RUTHLESS
When we bought our house twelve years ago, an elderly lilac bush was holding court in the corner of the front yard. Judging by the size of the thickest trunk and the abundance of root suckers nearby, it had probably been there for years. Once upon a time, it had abundant sunshine, but that was before the advent of the maple tree on the other side of our front strip. The maple, which is currently displaying its magnificent fall colors, was fairly young when we arrived. It is at least thirty feet tall now and has shaded the lilac a little more each year, resulting in progressively fewer blooms. Last spring, there were only a handful of purple flowerheads and by mid-summer the leaves were covered with the same powdery mildew that has afflicted them for years. The lilac was a sad specimen and added little to the garden.
The bush would have been gone years ago, except that I am a terrible sentimentalist about plants. I cosset the dead and dying far longer than necessary in the faint hope that resurrection will happen. I even leave plant tags in the ground when a specimen has died away completely, waiting for the plant to sprout anew from the still-viable roots. Sometimes this sentimentality-disguised-as-patience pays off and plants return for a splendid second act. Frequently it simply delays the inevitable. In the case of the lilac, I finally got tired of having to mow around it, remove the root suckers and wait for blooms that never come. The plant was too big and well-rooted to move, and I was in an editing mood. The time was right.
Last week I finally armed myself with loppers and a pruning saw and went out to remove the lilac. I was surprised to find a number of large lilac borers in the process of making themselves at home among the branches. These creatures, which look like wasps, emerge in August or September, depending on climate conditions. They look threatening and they are–to lilac bushes. The larvae spend the spring burrowing into the branches, ultimately weakening the plant. I don’t think my lilac was seriously afflicted with borers, but if the collection of adult insects that I saw was any indication, next spring would have been a borer free-for-all. If I had any doubts about lilac removal, the appearance of the borers clinched the issue. As I started on the branches, I had to swat the irritated borers away. Eventually they left for greener pastures and I made a mental note to check the lilac in the back to see if they had relocated there.
Having already suffered through a decade-long crisis of conscience about the lilac, I felt very few pangs as I made short work of the branches. The stump was much more problematic. I thought I would dig it out, leaving nothing but a smooth patch of dirt that I could cover with grass seed. The stump, however, was old, tough and completely immovable. I cut it down as far as I could, covered it securely with black plastic and covered the black plastic with an old plant pot weighted with a couple of bricks. I have high hopes that the trapped moisture under the black plastic will start the decomposition process on the stump, making it easier to remove the remainder next spring.
About that time, I will also take another ruthless and long-delayed step–removing the hulking yew that dominates a space beside my front porch. I have disciplined the yew over the years, pruning it to a more elegant shape, but it has never pleased me. It also takes up a nice piece of prime sunny real estate that would be better used for other, more attractive plants. I will have to call in professional help because yews have exceedingly tough wood and removal without a chainsaw would take me about fifteen years. Once the yew is gone, I will use the space for a new lilac, choosing the species and variety with care and lavishing attention on the young plant. With plenty of light and air circulation, it should have an abundance of blooms and a minimum of powdery mildew. I will guard it against borers and cut back one third of the canes every year so that it never gets leggy and ungainly. In short, guilt will make me willing to do everything for the new lilac that I resented doing for the old one.
I love lilacs and would never want a garden without at least one. However, sometimes it just makes sense to be ruthless. The borers probably won’t forgive me for taking out the old plant; but at least my conscience will be clear.