When we think of gardens, we often picture the flash and dazzle produced by mounds of flowers. But what of the garden whose glory comes from other sources?

That was the idea behind our new garden – to build a landscape of varied textures, shapes and sizes that would provide all the interest of a floral garden, without relying on blossoms.

But where to begin?

Although we had gardened before, we were no match for the idea at hand. We enlisted the aid of Blackrock Farm, where Helene Lewand, harried genius of the garden, presides.

Unlike her typical coastal clients with land and budget to spare, we were working on a shoestring, with a postage-stamp lot. With Helene’s counsel, we selected plants, trees and shrubs that appealed for their structural features – their creeping or climbing growth; shape or hue of foliage; streaked or spotted markings.

Among our picks were a lace-leaf maple, daphne and dogwood; dappled willow, hostas and ninebarks. Which is to say, we chose a palette of green, silver, red and bronze; flecked, mottled and striped.

“Want a few boulders?” Helene asked by phone, as she was finishing up another job.

A few spare pieces of mountain or ledge could only add to the drama.

Soon came the boulders, then the soil and finally the young plantings. Helene had sketched a plan for our modest plot – a miniature park-like design with gravel path and greenery on either side.

At first, the plants were low and sparse, mere hints of their future selves. Who knew how it all would turn out, years later? That’s always the risk one assumes in parenting.

By any reasonable standard, this was an act of faith: Somehow the design, with its plants and boulders, would merge into a landscape, become an entity, develop its own resume.

Today, that “new” garden is in its sixth season and going strong. It comes with some useful lessons: As it turns out, I’m not a fan of the willow or ninebark, yet I admire the role of each. Context is everything; the whole is much greater than the sum of its parts.

Also, a path can lead to nowhere, creating a sense of mystery. Just a slight curve, suggesting the illusion of more, fools even a knowing observer.

Furthermore, a succession of bright blooms isn’t necessarily the desired goal of a garden. Looking at the exuberance of greens, the mesh and mingle of so many forms and patterns, I’m caught off-guard by the jazzy mix of our tiny landscape. I constantly remind myself that such varied splendor comes from plants whose assets are spine and structure, not splashes of flowering ego.

Of course, flowers will always shine in their own right. But it’s an eye-opener to see a garden whose showstoppers work their magic in unexpected ways.