Landscaping in Connecticut is stone walls, mature maples, and water that ends at a foundation instead of at the street. Ledge sits under yards in the hills. Shore lots take salt that burns a lawn meant for an inland subdivision. Clay pockets hold a puddle against a sill all April. Say what the water does in a storm before you talk about flowers.
Downspouts that end at clapboard, a walk pitched toward a bulkhead, and a patio against a stone foundation are how cellars get wet and sills get soft. Walls of fieldstone heave and spill. Oaks over a slate roof fill the gutters and then ice the eave. A fence on a tight lot in a shore town may be the property line itself. Describe grade, not the argument with the neighbor.
Planting into a July heat wave on a sandy lot near the Sound is a different bet than planting in a cool May in Litchfield. Roots and septic fields do not belong in the same hole. A wellhead in a bed is easy to bury by accident. Salt-tolerant shrubs belong on the immediate water. Inland shade under hemlock wants less lawn, not more sprinkler.
Brick walks without an edge wander. Railroad-tie walls rot and lean. A trench drain that silted up stops being a drain. Freeze and thaw lift a thin bluestone walk every year until someone rebuilds the base. Ask whether the job is moving water, rebuilding a surface, or getting trees off the roof. One sentence of priority beats a tour of every bed.
Give the town, the slope, and where the water sits after rain. Mention stone walls, dogs, and roof leaders you can see. A yard that floods from the street is not a yard with a spring in it. Say which you have. Call the number on this page.