Anna Thurmayr and Dietmar Straub, operating from Winnipeg, Canada, approach landscape architecture less as a matter of monumental authorship and more as a form of quiet insurgency. Their practice resists spectacle, embracing instead small yet resonant gestures, collective processes, and deep attentiveness to context—whether planting 20,000 crocuses into a lawn or constructing an ephemeral Snow Academy from car-park snow. Both professors at the University of Manitoba, they work at the intersection of teaching, research, and community engagement, cultivating doubt and humour as tools of design. In the conversation that follows, Anna and Dietmar take us on the course of prairies and fairies, they reflect on the effects of horizon and silence in the landscape, the absurdity of the manicured lawn, and how gardens—modest and improvised—can become potent acts of resistance and hope, subverting our beliefs about how things should be.

How does the environment you encounter in Winnipeg differ from the environment where you were brought up or worked before?

Eighteen years ago, we moved with our two young children from Freising to Winnipeg—or, if you prefer, from the northern slope of the Alps into the vastness of the Manitoban prairie. It didn’t take long before people started asking, “Can you do my backyard?” We hesitated in the early years because we felt unprepared to cultivate gardens in a prairie climate.

Dietmar: Every childhood has unique secret gardens and landscapes, scenes of discovery, refuge, adventures, and memories, and there is always a place for the first kiss. I am a Swabian. I come from the southwest region of Germany, where Karl Friedrich Benz invented the gasoline-powered car. People there have the reputation of being frugal and like reducing things to the max. I grew up in a small village on a little farm in a climate suited for grapes and apple trees. We roamed through forests, vineyards, meadows, orchards, quarries, and quarry ponds. If you delve into this landscape, you’ll find everything at scale for humans and wonderful seasonal events like blooming meadows and trees.

My dad taught me how to prune trees, and my mom knew how to cultivate a garden. There was always delicious food on the table. But I think we didn’t recognize her fantastic work and knowledge. It was self-evident. Kids can be so ungrateful. And flowers—they always got in my way when playing soccer.

But somehow it happened. Landscapes and gardens grabbed me. I started an apprenticeship and became a Landschaftsgärtner (landscape gardener). The search for the relationship between mud and design led me to university. As a young landscape architect and designer, I had the opportunity to work on a significant infrastructure project: a sewage treatment plant in the Ruhr area of Germany, an IBA Emscher project. It felt as if I had returned to my roots – mud and design.

Anna: Imagine waking up one morning in an entirely new city and, while searching for familiar background noises, you hear only silence. Silence as a culture shock? A completely unexpected adjustment for me. Eighteen years later, we have grown accustomed to suburban life in the Canadian Prairie. The extreme climate has become part of our daily routine, with humid summers, crisp sparkling winters, bloodthirsty mosquitoes, and car rides that seem to last an eternity. Fewer people ultimately mean greater silence, but this also results in less reliable public transportation and fewer bike paths. However, I can now say that Manitoba’s squirrels almost shout as loudly as the Bavarian blackbirds, and finally, I, a Münchner Kindl, feel fully at home in Winnipeg.

Little trees set against a vast blue sky – that’s the beauty of the prairie. It is easy to develop an affinity for the horizon in Manitoba. Horizontality and the infinite horizon are dominant elements. The concept of the horizon is an excellent subject of study since efforts to expand our ‘horizon of understanding’ can help us look beyond the familiar and cast our eyes further. It also prompts us to contemplate the horizon as a metaphor for yearning. Yes, we miss the gardens of our childhood; however, we have begun to cultivate new gardens that grow and flourish under different skies.

What is culture like in Winnipeg?

Hockey and Canadian football are big in town and cover the longing for trophies during the long winters and short yet delightful summers. The Winnipeg Blue Bombers won the professional Canadian Football League’s (CFL) Grey Cup twelve times, and the Winnipeg Jets just received the National Hockey League’s (NHL) 2025 Presidents’ Trophy for the best regular-season team. The Winnipeg Whiteout Street Parties during the playoff games in spring have become legendary, fueling the enthusiasm for the team and are a collective celebration of victories and defeats.

Two other notable pieces of cultural trivia or fun facts! Slurpees and honey-dill dipping sauce are popular in Winnipeg. The sauce is primarily enjoyed with chicken fingers and fries. The slushy drink, known for its various colours and flavours that kids love to blend into brown, is served ice-cold in the “Slurpee Capital of the World.”

Returning to more serious cultural topics, we must discuss lawnicure and our ongoing, friendly assaults on Canadian lawns that have persisted for years. Each year, Winnipeggers spend thousands of hours either pushing or riding mowers, most of which pollute at a rate far higher than their cars, while spreading pesticides, herbicides, water, labour, and cash on their lawns. Someone once wrote, if a lawn were a car, it would be a Hummer: a resource-intensive, plainly unsustainable luxury item that looks green but is an ecological desert. This comparison is an insult to deserts.

To illustrate our initial incursions, we will refer to the metamorphosis of a lawn on the Fort Garry campus in 2010. How much pioneering spirit can the Canadian lawn sustain? Can the Canadian lawn endure or accept an influx of immigrants to take root? The Fairy Lawn at the University of Manitoba Campus aimed to explore these questions.

The vaccination of a bowl-shaped lawn with bulbs was a horticultural experiment. Elfenkrokus is the German name for Crocus tommasinianus, which means fairy crocus. These fairies are not native to Manitoba, but they are very common in Europe. Since the new arrivals have no invasive intentions, the issuing authorities gave the green light. After an extended adventurous voyage from Europe to New York, they finally received their passports and arrived in Winnipeg. 

By ‘opening the doors’ for 20,000 flowers, this project created quite a spectacle in the first spring. The extravagant endeavour resulted in an explosion of lilac-blue flowers on the lawn, transforming the space into a significant focus of attention. Although eagerly anticipated by people and bumblebees, the fairies did not return the following spring. The reason for their absence is somewhat speculative. Perhaps they didn’t agree with the commonly accepted lawn care, or maybe they had never experienced snow in May. 

Years after the experiment, we were still asked how the fairies were doing. This is perhaps the most significant sign of success: the fairies remain alive in people’s minds. The integration of ‘ephemeral natures’ transforms the places of our projects into eternal laboratories for adaptation and mitigation in a changing climate. This concept instills hope by emphasizing attention while accepting that gardens and landscapes are never complete. Of course, we recognize that none of our humble projects will rescue the world. Still, we believe that soils and plants can create stimulating environments and joyful moments where mental fatigue is reduced, moods are elevated, and carbon footprints are minimized!

The Faculty of Architecture and the Department for Landscape Architecture in Winnipeg maintains a strong international presence with lectures, workshops. What is landscape architecture like in Manitoba; how do you cooperate with a wider landscape architecture community?

Landscape architecture in Manitoba has established itself as a respected practice, and we are always delighted to see local firms consistently recruit our students. This creates valuable opportunities for taking initial career steps and gaining work experience after graduation.

Our community-engaged scholarship, design, and teaching approach encompasses continuous interaction with people and an intensive exploration of their environments. This practice requires patience, time, and commitment from all parties involved. It fosters processes where speculative ideas and uncertainties are examined through design. Collaborating with communities on their land, along with a ‘sound measure’ of strong local ties, nurtures a personal and intimate relationship that can be transformed into silent strength and empathy while shaping their environments. The design implementation intertwines research inquiries and permits the development of new theories and the ability to test innovative methods. The outcomes produced by this approach align with practical experiences gathered from numerous field trials. The practice of Research by Design cultivates a resilient intellectual culture with a critical perspective on established tools, methods, and processes. It makes a significant contribution to a body of knowledge and experience that enriches the professional realm of landscape architecture. The term that best embodies our role in this model is academic practitioner. 

What we have learned from these projects is that the role of a landscape architect is also being challenged to transform. Garnering community support is necessary and imperative to turn a designer’s imaginative drawings into realized designs. It calls for well-versed professionals to utilize their resourcefulness and critical thinking skills to create tangible ideas for people and with them.

How does the prairie landscape affect the design language? What you take as the design language material in the absence of strong spatial markers, in this horizontality, what do you grasp?

From high in the sky, the prairie landscape below looks like a chessboard. This land pattern was eye-catching for us, new arrivals from southern Germany, where people divided the land based on different rules. The striking checkerboard geometry is based on the Dominion Land Survey system, established over 150 years ago atop the prairie landscape. It creates an iconic image of the landscape from above.

Upon closer examination of these aerial photos, one notices divots and dips within the chessboard that resemble an amoeba; these are traces left by retreating glaciers from the last ice age. The shallow depressions, known as prairie potholes, create an ecologically rich network of wetland and grassland habitats in the Prairie Pothole Region. What may appear as an abstract painting from above is now at risk of gradually disappearing due to human land use and drainage practices.

Prairie landscapes evoke ambiguous interpretations and emotions. Upon stepping into one, a common initial impression is: Lots of sky hovering above a vast open emptiness. The sheer scale, the absence of topographical peculiarities and landmarks, and the lack of trees and significant elevations can evoke a sense of awe or a yearning for verticality. Human beings may feel lost. ‘Prairie Madness’ or ‘Prairie Fever’ were historical terms used by European settlers.

How can we cope with the land through respect, adaptation, and minimal transformation to ‘feel found’ in vastness? 

We believe in the inherent power of gardens as an archetypal concept of humans attempting to coexist with nature; creating a garden signifies initiating a dialogue with the land and all living beings on it. Indigenous peoples were not merely hunters and gatherers. Along the west coast, tribes maintained ‘clam gardens’ called K’yuk’yugwisnuxw. By making minimal obstructions to the tidal flow, they cultivated seafood gardens. Indigenous communities like the Ts’msyen and Coast Salish grew forest gardens along the Pacific Northwest coast in what is now British Columbia. The introduction of diverse fruit and medicinal plants across multiple layers—from ground cover to shrubs, climbers, and trees—transformed the existing nature of the area into edible forests. In Manitoba, Anishinaabeg, Cree, Ojibway, and Dakota grew corn, potatoes, squash, beans, and other plants in their ‘prairie gardens’ long before the first settlers arrived on the land. Gardens were driven by a deeply rooted hope of maintaining cultural values, ‘feeding’ everyday needs, and creating a place called home. This remains true today. As a spatial phenomenon, gardens illustrate how something small—the garden and its gardener—finds sanctuary within something vast—the landscape and its sky.

An important note: Manitoba is often associated with the plains or prairie landscape; however, the province’s total surface area is 1.8 times larger than that of Germany and includes six ecozones: boreal plains, boreal shield, Hudson Plains, prairie, southern arctic, and taiga shield. We have not yet visited the “Polar Bear Capital of the World” or attended the beluga whales’ summer dance in the Churchill River estuary. Still, there is lots to discover!

What are the issues you are addressing in the studio?

We aim to cultivate doubt and curiosity through an ongoing physical and emotional experience for ourselves and our students that occasionally offers moments of contemplation, silence, and wonder.

The topics of our design studios and our courses take the students beyond the classroom to engage with climate, landscape, human activities, and environmental conditions. Field trips are an essential part of our courses, allowing students to connect images, maps, and other representations with the sensory experience of places. The key is experiencing things up close. Canoeing and snowshoe walkabouts are other examples of our activities. Spending time on a river or in the cold of the wet prairie helps us understand how austerity and sensuality are not necessarily a contradiction. Simultaneously, we learn a great deal about design aspects such as landscape and ecology, water and light, stone and shadows, wildlife and habitats, stillness and geomorphology.

Knowledge of surficial geology, climate, water, land, topography, and plants contributes to the decision-making in creative processes. Manitoban landscapes and their unique conditions serve as the canvas for our design studios. Ecosystems, habitats, and species around the world are in decline. Numerous emergencies occurring globally are ‘accessible’ within Manitoba’s landscapes. Landscapes cannot flee or cry for help when they are in danger. Therefore, it is one of the fundamental tasks of a landscape architect to give voice to landscapes in need. We centre our discussion and investigation on the role of landscape architecture in relation to soils and water, flora and fauna, industrial farming and watersheds, drainage systems and environmental history, agriculture and deforestation, ecology and economy, plough and prairie, private and common, chessboards and topography. We collaborate with local communities and citizen activists. Speculative drawings produced in our design studios contribute to public dialogue by emphasizing ecological, social, and aesthetic values in contrast to economic exploitation.

The liberating environment of academia allows us to explore and discard thousands of ideas—a process that no client will ever be willing to pay for. We raise fundamental questions in our studios, such as: Can design be taught? Why are we always so serious? Are designing and laughing a contradiction in terms … or a dream team? How can we operate a ‘happy’ academy in a climate where people’s calendars consist of nine months of winter and three months of poor skating? What could be more suitable for environmental fabricators than surveying ice and snow and developing a snow academy in this context? 

For example, at the Snow Academy studio, snow was gathered from university parking lots, primarily because this building material was inexpensive and plentiful. Tons of this snow were poured onto the campus in a riparian clearing shaped in an ellipse. This classic form served as the white heart of the academy, radiating elegance and forming the centre for additional snow structures. A field of columns and a generous ‘dining room’ complemented the tranquil setting. This space became a focal point for passers-by throughout the winter, providing a moment of diversion from everyday life, a slight flicker of disruption in the landscape. During the winter, we held events to share the Snow Academy with the public. A night performance illuminated the space and transformed the white into something magical. We cooked and invited our helpers and friends for dinner. Thirteen bonfires on a late April night marked our dignified farewell to our ephemeral landscape. Gone, never to return!

What challenges is Winnipeg facing?

Winnipeg is a growing city nestled along meandering rivers in a flat landscape. The pressing global challenges of climate change, biodiversity loss, affordable housing, homelessness, social instability, aging infrastructure, and health impairments during tight public budgets don’t pass by the city. Winnipeg’s water and trees, in particular, face significant environmental concerns. 

The city’s sewage water capacity and combined sewer system are reaching their limits. Future population and economic growth depend on updating the water infrastructure. Each year, during heavy rainfall or rapid snowmelt, sewage overflows into the rivers, and every summer, we witness the growth of green and blue algae along the beautiful sandy beaches of Lake Winnipeg. The negative ecological consequences affect the lives and well-being of both people and other organisms. It is estimated that $3 billion is needed to upgrade the North End Water Pollution Control Centre. Considering these figures and consequences, we are surprised to see the volume of water sent into the overloaded system by new urban developments. One of the lessons we have learned in ‘practicing with water’ is to treat this precious resource well on site! There are various strategies, methods, and techniques for managing it.

We love living in a Tree polis! Winnipeg is blessed with one of North America’s largest urban populations of elm trees. These American Elms, found in parks and as straight allées lining numerous streets, are part of the city’s spatial and social identity, forming expansive canopies above the streets. These pillars of public and communal life in Winnipeg are essential to its future landscape. However, this green heritage is facing serious challenges. Dutch Elm Disease, the emerald ash borer beetle, and other threats are slowly stripping us of our leafy garb.

We advocate for the protection of Winnipeg’s distinct treeline and the expansion of this fantastic green heritage beyond the city’s perimeter to create a sustainable future for generations to come. The historical spatial boundary of Winnipeg is the Perimeter Highway, a ninety-kilometre beltway surrounding the city, originally built in 1955. The outskirts indiscriminately accommodate commercial complexes, churches, and recreational activities, providing more space than the city centre. They also represent the last remaining site for urban farming. While continuing to attract people from around the globe, Winnipeg expands haphazardly beyond its physical boundary, further fraying the fragmented outer fringe. Tree gardens along the perimeter embody our meticulously researched vision for tapping into the potential of the city’s periphery to become an ecological central park before the arrival of people and their desire for urbanity. This forward-looking landscape strategy could serve as a deliberate system of coordinates for navigating Winnipeg’s changing outskirts. Intentional placement of trees could help define the boundaries of the amorphous urban area. Exploring the diverse values of trees and their ecological, spatial, and social capacities demonstrates a straightforward strategy for employing trees to address critical current issues, such as global climate change and migration on a local scale. There is a genuine need for landscape architects and trees in the ‘urban periscape’!

How do you deal with patience? Have you developed a practice of Zen in the midst of the Manitoba prairies? What are your daily routines? What do you do in long winters?

Humour, playfulness, and critical distance are excellent attitudes that can help in overcoming impatience. At times, we need to pause from exploring the essence of architectural design and instead engage in discussions about the spirit of a good glass of wine with friends or family. It is vital to maintain some distance from our work to ensure we do not lose ourselves in it.

We learned to be attentive to the subtle experiential fabric of everyday life, including the life of communities, while remaining modest and frugal. Serendipity is a magical English word that has no equivalent in our first language, German. It can be paraphrased as: unexpectedly finding something you are not looking for. The panorama of a flat expanse, often treeless land, and a horizon that stretches into infinity, bounded by the sky, immediately captures one’s eye and mind. What may seem monotonous and boring to some people is calming and rejuvenating for others. We love to watch the clouds drifting across the prairie sky.

We take daily walks, even in winter. Many animals have developed behavioural and physiological adaptations to stay warm, which have inspired clothing design for extremely cold climates. We stroll in our thermos jackets and face masks, even when temperatures drop below -40 degrees Celsius. Layering is key!

We all need meaning in our lives, to be loved and needed, and we need landscapes and gardens—and the landscapes and gardens need us! During the summer, we spend our free time with our children cultivating a garden in our home theatre, where bean families climb, zucchini gangs drink, cucumber flocks crawl, tomato hordes dance, and dragonflies buzz. This unpretentious chlorophyll theatre is a socio-environmental microsystem restoring lost interactions with ‘nature’ and passers-by. The joy of many unscheduled encounters with curious onlookers is evidence of the power of chlorophyll right at our doorsteps.