It’s not uncommon for Jake Hobson to dream of trees. “I wake up in forests in the middle of the night,” says the 53-year-old founder of the Japanese horticultural-tools company Niwaki (a word that appropriately translates as “garden tree”). Yet when Hobson first moved into the red-brick and pyramid-roofed north Dorset home he shares with his wife, Keiko, and their son, Digby, in 2011, its long-neglected garden was dominated by concrete paths, five sheds and towering suburban conifers. “It conjured that sepia-toned era of gardening that includes rockeries and gnomes,” Hobson says of the secluded plot that lies on an elevated residential street in Shaftesbury, a town enfolded by the vast Blackmore Vale. “The irony is that conifers are marvellous – and an important part of every garden. I did chop them down, but planted my own purebred, Japanese varieties.”
The Hobsons’ 1960s home. The tall thin trees are Daisugi, Cryptomeria japonica © Emli Bendixen
In lieu of a cabin in the woods, Hobson sketched out a design for a summerhouse-style shed with the help of a local carpenter, complete with a sheltered porch. This rustic, rose-clad arbour, rendered in local Douglas fir, now lies at the end of a meandering grass path that, come spring, is flecked with primroses, bluebells, ribwort and dandelions.
Conifers and evergreens – from Scots pine to Japanese cedar – form a verdant tapestry that’s framed by low, undulating rows of box hedge. To Hobson, it represents a micro landscape, one that draws on his affection for the aesthetics and culture of Japanese gardens. Rather than a replica, it’s a reflection of its immediate environment; and a unique take on Japanese pruning techniques.
Niwaki garden scissors on display © Emli BendixenPhillyrea latifolia with box (Buxus sempervirens) below it © Emli Bendixen
Hobson first visited in the late 1990s, as part of a travel scholarship while studying sculpture at the Slade School of Fine Art. His original purpose was to explore the culture of hanami during the season of sakura (cherry blossom), but he was instead seduced by the serenity of Kyoto’s temple gardens – and their trees. “They completely blew my mind,” he says. “I couldn’t understand why they looked so different from English trees. This was my kind of beauty.”
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That first trip to Japan set him on another path. He decided to give up sculpting and, following a period teaching English in a commuter town north of Tokyo, began working at a tree nursery in rural Osaka. “It was utterly alien to me,” he says. “I’d never even picked up a pair of secateurs before.” The experience tapped into his interest in the interplay between nature and cultivation. Back in England, he started working with Angus White at Architectural Plants in West Sussex, who made his name growing sculptural plants and trees, then considered exotic varieties. There he attracted as much attention for his pruning wizardry as he did for his armoury of precision-made tools, especially the scissors and secateurs that he’d brought back from Japan. Then came the lightbulb moment: “I suddenly thought, ‘Hang on a minute, why can’t you get these here?’”
The couple implementing some “pruning wizardry” in their garden © Emli Bendixen
Together with Keiko, he began importing lightweight, aluminium Japanese tripod ladders to sell at open gardens and rural fairs across England. “People went mad for the ladders,” he says. “They totally sold out.” With the help of a modest £3,000 bank loan, Niwaki’s curated garden paraphernalia (much of it now specially adapted to suit heavier-handed westerners’ needs) became a word-of-mouth hit. “Japanese tools such as secateurs are much better than European ones,” Hobson continues. “They’re far simpler, made to last and depend on good design and materials.”
Training a branch of the Scots pine, Pinus sylvestris © Emli BendixenCloud-pruned Phillyrea latifolia flanking the Niwaki showroom on the Dorset-Wiltshire border © Emli Bendixen
In Japan, blacksmithing has a long and revered history. During the Meiji Restoration of the 1870s and 1880s, when carrying weapons on the streets was outlawed, swordsmiths – whose skills date to the third century – became blacksmiths. Rather than focus on cheap production or gimmicky products, the goal in Japan remains constant refinement. “Nothing really changes, as it’s already perfect,” Hobson says.
Leading the way back inside his home, Hobson takes a seat at the expansive, custom-created desk in his study. The cabin acts as a microcosm – and showcase – for the brand’s philosophy. “I wanted it to feel like a domestic Niwaki,” he says of the space – a place to think and write. The shelves are filled with books on plants, trees and woodlands, his camera collection, a beloved Ruark music player, Japanese knick-knacks and an array of early catalogues that comprise a miniature archive of Niwaki’s visual history.
“I’m most interested in how the Japanese keep trees on a domestic scale,” says Hobson © Emli Bendixen
Today, the brand’s offering extends to nearly 300 items, running from the bestselling steel-shafted Golden Spade (from £36) to oak-handled lopping shears (£99), Okayama denim work trousers (£239) and stainless-steel stove-top kettles (£169). Unsurprisingly, revenue doubled during lockdown, with a further 80 per cent growth in the years since the pandemic. Current turnover is £7mn. While tools still comprise 75 per cent of the product line, the growing fashionability of gardening has led to collaborations with designers including Paul Smith and Eley Kishimoto – and, most recently, Atsushi Hasegawa, head of creative at The Newt hotel in Somerset – on tools, clothing and accessories. The 30-strong team, meanwhile, is scattered between its London Chiltern Street shop, an office in Tokyo and the rural HQ on the Dorset-Wiltshire border, which spans a vast hangar-like storage warehouse, as well as offices and a showroom based on an old dairy farm.
Much like Hobson and Keiko, and the company they have created, their 1960s home is marked by modest understatement; its slow evolution interrupted by sudden flurries of activity. After the addition of a first floor, and the opening up of the living space, the latest improvement, fused together with the study, is a bijou micro-cement-clad Japanese wet room, and an airy side return brimming with garden utensils and implements.
A painting by Tim Hobson (Jake’s father) hangs in the spare bedroom © Emli BendixenNa-chan the cat © Emli Bendixen
Every corner of the white-walled interior is hung with canvases by Hobson’s late father, Tim Hobson (who studied architecture and then became a stockbroker) – fluid depictions of the family’s Devon seaside holidays, and keenly observed glimpses of Japanese life. “This is the best view of the garden,” he says, gesturing from his desk to the green beyond, where he often begins, or ends, his day. It’s from this vantage point that he decides on his next garden edit.
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Hobson, who already stands 6ft 6in tall, is most often found towering above the broccoli-like boughs of his chopped and coppiced green olives, pruning saw and secateurs in hand. “It’s all about these big, bold gestures – it’s my version of sculpting,” he says. “I’m not really a plantsman. If things look pretty, it’s by chance. I’m most interested in how the Japanese keep trees on a domestic scale; maintaining the feel of a forest, but in an intimate space. Suddenly I’ll go and chop off a big branch, or make a small tweak,” he says. Before adding: “Even one tiny action can have big consequences.”
The spectacle is enticing, and suggestive of spick-and-span efficiency. Hobson has not only brought home the Japanese gardener’s artisanal tools but a sense of order, restraint and precision that has become a way of life; one that suggests you can prune your way to happiness.