The garden never stands still.
I rediscovered the truth of that axiom when I came back from two weeks’ vacation and found the garden in a disreputable state. There should have been a warning sign hanging over the driveway emblazoned with the words, “Crabgrass gone wild.”
Early summer brought drought in our part of the Northeast, so when rain came in the first two weeks of August, the plants reacted as if the summer showers were laced with steroids. Morning glories went wild, submerging anything in their path in an avalanche of green, heart-shaped leaves and purple blooms. Tall asters dominated every bed and the Rosa mutabilis must have grown an extra foot. A previously sulky butterfly bush in the front exploded in purple blooms and the privet reached for the skies. The new Clematis montana in the back garden climbed three quarters of the way up its trellis. All that exuberant growth has made getting up the front walk difficult. I am sure the mailman feels like he needs a machete.
It will take me several days’ effort and extreme power tool use to get the whole mess under control. In the process I expect I’ll rediscover my own garden and get a better idea of where I want to plant this fall’s load of daffodil and tulip bulbs.
I will not stand still until the job is done—otherwise the morning glories will imprison and immobilize me with their fast-growing tendrils. Hell hath no fury like a rejuvenated plant in the throes of a growth spurt.