July is coming quickly, so it’s almost time for my gardening motivation to go into hibernation.
Really, who wants to be weeding on a muggy Cape Cod summer morning? Or dead-heading the salvia on a perfect beach day? Or apologizing to the family that I really can’t get ice cream because I absolutely have to feed those flower boxes.
Not this so-called gardener. I have rules.
Just to paint the picture: My ½-acre or so has one meandering perennial bed in front that looks like it was designed by a 6–year-old on espresso. The rhubarb bumps up against the hydrangea. The lady’s mantle’s bright yellow flowers and broad leaves cascade over the walkway. And the bee balm that refused to grow where I wanted now happily spreads randomly beside the foundation plantings. It kinda makes me anxious every time I look at it.
Out by the fence, there’s a garden around a birch tree featuring catmint, trailing geranium and lavender. It needs to be weeded most of the time, but it’s far enough from the house that I can’t see the weeds, so they don’t exist. In the back, the small shade garden is a battle because it’s a favorite spot for the hound to bury his bones. Meanwhile, the larger shade garden created by a previous owner is under constant attack from the neighbor’s ivy and blackberries. I’ve pretty much given up on that one. Maybe it was just born to be wild.
After all, design isn’t everything to a garden. Sometimes it’s about people.
The chrysanthemums in the front yard came from a work colleague 40 years ago and were moved from my previous house. The canna lilies, a recent gift, are in their first year but so far are stalwart, having beaten back a rabbit attack. Both the Japanese maple and the magnolia tree came from a former neighbor and make me think of her.
I appreciate those of you who love being out in the dirt, finding your happy place. Me? I like the results more than the process. Let’s face it, gardening on Cape Cod is a crapshoot. My peonies were never so grand as this year. And then, at the height of bloom, a weekend rain storm – wait, I know you’re shocked, shocked, that it rained on a weekend – smashed them all to the ground.
And, this week, just as the other perennials started to bloom, a mother rabbit made a nest at the base of those same peonies. We had a stand-off for about 24 hours. Me, staring out the screen, afraid to go out the kitchen door. Her, determinedly crouching beneath the peony’s dark green leaves, guarding her brood. I was struggling to keep the hound away and deciding how long I could live without using the kitchen walk. But something sad must have happened because she and the babies were gone the next morning.
But don’t let my moment of kindheartedness fool you. When it comes to the garden, I’m pretty brutal. Here are the rules:
Rule No. 1: Grow or else. I don’t have time and energy to be pandering to any fancy-shmancy needs. Dahlias, for example. We just can’t seem to get a long-term relationship going. They all showy in bloom and then don’t want to winter over in the garage or in the ground. So, sorry. It’s over.
And if you’re a plant that requires copious amounts of water or me dragging hose around all summer, you are out of luck. That’s why we have mulch.
Rule No. 2: Gardening attire is whatever I have on at the time. I take my cue from the writer Katharine White. Her husband, E.B. White, described her gardening in Gucci shoes because that’s what she happened to be wearing. My neighbors don’t care if I’m in my pajamas. In fact, sometimes my neighbor is, too.
Rule No. 3: If you give me something, I’ll find a place to plant it. If that means there are purple mums next to orange marigolds, so be it. As long as it can adhere to Rule No. 1, it gets to stay. And I’ve paid it forward by sharing those mums with others. No one will ever think my garden was designed by Gertrude Jekyll or Vita Sackville-West. It was designed by friendship, and that’s the way I like it.
And finally, Rule No. 4: Summers are for the beach and family, so no serious gardening in July or August. I might wander out and stop to pull one weed or pick off some yellowed leaves or turn on some water, but nothing is getting rearranged or seriously weeded or replanted in summer. If the result is a bit tangled and overgrown, and it bothers you, feel free to come over with your clippers and weeder.
I’ll be at the beach.
