For some time I’ve been contemplating the front garden of my cottage in the Southern Peninsula. It is a classic coastal battleground: salt spray, the relentless Cape Southeaster, and sandy soil that seems to trigger a fresh explosion of weeds the moment a drop of rain hits the ground.
I’ve spent hours pulling them out, only to have them return with a vengeance. It’s an exhausting cycle that has led me to a realization: the traditional “thirsty” garden is a misfit here. But I’m also not entirely sold on the massive succulent trend that has become the default for water-wise landscaping. While I appreciate a well-placed Spekboom, a garden crowded with nothing but fleshy green rosettes can feel cluttered and, frankly, overdone.
I found my inspiration recently during a trip to the dry, hot stretches of Namaqualand near Vanrhynsdorp.
The “Barebones” Aesthetic
In the deep interior, gardens are lessons in restraint. Away from the “pleasure zones”—the patches of grass for children or the cool blue of a swimming pool—the landscaping becomes skeletal and atmospheric.
It’s a “barebones” look: simple pathways marked out with local mountain stones leading the eye toward a wire gate or a distant horizon. There is no attempt to “fill” every square inch with green. Instead, there is an appreciation for the earth itself, the texture of the rock, and the clean “negative space” between them.
Bridging the Gap: Namaqua Style at the Coast
Coming back to the False Bay coast, I looked at my patch of weeds with new eyes. Why are we fighting the sand when we could be framing it? To bridge the gap between the arid interior and my coastal cottage, I’m exploring three key design shifts:
- The “Stone-First” Philosophy
Instead of using plants to create the structure, I’m using the stone I already have. By collecting rugged mountain stones—similar in character to the sandstone walls of the cottage—I can define pathways that create a permanent “sketch” of a garden. This looks intentional and beautiful even if nothing is in bloom.
- The Hidden Infrastructure
The biggest hurdle to a rock garden is “weed-between-the-stones” syndrome. As my partner (a professional horticulturist) rightly pointed out, stones alone won’t stop the growth. The secret to that clean Vanrhynsdorp look is a heavy-duty permeable weed barrier beneath the stone. It’s the hidden mechanical necessity that allows for minimalism without the constant maintenance.
- Selective Softening
You don’t need a hundred plants to make a garden. To avoid the “over-succulent” look, I’m opting for a few architectural anchors—perhaps a single, well-pruned Aloe or a drift of silver-leafed groundcover—set against a sea of grey pebbles or crushed grit. This treats the plant as a piece of living sculpture rather than just another green blob in a crowded bed.
The Search for a New Landscaping Language
One of my frustrations is finding professionals who understand that “less is more.” Many in the industry are trained to fill spaces to show immediate value. However, there is a growing movement toward xeriscaping that feels more like an art installation than a traditional garden.
As I continue to refurbish this cottage, the garden is the final frontier. My goal over the next year isn’t to create a lush oasis, but to build something that feels like it belongs to the Cape—something rugged, skeletal, and calm.
A garden shouldn’t be a chore that leaves you “energy-zapped.” It should be a place where the lines are clean, the water usage is low, and the only thing growing is your appreciation for the barebones beauty of the coast.
