Gardens, Gondolas, and Generational Wealth: The Extraordinary Legacy of H.H. Hunnewell
This botanical history post was featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:
January 15, 1902
On this day, America bade farewell to one of its most extraordinary horticulturalists – Horatio Hollis Hunnewell – whose passing marks the end of an era for those of us who appreciate the finer points of landscape artistry.
Hunnewell was, to put it plainly, obscenely wealthy. A railroad financier whose coffers ran as deep as his garden beds. But unlike so many of his contemporaries who squandered fortunes on frivolous trinkets, our dear Horatio possessed that rarest of combinations: excessive wealth paired with exquisite taste and a profound love of nature.
When Hunnewell acquired his more than 40 acres along the shores of Lake Waban (pronounced "Wah-bin," darlings – do try to keep up), he created not merely an estate but a horticultural kingdom. He had married Isabella Pratt Wells and, in a gesture that surely earned him considerable marital favor, christened his impressive domain "Wellesley" in honor of his wife's maiden name.
How convenient that this romantic gesture would later immortalize him when both the nearby town and college adopted the same name after consulting with Hunnewell, their most generous benefactor.
The Hunnewell estate was so absurdly vast that when his children matured, seven of the nine had homes constructed on the property – practically neighbors to their parents' original mansion! One imagines Christmas celebrations were difficult to avoid.
Beyond the architectural splendor, Hunnewell installed a pinetum with over 325 specimen conifers – each one meticulously selected and positioned. In 1899, with the delicious smugness that only the truly accomplished can muster, Hollis remarked of his trees,
"No Vanderbilt, with all his great wealth, can possess one of these for the next 50 years, for could not be grown in less time than that."
The ultimate gardener's boast – not even unlimited money can accelerate the growth of a truly magnificent tree!
Perhaps most notably, Hunnewell established the very first topiary garden in America at Wellesley. He modestly referred to it as the "Italian Garden," positioned with theatrical precision along Lake Waban's shore.
And when it came to showcasing this masterpiece, our Horatio was nothing if not committed to spectacle.
Imagine, if you will, being a guest at the Hunnewell estate. Rather than simply walking to view the gardens, you would be ushered aboard an authentic Italian gondola, complete with a gondolier in traditional dress!
Only after gliding across the lake would you disembark to tour the topiaries. Hunnewell's American shores rivaled even the famed banks of Lake Como – an accomplishment that surely raised eyebrows among his European contemporaries.
It's difficult for us modern gardeners to comprehend the sensation this one-of-a-kind garden created. Thousands of visitors journeyed from across the country specifically to witness Hunnewell's topiary marvels firsthand. Countless more experienced them through photographs and engravings published in every fashionable periodical of the day.
Even now – a century and a half later – the Hunnewell topiary garden remains among the most spectacular horticultural sites in the region. A testament to what can be achieved when exceptional wealth meets exceptional vision.
There are two additional morsels about our departed Hunnewell that merit mention. First, he and his friend Nathaniel Thayer Jr. are credited with introducing tennis to America – giving the leisure class something to do between garden tours.
Second, and far more significantly for us plantspeople, Hunnewell was the first to successfully cultivate and popularize rhododendrons in the United States, forever transforming our garden landscapes with their magnificent blooms.
As we mark his passing, let us consider what Hunnewell understood that so many modern gardeners forget: true horticultural greatness requires not just resources, but patience, vision, and a willingness to create beauty that might not reach its full splendor within one's lifetime.
