Last week my garden was part of a local charity garden tour. The weather for the two- day event was perfect, with warm temperatures and low humidity. On the first day, a Friday, the crowd was a steady stream of retirees in straw hats. On the Saturday the crowd was a mix of all kinds of garden lovers. They stopped to look at the blooming roses, admired the little solar fountain in the back garden, and asked questions about the abundant lavender, some of which had the good sense to burst into bloom just in time for the tour.
But when it came to memorable moments, visitors were most impressed with a single feature—a large planter of purple and white-spotted petunias purchased at the last minute at the local Home Depot.
A compliment is a compliment, so I smiled through a Tylenol-induced haze as I thought of the 75 cubic feet of cedar mulch that I applied to the garden in advance of the tour, not to mention the hundreds of desiccated daffodil leaves removed from the beds, and the many bags of sticks and branches pruned from the shrubs. My credit card statement tells the story of the new solar fountain, the plants purchased to fill the “holes” left by the removal of all that daffodil foliage, and the large container of concentrated deer repellent purchased to keep Mr. Nubbins, our resident adolescent deer away from all the carefully tended greenery.
We didn’t even repot those petunias in an expensive decorative container.
Of course, I committed all those extreme acts of garden maintenance because I wanted my landscape to shine amid the array of other gardens on the tour. My daughter, who was responsible for all the lavish container arrangements that brightened our place, and I visited the competition on the second day. We saw impressive landscapes, most of which were created and maintained with professional help, and some of which were staged by designers. There is nothing wrong with that. Each of us does what we can, and the end results are beautiful. Still, my garden is generally fertilized with a combination of blood, sweat and Tylenol. It was “designed” by me over the years and looks more like an English cottage garden than a suburban landscape that has been liberally fertilized with cash. I welcome self-seeding plants, do not remove the common violets from the beds or the lawn, and do not trim the privet hedge with a laser level.
In fact, it was the privet hedge that was responsible for the fact that my arms are covered with an array of bandages. One week before the tour I went on a search and destroy mission to rid the hedge of all the maple seedlings that perpetually creep stealth-like towards the light. Many are the offspring of a maple tree that was removed from our front strip several years ago. The tree may be gone, but it lives on in these seedlings, produced from samaras that have a 110 percent germination rate.
To get the seedlings out of the hedge, you have to get your head and arms right into the middle where they dwell. Long sleeves and gloves help, but injuries happen anyway. I am pleased to say that the mission succeeded—at least in places where visitors might look. I harvested scores of maple seedlings, not to mention baby barberries, squirrel-sown chestnut saplings, and a single, 30-inch rose of Sharon.
The tour organizers described my garden as a “do-it-yourself” landscape that is run along sustainable ecological principles. Those are laudable ideas but compared with the encomiums heaped on the more expensive landscapes, I felt a little as if we had been damned with faint praise, especially considering the cumulative weight of the 75 cubic yards of mulch.
However, on reflection, I have decided that there is something to be said for accessible, “do-it-yourself” landscapes, especially in tight economic times. They can be equally beautiful and can also stoke the fires of hope in beginning gardeners and those with limited resources.
There is also a good lesson in the reaction to our garden. A backyard waterfall is impressive, but if you want to keep up with the Jones and inspire the influencers, buy a big pot of petunias.