
Being Helpful
The Handsome Helper made a complaint recently when we were walking in the garden.
When I complained about him complaining he told me that it was good for me to have complaints about the planting. Of course it is. And, indeed, it did make me aware of just how different our views of the garden are.
Because Charles was simply (hm – maybe?) looking at what was in front of him. Whereas I was looking at a select number of plants, wondering whether they would do. I realised then that I walk round the garden all the time imagining what it may become. Next week, next year. Looking to see what’s missing, what it needs, how it’s working and whether new plants or less plants will finally tip it into the right place.

Looking dull – and you can’t see the new plants, they are too tiny!
This is dull.
The planting we were looking at had recently had several plants added. I was unhappy about that part of the garden. It had looked dull at this time last year – in fact it has never looked really good in July. So I was doing what I usually do – add some plants I think might work, and then if they do, I’ll add some more of them. The new plants in this part were very new and were part of Charles’s complaint, because they looked a bit random. But I have hopes and so daily I check that they are alive, water them if necessary, and imagine them fully grown. And look at where more of them might fit. Charles looks at a few very little new plants and wonders what on earth they are doing there. Understandable. It’s what you would see, were you here. You’d yawn.
Another example, to help clarify:
I planted a Thalictrum rochebrunianum in this garden.

There it is on the left, and a little one on the right.
Close up it looks like this:
Isn’t that amazing? I love it. it has excellent leaves also. Well, I planted the one on the left ages ago, thought it looked great there, so I added some more. One survived (on the right), the rest vanished. This year I looked at it again and decided it was so right I had to fill the rest of this garden with them. Which I have – babies. So now I go every day to see if they’re ok. But Charles wouldn’t notice them because they are tiny and other plants are making an impression. He sees this, I imagine:

The railings aren’t really so wonky, that’s photography for you.
Anne, looking at this – yes, the Veronicastrum virginicum ‘Fascination’ will look great with the thalictrum – let’s see how they are doing.. Charles, looking at this – well he possibly looks at the path. He’s a path person.
I wonder what visitors see? They mostly come and ask for plant names.
And does any of it ever work???
Well, trying to keep it all going, spring to autumn has to be a major challenge. So we have dull bits at times. But I think some places are coming good at last. You can see that I use a very slow method. It has taken years to get the Persicaria alpina (Koenigia alpina, Persicaria polymorpha) right along this border, what with one problem or another. I’ve been spending late springs for some years looking desperately for the plants to show themselves, made into a hard search by them growing mixed in with the almost identically leaved Persicaria campanulatum. But this year it made it and I got six or seven doing their thing at a decent size at last. It does bring the whole together.

Persicaria alpina, Campanula lactiflora and Epilobium angustifolium ‘Stahl Rose’
That’s close up. This is a rather distorted wide view – it’s really hard to show you this. (You need to visit!)

And yes, there is, out of shot, a smaller berberis on the left, begining to catch up with the one on the right. This is not the whole border.
The Persicaria has a long flowering, fading slowly into pink, so the effect will work for a long time. There was another one out of shot on the right, until a deer sat on it. I’m relieved it didn’t choose to squash one of the middle ones. I think the effect works not simply because of the repetition: I think the sheer size of the plant in flower gives some substance in the border, helping it not to be too bitty. I see most visitors get close up and examine the other plants from close to. I study this border relentlessly from a greater distance, by the house or in the conservatory. Looking and tweaking, that’s my endless game.

Close up – another thalictrum, flavum, with bistorta amplexicaulis and Epilobium angustifolium ‘Stahl Rose’
I hope you’ve been able to cope with this long explanation.
It is probably, along with much research of plants and plantings, one of my major activities in relation to the garden. And little spoken about – it’s hard to explain. One of the great garden pleasures, though, is sharing these preoccupations and their progress with like minded friends. Do gardeners all live in the future?

So true. One of the Wabi Sabi stones at Veddw.
Yes, Anne, I feel gardeners do live in the future…I love your thought processes (and your writing), and your willingness to believe in tomorrow and give plants time to ‘do their thing’. Thank you for providing food for thought.
And thank you for this – I wondered if everyone would just think it (and me) very strange!
“Live in the future”, indeed. Offering a tour of my garden, I have forced myself to stop the running commentary about what it used to be. To any visitor, I was living in the past.
Ah, well, that too. I was borrowing the phrase ‘You should have been here last week’ also used by Tim Richardson (https://www.amazon.co.uk/Should-Have-Been-Here-Last-ebook/dp/B01MQIZKBD/ref=sr_1_3?crid=1MK1VV2RFRGZ7&keywords=you+should+have+been+here+last+week&qid=1689257566&sprefix=you+should+have+been+here+%2Caps%2C85&sr=8-3)
must be something in the air this time of year. I too am always looking to the future to tweak and improve my garden, rarely do I just stop to enjoy what I have created. I finally came to the conclusion that “perfection” in the garden is fleeting. This time of year when vignettes have gone over I reach for summer annuals to fill the voids or imperfections and lift the compositions back into glory for the rest of the season. It’s all such a moving target which makes it all the more challenging but also rewarding. We never stop creating, do we.
It’s a bizarre, if compelling, kind of creating, being so ephemeral. The rewards do come – and then go. Winter is a bit of a relief.
“It’s all such a moving target which makes it all the more challenging but also rewarding.” Bingo. Gardening in a nutshell. It is such a joy when things come together. Is it strange that I actually get more joy from the happy accidents I didn’t plan?
Those can be good, but not so much best for me.
Instead of calling the comments complaining, I call it hoping. You shared your hopes. Every year I have an abundance of it!
Oh, we live off hope.And mad optimism.
Ah Anne, garden perfection is fleeting, if not impossible. I adored this post and thought “this would be great to send to my husband!” so he could understand my mindset more. On the other hand, he wouldn’t get it and then would feel I am being critical. I definitely need his physical help in the gardens, just not his design help? I adore Thalictrum bochebrunianum but here in Chicago’s harsh climate, it has to be just in the right spot. I haven’t found that spot in my garden yet. Anyway, here’s to next year!
Perfection is…. just round the corner! We’ll get there!
OK. As if. Strangely I was thinking Charles might find this illuminating, but he does know I obsess.
The ideal plant for that spot that you are currently preoccupied with just isn’t a thalictrum. Keep looking….
I want to be there now.
The future? Or here……?
At Veddw now. Let me amend that. I move slowly and I’d need to pack a bag. End of next week OK?
YEY!
*note to self: consult diary…..
I also live in the future. I hesitate to tear an area of my garden apart in summer when I might be planning a garden open day but can suddenly see a way to make an area better. I usually wait impatiently till autumn. (Better for the plants.) Or at least August. I have my eye on boring big patch of Siberian iris.
Oh, the when – now that’s a big issue. Might depend on the size of the reorganisation. But it can be hard to remember what you intended by autumn?
I have recently fallen head over heels with Persicaria Polymorpha. You almost never see it in nurseries around here in CT, USA. I bought one in late spring and will definitely buy more… I envision maybe a row of them planted in front of the 6 fence panels I had installed in June to replace our dead yew hedge. Is that persicaria “Prichard’s Variety”? I love campanula and it is crazy I’ve never grown any of them. But to your rant: in gardening, looking to the future isn’t complaining about what you have now. It is dreaming, and it is one of the pleasures of gardening. I really admire those with vision, who can see things as they will be, and not just as they are at the moment. For me, it is decidedly hit or miss. Sometimes I have it, sometimes it eludes me.
The persicaria plan sounds great.
The campanulas (lactiflora) are all seedlings which gives a sweet variety.
Vision – well, that would be the thing. Yes please!
I too am always thinking ahead. I sometimes wonder if what I am seeing in the garden is more of an illusion of what it will be rather than what I am looking at. Keeping the color going for three seasons is what I am always aspiring to achieve, but then there are always the plants that seem to take over and need to be thinned leaving a gaping hole! All in all, it’s a fun challenge and keeps me busy.
Keeping the colour going – and working with all other colours…. ?? Sigh….
It’s true that I am A Bear of Very Little Brain and struggle to imagine the plants in a different state to what’s in front of me. Which is why you’re in charge of plants and I look after the paths. Well, and quite a lot of other stuff.
A LOT of other stuff.
But it’s the planting that counts!!!
(runs away….)
We all need a “Charles” in our gardening lives! I feel very lucky that I do. His name is Steve.
Definitely lucky, all of us.
I have just read the following part email from a garden-club friend ‘’when you are pleased with your garden you will invite me to come and have a look”. I laughed and thought that will never happen and so invited her over with the proviso of expecting mess. Then I read your blog and laughed again.
I definitely relate to your thoughts and MO. I’m constantly tweaking the garden; out with the old, try new plants, enlarge garden beds, new paths, remove paths; I’m sure you get the picture. The problem is my husband is too frail to assist me any more and I’m no longer a ‘spring chicken’. Help is hugely expensive and most of what is available is ‘mow and blow’ so I do all my gardening; a project takes forever, hence the mess. I tell people I wear rose coloured glasses in the garden and see beautiful future images. Then sometimes, just sometimes, I almost achieve those images.
Great blog post Anne and your garden; perfectly imperfect.
Thanks Sharon, and keep on tweaking: perfection is just around the corner……..
To Sharon: right there with you, girl, but we soldier on, don’t we. Today in the mail l got a metal sign l ordered from Amazon that says ” You don’t stop gardening when you get old, you get old when you stop gardening.” I’m going to nail it on my shed.
Nice one.
Very important rant. Yes, gardeners always live in the future, the dreams are powerful, and sometimes we miss what’s working right here now. I’ve always had two ir three lists of ‘must have plants’, and rarely got everything i wanted but when I did it was heaven, and I made pictures which still delight! Thanks.
That heaven will keep us going through the winter,
Yes, we gardeners live in the future (you should see it next year, when it has grown in). We live in the past (you should have seen it last year/last month/last week/yesterday). And very occasionally, we live in the present (so glad I can see the garden today, as it is, in its VERY temporary perfection).
Good – when the rain stops, anyway?
I have many people say they make sure to walk by my house for their daily exercise. I’ve had people thank me for all the flowers they get to enjoy, even stopping their cars to talk. So why do I always have that urge to say, “It is a bit of a mess right now, come back in a few weeks.” Or to tell them all the plans that I have. Sometimes it is indeed difficult to just stop and look and enjoy. The painter, the sculptor, the craftsman, the gardener; they all know the imperfections of what they have created, and know about the “I should haves.” Like a curse that goes with creativity.
Anne, it all looks lovely. And, Charles, I also love walkways!
I like curse. Maybe that’s it. A price we pay.
Looking at the abundant lilies completely gone over at a friend’s garden and saying “That must have been absolutely beautiful!”
Gardener’s understand.
Don’t we just!
I too carry around a notebook on many a walk thru the garden, or at least my phone so I can take pictures and videos of what worked, and more importantly, what didn’t. “Oh, that Spirea needs to be moved over a foot and mmm…that Peony isn’t doing well there, and that Bearded Iris is not giving me enough bang for my buck. Sometimes a plant is just too darn happy and starts crawling in to and interfering with it’s neighbors. And don’t get me going on how my Rasberry Queen Poppy clashed with our Do Tell Peony this year. A close firend and gardener, Chris Baronas, once wisely told me how her garden was like her paint pallet…constantly changing.
She would grow mums in what I call “a hospital” and switch her plants out when needed at the end of the season. I tend to only do this in an absolute emergency, or when a plant absolutely just fails, but it certainly holds merit.
You mean bunging something in out of a pot, Jekyll style??
Best title ever!
I also loved your blog. One that is living in the past, the future, and occasionally in the present. That is the definition of a gardener.