If there were gardening police, I would have been apprehended multiple times over the years as a repeat offender.
Actually, I could have pleaded not guilty on the grounds that most of the violations were made by my younger self. She should have been charged with first-degree obsession as she planted, and planted, and planted—oblivious to the fact that she would grow old and unable to deal with the results of her exuberance. True, I am now guilty of failing to atone for her indiscretions.
(Courtesy photo)
I also blame an accomplice for the fact that my perennial borders are overrun with unruly flowers, which I should never have allowed to flourish. I remember standing in the garden with my friend Katherine, gazing down at the violets, ajuga, and other undesirables that were thriving in the beds, my guilt being assuaged by Katherine’s comment: ”I love how you invite everything in.” Yes, I thought, yes, that’s it! I am an inclusive gardener. That has to be a good thing. And so, over the years, I “welcomed” more and more violets, goldenrod, New England asters, gooseneck loosestrife, and other such zealous spreaders, which took advantage of my nondiscrimination.
Adding to this—and I can’t blame Katherine here—I bought singleton plants, which I stuck in wherever I could. I knew I should be planting three or more of the same variety for greater impact in the border, but I didn’t have room. I should have been forced to wear a big shaming letter C. I was a plant collector, not a real gardener.
Starting with a plan
This spring, as I do every spring, I renewed my determination to go straight. I knew the laws I had to follow. First, do not go nursery shopping before you have done the cleanup chores and made room in the garden. Second, do not buy any plant until you have a clear plan for where to put it. The “plan” cannot be to suddenly create a new garden just to accommodate the plant you had no plan for. Third, do not hesitate to rip up plants that are not performing well or that are actually thugs. As recent Harvard Garden Club speaker Kerry Mendez said, “Make this your mantra: plants are not children or pets.” She also said to “right-size” your garden. Get rid of underperforming species, plant fewer varieties, and put in several plants of the same kind that will give you longer bloom. It all made such good sense. I was totally on board.
Just looking
So how is it I am standing in my yard, new plant in hand, three more at the ready—each a different kind—wondering where I can put it? How, armed with resolve to reform, could I have stopped at a nursery in the first place, knowing what I did about the state of my garden? Who did I think I was kidding with the “just looking” response to helpful salesclerks? (At least I know better than to “just go look” at puppies and kittens.)
It would be one thing if I had bought annuals to go in a planter. But no, I bought two shrubs that I really know nothing about—except that they are evergreens and look pretty. And the plant I’m currently holding? So sweet. Shiny leaves, turning red in the fall and having red berries. And its name is huckleberry. I was only following what Henry David Thoreau suggested as an antidote to the ills of society—go huckleberrying.
Rationalizations aside, here I am with a plant that needs a home. What about the bare spot on the side of the house? Oh, yeah, hosta are coming up. I can’t possibly dig any of those up; they have been here as long as I have. Replace the goldenrod that’s encroached on the flower border? No, I sort of like that, now knowing it’s falsely accused of causing hay fever. Around the pond? No, I’m thinking I’ll make a new day-lily bed there.
OK, this is all too ridiculously familiar. I put the huckleberry down next to the three other pots, each of which has previously had the grand tour of the yard. I’ll tackle this tomorrow. After all, they’ve been waiting for six days already; what’s another 24 hours?
