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Ingrao and Kemper are respectful of the past and compulsive about correct restoration. They've reverently named their spread "Woodhouse Park" and did research to find genuine 100-year-old rhododendrons to replace the many dead bushes along the perimeter. They installed a sunken garden in a matter of days, due to a deadline for one of their oft-generous charity openings. With its high wall of handmade bricks, mammoth bronze lions surveying from pedestals, cornucopias holding mercury balls, whimsical topiary elephants, tightly meshed boxwood squares and a lavish central fountain, the compact formal garden looked instantly at home, combining fine classic order with a profuse elegance.

For tree lovers, this place is paradisical eye-candy, with careful layerings of shapes, colors and textures-a kind of mini-Central Park fused with a Garden of Eden, done with a decorator's eye. You need to look at the perspective: amber leaves stand out against crimson; pale against dark; others, drooping or swirling or frizzy or buttery. They've ratcheted up the atmosphere with odd-shaped evergreens: Mahonia (holly-like) hedges, Hinoki cypresses, oversized weeping hemlocks, shaven yews, punctuated by spindly Monkey Puzzle trees. The visual experience is similar to the one written up by the poet, Chris Wallace-Crabbe: "...we wander though Botanic Gardens negotiating them by metaphor. Names for these shapes? Why, anthropoid, globulous, falgate, serrulated, drab, robust, rupestral, pyramidal, plumb and acutifoil."

There are no real paths to lead you or forced focal points, letting the wanderer enjoy a sense of discovery. Bereft of gaudy flowers, this garden offers a sense of sunstruck peacefulness. In planning this space, a primary consideration was to "sculpt the land to make the best use of the views." Since the nearby nature trail is low and unimpeded, the area around the house was also carefully planted "low" so that no windows are blocked, leaving abundant openings to the sky.