A Living Landscape

I keep thinking about how small something can be and still feel like a place. Not an object, not something arranged or finished, but something that exists quietly on its own.

A terrarium feels like that to me. Less like something we make, and more like something we come across, almost by accident. Like noticing a patch of moss at the base of a tree at Blackberry Farm and realizing it’s been there, undisturbed, long before you arrived.

When I start a terrarium, I don’t think about building. I think about gathering.

A bit of moss that still holds the cool of the forest floor. A stone that feels like it belongs somewhere else before it belongs here. Soil that smells alive. Nothing too perfect. Nothing too planned. Just pieces that feel like they’ve already decided to be together.

There’s a moment, usually early in the morning or late in the afternoon, when the light comes in softly and the glass almost disappears. And then it shifts, and suddenly the glass becomes everything — bending light, holding condensation, catching reflections that weren’t there a second ago. It starts to feel less like you’re looking at something, and more like you’re looking into it.

It has forced me to slow down when I work. Hands in the soil, adjusting something just slightly, then stepping back. Not to fix it, just to see if it feels right. There’s a quiet rhythm to it. Nothing forced. Nothing rushed.

Sometimes guests will pause when they pass by, without really knowing why. They lean in a little closer, drawn to something small and quiet. And I love that, because it means they’ve felt it too. That sense of discovery, of finding something living and whole, tucked gently into its own space.

And then at some point, it changes. It stops feeling like materials inside a vessel and starts feeling like a small landscape. A place with its own stillness. Its own balance. Something that doesn’t need you anymore.

That’s my favorite part. Because it reminds me so much of Blackberry Farm — how everything here already exists in layers, in textures, in quiet moments that you only notice when you slow down enough to see them. The terrarium just brings a small piece of that indoors. Not to recreate it, but to hold onto the feeling of it.

I don’t think of a terrarium as something to display. It’s more like something to return to. It’s a small, living reflection of Blackberry, held gently in glass.

– Haifaa Tirey, Blackberry Farm Floral Manager

Terrarium Tips:

• Don't add too much at once. It's always easy to add into a vessel, but harder to take away. Leave space for the landscape to breathe and let light flow in!
• Think in layers, not pieces. A terrarium feels most natural when elements settle into one another rather than sit on top. Make sure your base layer allows drainage, so pebbles and soil work in your favor.
• Let one element lead. Whether it’s a piece of moss, a stone or a small plant, allow something to quietly anchor the composition.
• Avoid symmetry. Nature rarely mirrors itself, and a slight imbalance often feels more real than perfection.
• Allow it to evolve. A terrarium is never finished. It shifts quietly over time, and that change is part of its beauty.