SOUL MATE
Last night I confessed to my husband that I had met my soul mate–at a garden center in Clifton, New Jersey. The moment I laid eyes on this gorgeous individual, some kind of connection happened and I couldn’t make it go away. After that momentous initial encounter, I tried to avoid further eye contact. I wheeled my cart from place to place, thinking all the while about the ultimate cost of this kind of passionate relationship. It was wrong in so many ways, but the feeling only grew stronger. The genie was out of the bottle and I couldn’t put it back.
The object of my affections was born in Chile to a family with Mexican and southwestern American ties. Raised by Europeans, my soul mate probably speaks many languages, but only spoke to me in one–the language of desire. Unable to help myself, I gave in, even making a point of bringing my new love one home and introducing him to my husband. I still don’t know why I did it, but love has its reasons. Perhaps I wanted him to know that this was a whole lot more than a simple affair–this was a love story.
Stalwart that he is, my husband stood by me and eventually my new love spent the night out on the front porch, seemingly unruffled by a soaking rainstorm.
That isn’t the end of the story, of course. My soul mate, which goes by the flamboyant name of Agastache Acapulco ‘Salmon and Pink’, will be staying around. My husband probably thinks that familiarity will breed contempt, or that the whole relationship will eventually die for one reason or another. However, I know something that he doesn’t–this agastache is a perennial. Ignited by an unexpected spark, fueled by a discount price and nurtured by loving care, the relationship may well go on for years.
My situation is not unique. There are many attractive agastaches lurking out there, waiting like sirens to lure unsuspecting gardeners into long term relationships. They are all over the internet as well, and you don’t even need a service like match.com to find them. Sometimes these charmers go by aliases like “hummingbird mint” or “licorice mint hyssop”. It doesn’t matter what they call themselves–they are all the same underneath. As members of the far-flung mint family, they are not only devastatingly attractive to humans, but stand ready to cavort with hummingbirds, bees and butterflies. My Agastache Acapulco ‘Salmon and Pink,’ for example, appeals to a wide range of potential idolaters by dressing itself in hundreds of individual flowers tinted with the colors of the sunset and adorned with aromatic foliage that smells of citrus and sweetness. The combination bowled me over and from the first moment I was ready to open my heart, my wallet and my home. This is the kind of attachment that could ruin a political career–or at least shake up an established planting scheme.
As my husband knows, I have had flings over the years with many other plants. Two years ago, I got involved with another agastache, this one a tall, handsome specimen named ‘Black Adder’ that had scores of tubular blue-purple flowers, dark stems and a tall, gangly physique. It is still hanging around my garden, but like many former objects of devotion, it is now just a good friend. It is the same way with Salvia ‘Brenthurst’, another mint family member with heart-stopping pink and white blossoms. ‘Brenthurst’ is an annual that insinuates its way into my life every spring to renew an acquaintance that began several summers back.
So why the special intensity of my current affair with Acapulco ‘Salmon and Pink?’ The flowers are lovely, but other plants have equally beautiful blooms. It must be the foliage. ‘Black Adder’s’ leaves have a pleasant smell, while ‘Brenthurst’s’ leaves have a rough, sage-y aroma. Neither will make you wretch, but only ‘Salmon and Pink’ will sweep you away. Mine was in a display with fifty or more of its siblings and the total effect was staggering. The more I tried to walk away, the more I wanted to come back and make off with it. Before I even knew it, I had crossed the line–the check-out line, to be specific–and there was no going back. My wallet is lighter, but so is my heart, now that ‘Salmon and Pink’ has moved in.
You may think your existing horticultural relationships are fine and you don’t have room in your life for another plant, but one encounter with Agastache Acapulco Salmon and Pink may well change your mind. If you want to risk being swept away by the same emotions that plucked my heartstrings and catapulted my credit card out of my wallet and right into the hands of the retail clerk, try High Country Gardens, 2902 Rufina Street, Santa Fe, NM 87507; (800) 925-9387; www.highcountrygardens.