My greatest strength as a gardener is my willingness to uproot plants as soon as they annoy me.
Last year it was lamb’s ear. Sweet name, docile animal, aggressive plant. When it spreads, it lolls. It’s not straight; it just flops here and there regardless of boundaries. The last thing I need to do in the garden is watch a plant loll around, if that’s exactly what I’d rather be doing.
The year before it was creeping thyme. I had happily planted a lot of it and believed that it was wonderfully naturalized and that it would fill nicely between rocks. Don’t fill anything. It came, it crept, it conquered. Choked everything within reach. Plus, it dried out, faded, and looked like a mass of untamed hair that needed conditioner and color.
Aside from all the aggressions in the garden, there are some plants that I would never turn on. Hydrangeas are among them. I could never turn on a hydrangea. It would be Hungarian-like. I feel the same way with Moss Phlox with tiny pink and blue flowers on a green pillow. You will always have a home here. I also put lilacs in this category. They should be adored, then cut into beautiful bouquets and shared with friends or left standing on the doorstep.
I could never turn on something that grew out of a lightbulb. Tulips, daffodils, crocuses, hyacinths, I love them all. I could only love them more if they bloomed all season.
Our youngest daughter is laying out garden beds and asks if I would give her some ideas. I told her that she overestimated my abilities. She mocked. Then I reminded her of the lamb’s ear and creeping thyme incidents. There was silence on the phone.
The gardens she really needs are the ones my mother and grandmother planted. They were gardens more beautiful than those in magazines. The funny thing is, I don’t remember any of them ever weeding or watering. To the best of my memory, they just stepped outside and tossed seeds over their shoulders (whole packets of seeds, they didn’t even bother ripping them open). The next thing you knew was freshly sliced cucumbers next to plump, red tomatoes and crispy radishes on the dining table.
Jams and jellies appeared from the air. A short time later there were cucumbers of all kinds along with corn relish and sweet relish. Who knows how all these products sliced and diced themselves and pressed them into those pretty jars.
The details of how previous generations gardened may escape me, but I vividly remember going to the melon patch with my grandmother when I was very young. She poured all the vines well, then stretched out her arms and melons jumped right into it.
Unfortunately, I’ve never had the luck of previous generations, but the real shame is that I never learned where to find the magic seeds.
Email Lori Borgman at lori@loriborgman.com.
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