Grand Rapids does not have mountains, a temple tradition or a thousand years of garden practice. What it had in 2015 was money, eight acres of glacial slope on the eastern edge of the city, and the willingness to hire Hoichi Kurisu and then leave him alone. The result is one of the better Japanese gardens in North America and, for a lot of visitors, the single most surprising thing in West Michigan.
Kurisu's design works the land rather than flattening it. Paths climb and drop across a hillside, water runs through four separate falls, and the route is composed so that the garden reveals itself in pieces — you do not see the whole thing from anywhere. The two principal waterfalls, at the north and south edges, were designed as a contrasting pair, one broad and one narrow, and the sound of each carries to different parts of the loop. The teahouse was built in Japan by Japanese craftsmen, taken apart, shipped across the Pacific and reassembled here with traditional tools.
The planting is not a museum of Japanese species. Japanese maples, flowering cherries and bamboo sit alongside Michigan natives and temperate plants from elsewhere, which is the honest response to a USDA zone that would kill half a Kyoto garden by February.
Then there is the sculpture, which is where opinions split. This is part of Frederik Meijer Gardens & Sculpture Park, so contemporary work by Anish Kapoor, Zhang Huan, David Nash, Masayuki Koorida, Jenny Holzer and Giuseppe Penone is permanently sited among the moss and the stone. Purists find it an intrusion. Most visitors find that a mirrored Kapoor disc at the end of a gravel path does exactly what a borrowed-view device is supposed to do. Decide for yourself; it takes about an hour to walk.
You cannot visit the Japanese Garden on its own. It is inside Meijer Gardens, reached on general admission, which also buys you the conservatory, the sculpture park and the rest of the 158-acre site.