3 Things I Learnt from Landscaping All Around the World

Others you learn by digging holes in someone’s backyard in London, pouring concrete in freezing weather, or lugging stone through the jungles of Nicaragua in exchange for food and a few beers.



I’ve been lucky enough to landscape in a few corners of the world: Australia, the UK, and parts of Central and South America. And while the projects were wildly different, a few core lessons have stuck with me.

They’ve shaped how I work. How I design, and how I create spaces that feel like they belong.

Here’s what those years taught me.

“Start from the base. Build up from there. Never cut corners.”

 It sounds simple, but this is the stuff most people miss.



Back in the UK, we’d show up to terrace houses with no side access, tarp the hallway every morning, and tiptoe through like we were breaking into a museum. It was cold. Tight. Brutal. We had to use antifreeze in our mixes just to stop concrete from cracking overnight.

That experience taught me discipline, precision, and patience.

Here in Australia, the challenge is different. Wild weather, torrential rain, flash floods, and soil that turns to soup overnight. But the mindset stays the same.

Good landscaping starts beneath the surface. You get your levels right. You think about drainage before it becomes a problem. You build from solid ground.

Everything I do now, whether it’s a backyard fire pit or a sprawling rural design, starts with that foundation. You can’t shortcut the boring stuff. Because if you get that wrong, nothing else works.

“You’ve got to design for the landscape, not impose something foreign on it.”

In London, I was building crisp hedges and tidy lawns. Over there, it’s all about control. Shaping nature into something ornamental and refined.

But that approach doesn’t work in Byron Bay.



Here, the land has its own rhythm. The slope, the light, the drainage. Every block tells you what it wants, if you’re paying attention.

We can get 200 millimetres of rain in a single storm. You need to know when to terrace, when to soften, and when to let things breathe. That’s not a skill you pick up in a textbook. It comes from years of being on the tools.

It’s also why I rely on local materials and native plants. They belong here. They thrive here. They bring in wildlife, texture, and story. You’re not just creating something that looks good today. You’re building something resilient, sustainable, and deeply rooted in place.