. We can say that the design clarifies visual guidance by creating a strong contrast.

The plants resembling Carex on the right side of the bicycle path, moving with the wind, can also be interpreted from the photograph as adding dynamism to the concrete texture.

3- Street and Road Designs in Hoogeveen, the Netherlands

The unusual and creative sidewalk design in the image is part of the Netherlands’ urban planning approach, especially the concept of the “woonerf” or “living street.” These designs, which are quite common in the Netherlands, transform the identity of the street through geometric shapes and contrasting colors, unlike conventional paving. At the same time, from a sustainability perspective, bricks made from 100% natural clay are used, and products resistant to wear and color fading are preferred.

4- Bancroft Way, Berkeley, California

Designed by Peter Walker and Partners, this project carries highly characteristic qualities in terms of detail resolution, especially for us as landscape architects. The joints between concrete slabs were strategically designed for stormwater management. Channels filled with river stones were used as an aesthetic drainage solution that allows water to filter down into the lower layer. This project can be considered a successful example of how aesthetics and technique, such as water management and durability, can be brought together, especially for university campuses or plazas with intense pedestrian circulation.

Is it enough to design a city together with nature by reducing nature only to green spaces allocated at ground level? Does the limited availability of land for creating green areas in cities mean that the possibilities of planting design have been exhausted? In today’s cities, where dense urban development dominates, it has become almost inevitable to consider architectural surfaces as part of planting design. In this context, the espalier technique stands out as an alternative and effective design approach that integrates nature with architecture in limited spaces.

Theoretical and Spatial Framework of the Espalier Technique

The espalier technique is a traditional cultivation method based on guiding plants along a specific plane, with its origins extending back to European garden art. Historically developed especially for fruit trees to make more efficient use of sunlight and increase yield, this technique has today moved beyond being merely an aesthetic garden practice. It has become a contemporary design approach that establishes spatial continuity between architecture and landscape. Particularly in narrow and limited areas, turning vertical planes into active components of landscape design offers significant advantages in softening façade effects, improving microclimatic conditions, and supporting fruit production potential.

Historical Development of the Espalier Technique

The origins of espalier practices date back to medieval Europe. First used in palace gardens in France and Italy to increase the productivity of fruit trees, this technique provided microclimatic advantages by benefiting from the heat-retaining properties of stone wall surfaces. In the 17th century, with the development of geometric order in French garden art, espalier systems gained an aesthetic character and were widely used in the gardens of the Palace of Versailles.

Today, the espalier technique is gaining renewed importance as a planting approach reconsidered both in the conservation of historic gardens and in contemporary urban landscape design.

Spatial and Design Characteristics of the Espalier Technique

Espalier practices represent an important design approach that contributes to spatial organization by integrating plant elements with architectural surfaces. Through this technique:

• the capacity of plantable surfaces can be increased by incorporating vertical planes into landscape design in limited spaces, thereby supporting green continuity in urban areas,
• the dominant visual effect of hard-surfaced urban fabric can be reduced, while spatial comfort and environmental perception quality can be improved,
• the perceived scale of building façades can be balanced, allowing a more integrated spatial relationship between architectural mass and landscape elements,
• spatial continuity can be strengthened through a planting organization that is not limited to the horizontal plane, increasing the layered legibility of the urban landscape,
• microclimatic conditions can be improved by playing a regulating role on solar radiation, wind effect, and surface temperatures,
• vertical greening can contribute to reducing the urban heat island effect, improving the thermal performance of façade surfaces, and supporting urban ecology,
• opportunities can be created to increase biodiversity in limited areas by forming alternative habitats for birds and pollinator species.

In this respect, the espalier technique is not merely a method of guiding plant growth; it is also regarded as a multilayered design tool that establishes an integrated relationship between architecture and landscape while supporting the ecological, visual, and microclimatic performance of urban space.

Classification of Espalier Form Types

The form types used in espalier practices show different geometric organizations depending on the growth direction of the plant, the arrangement of the support system, and the design objective. These forms not only guide plant development but also act as important design tools that define the aesthetic character of the spatial composition.

Among the most commonly used espalier systems in the literature are cordon, palmette Verrier, candelabra, fan, Belgian fence, and informal form types.

Cordon Form

This form is based on guiding the main trunk horizontally as a single line, known as a single cordon, or as multiple parallel layers, known as double or multiple cordon. It is especially preferred in narrow spaces to create linear planting. By providing horizontal continuity along the façade, it strengthens spatial orientation and offers efficient surface use in limited areas.

Palmette Verrier Form

This is a classical French espalier form characterized by a symmetrical and layered branch organization. Lateral branches emerging from the main trunk are regularly guided at specific angles, creating a geometric structure. It produces a strong axial effect in formal garden arrangements and provides an integrated composition with architectural façades.

Candelabra Form

This form is created by directing vertical branches emerging from the main trunk upward at regular intervals. Through its repeated vertical branch structure, it forms a rhythmic and orderly plant composition on façade surfaces. It is especially preferred on broad wall surfaces and in the spatial definition of public areas.

Fan Form

This form is based on the radial spreading of branches emerging from the main trunk. It supports plant development by creating a balanced distribution of light and produces an aesthetic transition effect in semi-formal garden arrangements. It is frequently used in small-scale gardens and courtyard walls.

Belgian Fence Form

This is a woven system formed by connecting the diagonally guided branches of multiple trees. It is used to create a semi-permeable plant boundary element and provides spatial separation, direction, and visual continuity. It is widely applied in parks, pedestrian axes, and garden boundaries.

Informal Form

This is a flexible espalier system based on guiding the plant in a controlled way without completely suppressing its natural growth character. Since it creates a more organic and natural appearance, it is preferred in contemporary urban landscape designs. Its maintenance requirements are lower than those of other formal systems, and it adapts well to sustainable design approaches.

The Effect of Espalier Form Types on Spatial Perception and Façade Organization

Espalier form types should not be considered merely as technical pruning methods that determine the direction of plant growth. They also function as design tools that play a decisive role in shaping spatial perception and defining the character of the relationship established with architectural surfaces. The geometric order, rhythm of repetition, and orientation pattern of the selected form influence the way façade surfaces are perceived and allow visual continuity to be established between architectural mass and plant elements. For example, cordon and palmette Verrier systems, which show linear and layered organization, create horizontal continuity and a sense of order along the façade, while candelabra and fan forms generate stronger vertical emphasis and contribute to redefining the scale of the surface. The Belgian fence system, on the other hand, can function as a semi-permeable spatial boundary, acting as both a separating and guiding landscape element. In this context, the choice of espalier form should not be treated only as a botanical preference related to the growth character of the plant, but as an integrated design decision that directly affects the perceptual impact of the architectural surface, spatial organization, and user experience.

Plant Species Used in Espalier Practices

The plant species to be used in espalier practices should have flexible branches, be tolerant of pruning, and possess a growth habit suitable for training. In addition, having a high shoot-producing capacity, being suitable for form development, and being able to adapt to regular long-term maintenance interventions are among the main criteria that directly affect the success of the application. Species selection should also be evaluated together with the scale of the space, façade orientation, climatic conditions, and design objective. In this context, the most commonly preferred species in espalier practices are listed below:

• Malus domestica apple
• Pyrus communis pear
• Prunus domestica plum
• Ficus carica fig
• Carpinus betulus common hornbeam
• Tilia cordata small-leaved linden
• Photinia × fraseri photinia
• Pyracantha coccinea firethorn
• Ligustrum vulgare common privet

These species allow balanced aesthetic, functional, and ecological solutions to be produced in espalier systems thanks to their formability and flexibility of use at different spatial scales.

Application and Pruning Principles in Espalier Plants

Espalier application is a planned process based on the controlled direction of plant growth. In the first stage of implementation, an appropriate species should be selected, and the sunlight exposure, wind effect, and spatial conditions of the surface where the plant will be placed should be evaluated. Then, a support system consisting of wires, anchors, and connection elements should be installed to support the plant’s development, and the young sapling should be planted in a position suitable for this system. Regular training interventions carried out in the first years play a decisive role in forming the desired shape by enabling the main structural branches to develop in the intended direction.

Regular maintenance practices are of great importance for espalier plants to maintain healthy growth and preserve the established form. The foundation of this maintenance process is periodic pruning, in which the main structural branches are preserved while side shoots that disrupt the form are brought under control. Summer pruning supports the continuity of the form, while winter pruning strengthens the plant’s structural framework. In addition, guiding shoots according to the support systems, regular irrigation, balanced fertilization, and periodic inspection of support elements are among the basic maintenance steps that determine the long-term success of the application.

Use of Espalier in Urban Landscape Design

Espalier practices stand out as an alternative planting strategy, especially in urban areas dominated by dense development. Narrow sidewalk sections, building façades, courtyard walls, boundary elements, and semi-permeable spatial dividers are among the most common areas of use for this technique. In addition, it allows vertical surfaces to be incorporated into landscape design in interior courtyards, public pedestrian axes, square surroundings, school gardens, and semi-public transition spaces of residential settlements, contributing to the strengthening of spatial continuity. It is also regarded as an effective design tool for reducing the visual impact of technical infrastructure elements, spatially defining service areas, and creating controlled plant organization in urban open spaces with limited plot depth. In this respect, espalier systems gain importance as part of a green infrastructure approach integrated with architectural surfaces and supporting landscape continuity in hard-surfaced urban environments.

Microclimatic Contributions

Espalier practices are regarded as an effective landscape strategy that contributes to improving the urban microclimate through the controlled relationship established between building surfaces and plant elements. Plant layers guided along vertical surfaces reduce the direct effect of solar radiation on building façades, help balance surface temperatures, and contribute to limiting excessive heating, especially during the summer months. At the same time, they allow more comfortable microclimatic conditions to form around buildings by regulating wind movement, preserving surface moisture balance, and increasing the shading effect.

Espalier applications, especially on south-facing façades, support the controlled use of solar energy, accelerating plant growth and contributing to earlier flowering and increased yield in fruit trees. In addition, plant surfaces created along façades help reduce the urban heat island effect; they also provide environmental benefits such as improving air quality, capturing dust, and reducing surface reflections. In this sense, espalier systems stand out as one of the important components of climate-sensitive urban landscape design, beyond their aesthetic and spatial contributions.

Nature Limited by Surface, Integrated with Space

In increasingly dense cities, the designer’s relationship with plants is also changing. The issue is no longer only about placing trees in empty spaces; it is about transforming limited surfaces into living infrastructure. In my view, the espalier technique emerges precisely at this point as an important design tool. This approach makes it possible to turn nature from an element gradually pushed away from the city into an active part of architectural surfaces.

Today, in cities, it is possible to rethink the trees for which we often cannot find enough space by considering them on surfaces. On a façade, in a courtyard, along a narrow street, or on a boundary wall… Espalier gives us the opportunity to treat a tree not merely as a landscape element, but as a design component that creates space. Therefore, espalier is not only a technical cultivation method; it is a powerful approach carrying clues for a more integrated, more sensitive, and more contemporary urban aesthetic between architecture and landscape.

References

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As the weather slowly begins to warm, we are in those days when we start to feel the sweet restlessness of spring. With this quiet stirring in nature, with the trees beginning to bud, and with the fresh scent of soil rising around us, one constantly feels the desire to be outside and to witness nature’s awakening. Lately, as I take my camera in hand and try to fit these changes into my frame, I also find myself witnessing how places begin to breathe with spring, and I feel that they have started to speak to us. As nature wakes from its winter sleep, it reminds us once again that every corner around us has its own vivid and living spirit. This sense of awakening and revival brought by spring inspired me to write about that fascinating subject which had been on my mind for a long time, but which I had been waiting for just these days to put into words.

Sometimes, when you step into a place, you sense that it is not merely made of soil, plants, or stones. The thin murmur of the wind as it passes through the branches of an old tree, the familiar smell released by the earth after rain, or the slow shifting of shadows… When all these details come together, you realize that the place is almost breathing silently, whispering something to you in its own language.

This whisper is not merely a matter of romanticizing life; it is the invisible bond between place and human beings, a bond reaching back thousands of years. In ancient times, people behaved more cautiously when entering the depths of a forest, resting beside a body of water, or striking the first pickaxe into the soil. Why? Because they believed that every place had a silent guardian, a character that should not be disturbed but respected.

For them, nature was not an empty canvas to be built upon, but a living being. The Romans gave this invisible character, which brings a place into being through its water, wind, and soil, a beautiful name: Genius Loci. In other words, “the Spirit of Place”.

A Whisper from Mythology

The etymological and mythological origin of the concept “Genius Loci” is rooted in Roman mythology. In Roman belief, “Genius Loci” comes from the idea that every place has a unique guardian spirit protecting it, and for this reason it is translated as “the spirit of place.” In Roman mythology, these spirits, also known as Genii Loci or Lares, were guardians of homes, fields, and crossroads, and they held a place in people’s lives in ancient times. In Roman iconography, these guardian spirits were usually depicted as young and lively figures carrying a snake symbolizing fertility, a cornucopia, and a libation bowl. For the Romans, these spirits were not the souls of deceased people, but directly the spirits of nature itself; they were even believed to be older than the world.

In ancient times, people believed that a spring, a forest, or an inhabited region was not merely a physical area, but a sacred place protected by supernatural guardians. As a result of this belief, before touching that place or building anything there, it was necessary to please this “spirit of place”. To calm the spirit of the place and ensure the continuity of abundance and fertility, spirit houses or altars were built. Food, incense, and flowers were offered to these spirits, and vows were made to them. This legendary atmosphere was a spiritual and respectful bond that people formed in order to protect themselves from the destructive power of nature and to domesticate the place.

According to philosophical and architectural approaches in the literature, place is not merely a physical location. It is a qualitative and holistic phenomenon in which tangible and intangible values, memories, and lived experiences accumulate in layers. According to Norberg-Schulz, one of the pioneers of architectural phenomenology, “genius loci” expresses the character, unique atmosphere, and identity of a place. Just as every place had its own spirit in ancient Roman belief, every space in architecture also has its own living identity. Every piece of land and every area has an inner impulse shaped by its era and nature, and a character that determines what it wants to become.

The therapeutic and healing effect of a place on human psychology is also nourished precisely by correctly reading this inner character. Today, the concept of genius loci is used not as a supernatural spirit, but as a way to explain why a place feels special to us. What turns a place from a purely physical area into a living presence where people feel belonging, safety, and peace is this unique atmosphere formed through its relationship with surrounding nature, architecture, memories, and cultural texture. Therefore, place is not a dead object independent of human perception. It is a character that interacts with human beings and nature, breathing through the “spirit of place”.

The Poet’s Advice: An Aesthetic Designerly Respect

This deep and mythological respect that Ancient Rome held for the spirits protecting places gradually ceased to be merely a religious or philosophical belief over the centuries and became one of the fundamental principles of architecture and landscape design. One of the most important turning points in the integration of this legendary belief into design philosophy occurred in the 18th century. The English poet Alexander Pope, in the Epistle to Burlington section of his work Moral Essays, where he discussed landscape, garden design, and architecture, summarized the key to good taste in designing a place with his famous advice: “Consult the spirit of place in all things” (Consult the Genius of the Place in all).

This intellectual advice that Pope gave to architects and garden designers argued that, rather than imposing showy, artificial structures contrary to the nature of a site, the existing character of the place should be taken as a guide. With Alexander Pope, this became an aesthetic designerly respect on the drawing table for the natural identity, physical reality, and potential of the site.

The evolution of this respect for invisible spirits and mythology into respect for nature, topography, and existing ecology is the greatest transformation of the “genius loci” concept. In today’s architecture and landscape design, “consulting the spirit of place” does not mean calming a mythological guardian; rather, it means understanding the climate, geological structure, vegetation, wind direction, and topography of that place.

The idea that a site must be read and listened to before design is a continuation of accepting place not as a dead object independent of human perception, but as a being with its own inner impulse and character. Thanks to the vision that Alexander Pope brought to landscape and architecture, the supernatural “spirit of place” of antiquity became, in the modern world, the foundation of a sustainable environmental consciousness that does not struggle against nature and topography, but protects and adapts to existing ecology. Thus, the guardian spirit of legends gave way to the soil and nature themselves, becoming one of the greatest guides for designers.

Hearing the Whispers of the Land

Reading the spirit of a place is one of the most critical and intuitive stages of architectural and environmental design. For a designer, a site is not a dead void on which random lines can be drawn from behind a desk, nor is it a blank sheet of paper (tabula rasa); it is a living being with its own story, past, and character. According to the renowned architect Renzo Piano, because every place is unique, it is vital to know “how to listen to the place” before beginning a project; hearing the subtle and quiet voices whispered by the place requires capturing its essence.

So how does a designer read this spirit when stepping onto a site? The perception of place is not merely a visual process based only on what the eye sees; it is a multi-sensory orientation that develops through all the senses. The designer senses and analyzes the data offered by the site in two main layers: natural and human contexts:

• Listening to the Natural Context: On the site, the direction and hum of the wind, the movement of the sun throughout the day, topographic slopes, soil structure, temperature, and the texture of local vegetation form the physical foundation of the spirit of place. When a designer visits a site, they do not merely look; they feel the softness or hardness of the surface beneath their feet, and sense the local floral or earthy scents carried by the wind. These whispers, which help the place become distinctive, show the designer how light and air can integrate with the structure.
• Feeling Cultural Memory and Lived Experience: The spirit of place is nourished not only by nature, but also by the cultural memory and collective memory accumulated through the interaction of people, environment, and time in that region. The designer must feel the visible and invisible historical traces on the site, the region’s traditional architectural language, rituals, and socio-cultural experiences.

Good and environmentally sensitive design does not take shape in an office environment, through standard templates detached from context, or on a blank sheet of paper. On the contrary, it comes into being by listening to what the land whispers and by establishing a dialogue with it. A qualified architecture in which the natural and the artificial merge can only be shaped by taking the ecology, wind, sun, and topography of the region as references.

Cities Whose Spirit Has Been Killed and the Resistance of Context

The disruptive changes brought by globalization, rapid urbanization, and industrialization have deeply affected cities and places, leading to the emergence of soulless and anonymous structures with no connection to the past of the place. The forced imposition of copy-paste templates on a site, merely because they are popular or comply with global mass-production standards, despite being entirely contrary to the climate, geographical structure, and ecology of that area, destroys the unique identity of the place by disregarding topography and local texture. As a result of these formulaic urban practices, soulless spaces emerge, completely detached from the lived experiences of the place, deprived of a sense of belonging, and lacking any distinctive quality. This approach, which sees nature merely as a material resource and background to be consumed for the realization of human ideals, virtually kills the spirit of place because it turns a deaf ear to the whispers of the land.

Yet against this danger of homogenization, a quiet but powerful resistance is also possible, one that holds on to the whispers of nature and the local. In contrast, designs that respect the presence of the site and integrate with the “spirit of place” place context and ecology at the center. Instead of flattening the topography and erasing the context, designs that preserve existing rocks, local soil, climate, and materials adapted to the nature of the region keep the memory and spirituality of the place alive.

It should not be forgotten that places are not composed only of physical elements; they carry a collective memory accumulated through the interaction of human beings, environment, and time, as well as an intangible “spirit of place” (sense of place). However, the homogenizing, “copy-paste,” and contextless designs brought by globalization see place as a machine or an empty canvas, ruthlessly killing its authentic spirit and cultural continuity. Successful places that integrate with their spirit, on the other hand, accept that every place has a unique character and resist standardized clichés by respecting nature’s own dynamics, its wind, topography, and local texture.

Listen to the Spirit of Your Own Surroundings

“Genius loci” (the spirit of place), is not a theoretical concept that remains only in the legends of Ancient Rome or is discussed solely at the drawing tables of master architects. Today, this concept is a reality that directly touches our everyday lives and explains why the streets we walk through, the parks where we rest, and the city we live in feel special to us.

The most important thing we need to do in order to notice the spirit of our own surroundings is to slow down and listen to the collective memory offered by the place. As the renowned architect Aldo Rossi stated, “the city itself is the collective memory of those who live there”, and the identity of a place is born from the accumulation of citizens’ memories. The shade of an ancient tree you pass beneath on your way to work, a breeze carrying the smell of the sea, a street where your childhood echoes, or your favorite corner that gives you a sense of belonging and safety. In truth, this is a living spirit interacting with you. As the poet Konstantinos Kavafis expressed in his verses, wherever a person goes, the lived experiences and spirit of that city will always come with them.

Because we are not merely spectators of these landscapes that we design, photograph, and live within; we are an inseparable part of them. In short, the environment we live in is not merely a physical coordinate on a map. It is a living being shaped by our emotions, our past, and the whispers of nature. As long as people continue to seek places where they feel safe, connected, and at peace, that invisible guardian will continue to live within our feelings. So the next time you step outside your door, do not merely look around with an ordinary gaze; feel the touch of the wind on your skin, the past beneath the soil or asphalt, and the invisible bond that the place establishes with you, and listen to the spirit of your own surroundings.

The concept of urban justice refers to the equal, fair and accessible provision of urban life and urban opportunities for all city residents. Understanding whether a city is just does not always require big data or complex analysis. Sometimes one question is enough: who can truly exist in this city? For whom is the city genuinely a place to live, and for whom is it merely an obligation to endure?

Henri Lefebvre’s idea of the right to the city, introduced many years ago, still remains highly relevant today. Yet in our country, it is unfortunately moving further away from being a right enjoyed equally by everyone. People living in the same city often cannot experience spaces with the same perception because of differences in social and economic status.

The distribution of spaces within the city is often far from neutral. The location, quality and continuity of green areas are frequently connected directly to economic and social status. In neighborhoods where higher income groups live, larger, better maintained and more continuous green spaces are more common. In neighborhoods where lower income groups are concentrated, fragmented, neglected or difficult-to-access areas are more visible. This does not create only a physical difference; it also shapes everyday habits, freedom of movement and the relationship people establish with space.

Imagine two people leaving home at the same hour in the morning. One walks to work under the shade of trees. The other moves along narrow sidewalks, weaving between vehicles. Both live in the same city, but they do not experience the same city. This difference is exactly what we mean by urban justice.

Even the plant species used in higher income districts, or the material of a single bench, can often be different. Public spaces feel as valuable and carefully considered as private spaces. In new projects, progress is made in line with the needs and expectations of the surrounding community. In districts where lower-middle income groups live, however, we are often met with careless projects built merely to exist, urban furniture made from the cheapest materials, insufficient safety, inadequate equipment and even poorly selected planting. For this reason, the way two people with different social statuses perceive the same city, and the emotions the city evokes in them, are unfortunately often very different.

In many European cities, public spaces appear not only as designed places, but also as places that have been considered, tested and improved through user experience. These countries treat public space not merely as a physical void to be produced, but as a system from which different user groups can benefit equally. Pedestrian-priority mobility, accessibility standards, lighting systems designed with night-time use in mind and continuity of maintenance all help these spaces become genuinely usable. In Europe, a luxury villa and an apartment can generally benefit from the same public space in an equivalent way.

In Turkey, however, the relationship between the production of space and the everyday practices of using that space is often not established sufficiently. Parks are built, but there is no systematic evaluation of who can use these parks, at what hours and to what extent. As a result, some places may be “public” on paper, but in practice they become more open to the use of certain groups.

At this point, it is not enough to understand the city only as a physical whole. The city does not carry the same meaning for everyone. The same city is the sum of very different experiences for different people.

When Istanbul is mentioned, one person’s mind may fill with walks along the Bosphorus, broad and well-maintained parks and pleasant public spaces. For another person, the same word may bring crowding, noise, heavy traffic and distances that must constantly be overcome. For one person, the city is a place to explore; for another, it is a burden to endure.

This difference cannot be explained only by individual preference. On the contrary, it is directly related to how economic and social status determine a person’s relationship with the city. For a user from a higher income group, the city may offer options, easy access, saved time and often a comfortable experience. For a user from a lower income group, the city can become more limited, more exhausting and more exclusionary.

This is exactly why the debate on urban justice matters. The issue is not only access to the city, but how we experience that city. The way we experience the city is often shaped by economic means, the neighborhood we live in, transportation opportunities and everyday life practices. Therefore, “living in the same city” does not always mean “living the same city.” The city does not offer an equal ground for everyone. On the contrary, it can become a structure that reproduces and makes existing inequalities visible. Urban justice does not mean that everyone living in the same city sees the same places; it means that everyone can exist in those places equally.

Urban justice is not only the result of planning decisions or design approaches. It is also an indicator of who can occupy how much space in the city. Cities become fair not merely through the opportunities they offer, but through how those opportunities are shared among people. What needs to be done today is to notice, before producing new spaces, whom existing spaces include and whom they leave out. A city truly becomes a city only when it becomes equally livable for all its users. Otherwise, it continues to be the sum of different worlds that exist within the same boundaries but never truly touch one another.

For this reason, when thinking about and evaluating urban justice, the question we must ask is not only “what exists in this city?” but “for whom, and how, does this city exist?”

About 70 percent of the planet we live on, and nearly 75 percent of the human body, is water. Yet do we truly know something that is so deeply woven into our lives, and even into our existence? Perhaps the first step in protecting water is to understand it. Beyond basic technical definitions, we need a broader way of seeing water as a living force, a cultural memory and an ecological relationship.

Rainwater management is often discussed through floods, drainage channels, storage systems and infrastructure. These are necessary, but they are not enough by themselves. When water is seen only as a risk to be removed from the city, our relationship with it becomes defensive. We begin to fear water instead of learning how to live with it.

Why Do We Struggle to Manage Rainwater?

As floods become more frequent, water is increasingly treated as an element of danger. This fear changes how people perceive rivers, streams, rain and urban surfaces. The protective reflex is understandable, but it can also distance us from water. A city that wants to manage rainwater must first accept water as part of its own body, not as an outside threat.

Conventional urbanization turns soil into hard surface. Roads, roofs, parking lots and paved squares reduce infiltration and accelerate runoff. Rainwater that could feed soil, vegetation and groundwater is quickly collected, carried away and discharged. In this process, the city loses one of its most important ecological cycles.

Landscape architecture can rebuild this lost relationship. Rain gardens, bioswales, permeable surfaces, retention areas and restored stream corridors are not decorative additions. They are living systems that allow cities to slow, hold, clean and reuse rainwater. They also make water visible again in everyday urban life.

From Fear to Coexistence

The question is not simply how to get rid of rainwater. The real question is how to create urban landscapes that can receive it. A city designed with water does not only reduce flood risk; it creates cooler microclimates, supports biodiversity and offers richer public spaces.

Rainwater management therefore requires both technical knowledge and a shift in perception. We need to stop seeing water only as a problem and begin seeing it as a partner in design. The future of resilient cities depends on this change of perspective.

While scrolling through X, I came across a sentence by Ali Kaan: “Turks deserve to live not in cramped apartment flats, but in real Turkish houses with courtyards.” At first glance, the sentence may sound a bit romantic, even a bit assertive… Yet there are some sentences that, before proving their truth, awaken a desire to imagine. That’s what it did for me. Suddenly, I found myself in that stone-paved courtyard from the image, standing beside a flowering tree whose shadow fell softly onto the ground, in front of a house whose wooden windows filtered the morning light gently inside. Then I added a garden behind that vision. A well, a divan, a faint sound of water, vines leaning against a stone wall, a bay window above, a hayat in between, a sofa inside… And then I realized: I wasn’t just thinking about a house; I was imagining a way of life.

Then I decided to prepare a detailed article so that everyone could understand the features of Turkish houses. Of course, I started with research. I encountered drawings, terminology, interpretations of old urban fabrics, and a spatial worldview stretching from Safranbolu to Bukhara. And in the end, I saw this more clearly: the Turkish house is not merely an architectural heritage of the past. It is also a thought written into space about how we might live together, how we should perceive, and perhaps even how we can remain human.

In most modern cities today, buildings rise within their parcels with individual ambitions. Each stands independent, sometimes even in rivalry with the others. In the traditional Turkish city, however, the relationship is different. A house considers not only its own comfort but also its neighbor’s light, the street’s shade, and the neighborhood’s air. That is why, in traditional horizontally developed Turkish neighborhoods, there is said to be a sensitivity that can be summarized as: “one house’s shadow should not block another’s sunlight.”

Today, we often discuss housing in terms of square meters, façade, view, number of rooms, kitchen type, and site amenities. Yet the traditional Turkish house asked this question differently. Rather than “how big should a house be,” it focused on what kind of life a house should carry. This small difference actually transforms the entire architectural approach. Because then the structure ceases to be a shell enclosing a person and becomes an organism that accompanies daily rhythms, shapes the relationship with nature, and invisibly preserves the ethics of neighborliness.

When one thinks of a Turkish house, the bay window usually comes to mind first. White plastered walls, wooden beams, deep shadows under the eaves, stone-paved streets, and sometimes high courtyard walls… Yet trying to understand the Turkish house only through its appearance remains incomplete. Because its strength lies partly in an internal logic not immediately visible from the outside. At the center of that logic is a sense of measure. But this measure is not merely mathematical or geometric. It is also about propriety, rights, climate knowledge, and the subtlety of living.

For this reason, when discussing the Turkish house, one must also discuss the city. Because the Turkish house is rarely independent from the street. It is an organic extension of the urban fabric it belongs to. In most modern cities today, buildings rise within their parcels with individual ambitions. Each stands independent, sometimes even in rivalry. In the traditional Turkish city, however, the relationship is different. A house considers not only its own comfort but also its neighbor’s light, the street’s shade, and the neighborhood’s air. That is why, in traditional horizontally developed Turkish neighborhoods, there exists a sensitivity summarized as: “one house’s shadow should not block another’s sunlight.”

When thinking of Turkish houses, one of the first cities that comes to mind is undoubtedly Safranbolu. Interestingly, while writing this piece, I went back to my own photo archive and revisited the day I first saw Safranbolu. I realized that I first visited this city exactly 14 years ago, on April 21, 2012. Despite the time that has passed, the feeling of that first encounter remains vivid. Even in times when the buildings were not presented as spectacularly as today, Safranbolu evoked deep admiration. Because what was impressive was not just the beauty of individual houses, but the measure, calmness, and elegance of the entire fabric.

Looking at settlements like Safranbolu, this becomes even more concrete. As houses settle on slopes, they do not simply compete to capture the best view. Instead of an aggressive logic that blocks each other completely, there is a composition that steps back, layers, and breathes. That is why these houses do not only look beautiful; they also feel fair.

At this point, it is possible to speak of a silent connection between urbanism and morality. Because the Turkish understanding of the city is not merely a physical arrangement to meet housing needs, but the spatial manifestation of the relationship between people and nature.

Streets are also an important part of this system. Narrow streets are often perceived negatively today. Yet in traditional contexts, narrowness does not necessarily mean congestion. On the contrary, narrow streets create shade, protect pedestrians, and establish a human-scale relationship between buildings and people.

Among the most striking façade elements is undoubtedly the bay window. The bay window is the face of the Turkish house extending into the street. Yet this extension is not aggressive; it is measured. It establishes a relationship with the street, expands the view, and enriches spatial perception, while maintaining a delicate balance between public and private life.

The Turkish house is not merely an architectural heritage of the past. It is also a thought written into space about how we might live together, how we should perceive, and perhaps even how we can remain human.

When we step inside, we encounter another world. The Turkish house does not abruptly throw us into its center; it slows us down. This is why the taşlık (entrance hall) is important. It is a transitional layer between outside and inside—neither fully exterior nor interior.

One of the most important concepts of the Turkish house is the “hayat.” Even its name reveals the intention of this architecture. It is not merely an empty space, but a lived space—a semi-open interface where house, courtyard, and daily life meet.

Connected to the hayat, the sofa forms the backbone of the house. It is not just a circulation space but a shared center where family life converges.

In some regions, the eyvan joins this richness of transitional spaces. It plays a crucial role in climate adaptation, providing shade and airflow, while adding rhythm and ceremony to spatial experience.

The arrangement of rooms continues this philosophy. Rooms are not rigidly fixed to single functions but remain flexible, adapting to different uses throughout the day.

The courtyard and garden are where the Turkish house meets landscape. The courtyard is not a decorative addition but an essential part of life—sometimes even its heart.

Material language reflects the same simplicity. Stone provides solidity and coolness on the lower levels, while wood offers flexibility and warmth above.

Perhaps this is why thinking about the Turkish house is not merely historical curiosity. It also raises serious questions about today’s cities: why do we produce so many buildings, yet so few living environments?

Maybe we cannot recreate the exact houses of the past. But we can reinterpret their principles: transitional spaces, semi-open areas, neighborly rights, climate sensitivity, and the integration of landscape.

For me, this is where the Turkish house becomes valuable. It is not a nostalgic object, but a quiet teacher reminding us that another way of living is possible.

• Perhaps we cannot rebuild the same houses, but we can rebuild the same refinement.
• Perhaps we won’t walk the same streets, but we can help streets remember people again.
• Perhaps not every home will have a courtyard, but every life needs a bit of sky, shade, greenery, and a spatial ethic that considers others.

This is what the Turkish house tells me. And perhaps that is why it belongs not only to the past, but also to the future.

The cities we live in are growing every day. New buildings rise, roads expand, empty spaces are filled and urban boundaries stretch outward. Yet within this growth, an important reality is often overlooked: cities no longer produce. They have largely become places organized around consumption.

Food, one of the most essential parts of daily life, is usually consumed far from where it is produced. The products we see on market shelves reach us after long journeys. The city becomes the final stop of this process, not a place of production but a place of consumption.

Cities Were Not Always Like This

The distance between production and consumption was not always so sharp. For much of human history, settlement and production developed together. Early settlements were directly connected to arable land, water and seasonal cycles. The city was not distant from production; it was part of it.

Industrialization and modern urban planning gradually changed this relationship. Production was pushed outward, while the city center became associated with housing, commerce, administration and consumption. Today this separation creates ecological, economic and social fragility.

Urban Agriculture as a New Possibility

Urban agriculture does not mean turning every square meter of the city into farmland. It means reintroducing production into the urban imagination. Community gardens, edible landscapes, rooftop gardens, school gardens, productive parks and peri-urban farming areas can reconnect the city with food, soil and seasons.

This approach also has social value. It can strengthen neighborhood relations, support food awareness, create educational landscapes and make unused spaces meaningful again. In times of climate crisis and economic uncertainty, the productive city becomes more than an alternative; it becomes a resilience strategy.

Historic examples such as the Hanging Gardens of Babylon or productive garden cultures around old settlements remind us that cultivation and urban life have long been connected. Contemporary examples show that this connection can be redesigned for today’s cities.

The question is not whether agriculture can return to the city, but how it can return in a fair, ecological and well-designed way. Urban agriculture can be a tool for producing food, but also for producing knowledge, community and a more grounded urban culture.

Although scales change in the world of design, the struggle between imagination and physical space remains the same. Whether designing a building, a neighborhood or a city, the designer tries to place an idea within the unique embrace of topography, context and everyday life.

First, space is analyzed. Then the design in our minds begins to appear through sketches. At the moment when sketches turn into maps, the large sheets spread across an urban planner’s desk and the raw fabric laid out on a tailor’s table ask the same question: how will this surface adapt to a living body?

We often imagine the city as a lifeless texture made of asphalt and built mass. Yet the city is a dynamic urban textile, much like the clothes we wear. It stretches, sometimes becomes tight, sometimes hangs loosely and always needs another fitting.

The City as a Garment

When we look at the world map with the precision of a planner, we can see iconic cuts of this adaptation. Paris, shaped by Haussmann’s rational interventions, appears almost like haute couture: disciplined boulevards act as seams that organize the urban body. In this example, the city is not a random ready-made product, but a carefully measured composition.

But no city can be reduced to perfect lines alone. Streets are worn by footsteps, squares are reshaped by gatherings, parks change with seasons and neighborhoods are altered by memory. The real city is always more alive than the plan that describes it.

Planning as Fitting

To design a city is not simply to draw boundaries. It is to test how people move, pause, meet, remember and belong. A good urban plan behaves like a well-tailored garment: it gives structure without preventing movement. It recognizes the body it serves.

When the city is designed without fitting, it begins to pinch. Sidewalks become too narrow, public spaces become too empty, transportation becomes too exhausting and daily life loses its ease. The problem is not only aesthetic. It is social, spatial and emotional.

This is why the city needs rehearsal. It needs observation, correction, participation and time. Each intervention should be understood not as a final stitch, but as part of an ongoing process of adjustment.

The city is not a finished costume displayed on a mannequin. It is a garment worn by millions of people at once. Its value depends on whether it can move with them, carry their memories and make room for their differences.

For this reason, urban design must learn from tailoring: measure carefully, cut responsibly, leave room for movement and never forget the living body inside the fabric.

Carbon emissions are no longer merely an environmental issue; they have become an economic cost. Carbon tax is one of the most important tools that directly reflects this cost onto the producer. This situation directly affects how cities are designed and how landscape decisions are made.

Carbon Tax

The main purpose of a carbon tax is to reduce high-emission activities and accelerate the transition to more sustainable alternatives. Reducing fossil fuel consumption, increasing the use of renewable energy, and assigning an economic value to environmental damage are among the primary objectives of this system.

However, the fight against climate change is not limited to economic policies alone. The way urban areas are planned, the materials that are used, and decisions related to planting design are also important parts of this process. At this point, landscape architecture stands out as a discipline that can directly contribute to reducing carbon emissions and balancing existing carbon.

Why Is Landscape Architecture Important?

Landscape architecture is often seen as an aesthetic arrangement. Yet every design decision directly affects either the carbon production or the carbon storage capacity of a given area.

Through photosynthesis, plants absorb carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and store it within their structure. For this reason, a well-designed green space does not function as a passive arrangement, but rather as an active carbon management system.

How Can Landscape Architects Reduce Carbon Emissions?

The decisions landscape architects make during design, implementation, and maintenance can significantly alter the carbon footprint of projects. The main approaches that stand out at this point are as follows:

Increasing Carbon Sink Areas

Urban parks, urban forests, and green corridors are among the most effective spaces in terms of carbon storage. During planting design, choosing long-lived species with broad canopies and high biomass potential increases this capacity.

In coastal regions, ecosystems such as wetlands and seagrass meadows also have high carbon storage potential. Protecting and properly managing these areas plays an important role in maintaining carbon balance.

Using Low-Carbon Materials

Materials such as concrete, asphalt, and steel used in landscape projects cause high carbon emissions during production and transportation processes. For this reason, the use of local materials, recycled products, and permeable surfaces is of great importance.

Design Decisions That Improve Energy Efficiency

Landscape design can indirectly affect the energy consumption of buildings. Green roofs and vertical gardens can reduce energy demand by improving the thermal insulation of structures.

Likewise, properly positioned trees can lower cooling needs by providing shade in summer, while windbreak planting can reduce heat loss in winter.

Reducing Carbon During the Maintenance Process

The carbon impact of landscape is not limited to the design phase alone. The maintenance process is also an important factor.

Large turf areas require constant irrigation, mowing, and chemical use. This increases energy consumption and indirect carbon emissions. Instead, when xeriscape approaches and native plant species are preferred, maintenance needs decrease.

In addition, intensive soil cultivation activities can cause the carbon stored in the soil to be released back into the atmosphere. For this reason, intervention should be kept to a minimum.

The Future: Carbon-Oriented Landscape Design

Carbon emissions are no longer merely an environmental datum; they have become an economic criterion. As practices such as carbon taxation become more widespread, the environmental performance of projects will become more visible and measurable.

This shifts landscape architecture beyond being only an aesthetic discipline and turns it into an active part of carbon management. In the near future, the value of a landscape project may be assessed not only by its visual quality, but also by how much carbon it stores and how much emission it helps prevent.

Conclusion

The fight against climate change is a multidimensional process, and design decisions have a much greater impact than we often assume. When applied correctly, landscape architecture can create systems that reduce carbon emissions and store carbon.

In this respect, landscape design is not only an aesthetic arrangement, but also an important tool for environmental sustainability and carbon management.

References

1. Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (2023). Climate Change 2023: Synthesis Report. Geneva: IPCC.
2. United Nations Environment Programme (2022). Emissions Gap Report 2022: The Closing Window. Nairobi: UNEP.
3. World Bank (2023). State and Trends of Carbon Pricing 2023. Washington DC: World Bank.
4. Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (2020). Global Forest Resources Assessment 2020. Rome: FAO.
5. American Society of Landscape Architects (2021). Climate Action Plan. Washington DC: ASLA.
6. United States Environmental Protection Agency (2022). Green Infrastructure and Climate Change Benefits. Washington DC: EPA.
7. European Environment Agency (2021). Nature-based Solutions in Europe: Policy, Knowledge and Practice for Climate Change Adaptation and Disaster Risk Reduction. Copenhagen: EEA.
8. International Federation of Landscape Architects (2022). Climate Positive Design and Landscape Architecture Report.
9. United Nations (2020). World Cities Report 2020: The Value of Sustainable Urbanization. Nairobi: UN-Habitat.
10. Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (2021). Effective Carbon Rates 2021: Pricing Carbon Emissions through Taxes and Emissions Trading. Paris: OECD.

Every day, you walk along the same route. You step on the same pavement and pass by the same trees.

But have you ever stopped to think?

Is the ground beneath your feet really just a standard path, or is it a space that contains many layers of design?

For most people, landscape means a few trees, a bit of lawn, perhaps a park. In reality, however, landscape involves a systematic infrastructure, a planned technical order, and a multi-layered design logic. In this article, I want to explain this through photographs I took from my own professional experience.

The path you walk on guides you without you realizing it. It draws your attention to certain points.

In fact, with details you often do not even notice, it manages water and prevents it from accumulating on the surface of the paths you walk on. That is why landscape does not only design space, but also human behavior. It slows you down, speeds you up, or makes you stop. Sometimes it makes you sit under a tree, sometimes it leaves you feeling alone in a wide open space, and sometimes it makes you lift your head and look around through striking elements.

Throughout the years I worked in the field, the clearest thing I observed was this:

In a well-designed landscape, people do not adapt themselves to the design. The design guides people naturally, within an intuitive flow. While people move forward without thinking about where they step, they are actually moving within a scenario drawn by design. The most successful projects are those in which people do not conflict with space; rather, the space intuitively reads human behavior and makes it easier.

How Do the Paths We Walk On Actually Work?

In daily life, when we look at a pedestrian path, we usually see only the surface:
A granite stone, a neat paving pattern, and clean joint lines… Yet this surface is only the visible part of a multi-layered system.

Take a granite-covered pedestrian path, for example. At first, we design the granite paving for that path. The stone covering we see on the surface provides aesthetics and durability. Yet the real elements that determine the performance of this surface are the layers underneath it.

A typical system can be constructed as follows; we can show it with an example sequence:

• Granite paving stone
• Bedding layer (sand or fine aggregate)
• Base course (stabilized material)
• Compacted subgrade

Water Management: The Invisible Design

In this system, one of the details that is often overlooked yet plays a critical role is water management. One of the tools we can mention in water management is the joint. The joint allows the surface to function, balances stress, and helps water move in a controlled way.

One of the most common problems encountered on site is the omission or faulty application of one of the layers. Most of the time, the problem appears on the surface; the stone becomes loose, breaks, or collapses. But the real problem is usually underneath.

The condition seen in the photograph occurs when the soil layer beneath the finished stone paving shifts due to the effect of water; this ground movement then causes the paving above to deteriorate as well.

Landscape elements are not only aesthetic objects, but also performance-based ones. The performance of a pedestrian path is measured by its load-bearing capacity, water permeability, resistance to freeze-thaw cycles, and deformation behavior over time.

Invisible Systems

Just as with hardscape, planting design is not limited to the visible surface. The health and sustainability of a green area are directly related not only to plant selection, but also to the system constructed beneath it. In planting applications, just as in hardscape systems, there is a layered structure.

One of the situations I most frequently observed on site is irregular plant growth occurring in different parts of the same project. At first glance, this may look like a design flaw, but in most cases the problem stems from drainage elevations, compacted soil, or faulty irrigation zoning. In other words, the problem lies not in aesthetics, but in the invisible layers of the system.

For a healthy planted area:

• Suitable soil mixture (a balance of organic and mineral content)
• Drainage layer (for the removal of excess water)
• Irrigation infrastructure
• Appropriate volume and depth for root development
• and many other technical criteria must be evaluated together.

Especially in tree applications, the root zone is a critical issue. A compacted ground that cannot breathe or has limited access to water directly affects plant development. For this reason, in a properly designed landscape, not only the visible upper form of the plant but also the invisible space necessary for root development is planned.

One of the common problems encountered on site is that this infrastructure is not adequately taken into account. Plants that initially appear healthy may fail to develop over time or begin to show signs of decline.

The structure of the soil, how much water it retains or how quickly it drains away, how far the roots are able to spread… all of these directly affect how the plant will appear above ground. That is why sometimes, in the same area, one patch of grass can look healthy while another beside it dries out. Or a newly planted tree may look fine at first but gradually weaken over time.

What Could Be the Possible Causes?

• Drainage problem: Water accumulating in some areas while remaining insufficient in others negatively affects root development. Patchy drying patterns like the ones seen in the photograph are usually signs of non-uniform drainage.

• Soil compaction: Especially in areas with heavy pedestrian traffic, the soil becomes compacted over time. This prevents the roots from receiving air and makes it harder for water to infiltrate the soil.

• Irregular irrigation system performance: Due to sprinkler placement or pressure differences, some areas may not receive enough water while others may receive too much.

• Sub-layer problems: An inadequate or poorly designed base layer prevents water from being distributed properly. This then appears on the surface as irregular drying or weak growth.

The same situation can also be observed in trees. The general drying seen in the tree in the photograph is usually caused not by a single factor, but by a combination of planting errors, root zone problems, and deficiencies in water management.

• Insufficient root zone volume or compacted soil: If roots cannot find enough space to develop, the tree quickly enters stress.

• Lack of drainage or water accumulation: If tree roots remain constantly in water, they become deprived of oxygen and begin to rot.

• Wrong species selection or adaptation problem: If the plant is not suitable for the climate and soil in which it is placed, its development is directly affected.

• Irrigation errors: Insufficient or irregular irrigation is a critical problem, especially for newly planted trees.

In many cases, this situation originates not from the plant itself, but from the system constructed beneath it.

That is why reading landscape only as the visible green surface or the hard ground is an incomplete approach. Beneath every step lies engineering, beneath every surface lies a system, and behind every plant lies an ecological balance.
The ground you step on is actually the result of a design you hardly notice.

So do not dismiss the places you step on as simply “landscape.” Because if there is a properly designed infrastructure beneath that surface, then the quality you see above is not a coincidence.