Unfortunately, for me, it’s easier to feel bad about my garden than good. Rather than enjoy what’s right, I have trained myself to look for what’s wrong. Every walkthrough, I’m always on guard. Ever vigilant. Scanning the horizon for plants that are dying, plants that are running amok, plants that are underachieving, bibbs that are leaking, walls that are falling, things that animals did. Whatever. Et. al. Etc. Amen. And the muscle memory has become hard and fast. OCD all over again.

And I really doubt—that amongst gardeners—I am alone in this. Perhaps we should add another letter? Make another syndrome. GOCD. Gardener Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder!

A problem to see and fix! A Dead snakebark maple. Solution: Removal? Nah, put a vine on it! Worth trying anyway. Check back in five years. 

Good plants will help you avert your eyes from the ugly ones. At least for a while. Spigelia marilandica demands attention!

Recently things have happened that have shifted me ever so slightly from this situation normal, and I am allowing myself, just some, to feel better about my garden. 

The sunny front yard continues to plague me, although it’s slowly getting better. For a while, too many blank spaces. Now, rambunctiousness. Between the two, the latter is the better problem.

For one, I’m actually feeling physically better. After 3+ years of constant, level 7-8 pain, which culminated in a truly traumatic four weeks of dialed to 11 pain, I’m suddenly pain free and, Lord, what a difference that makes on my outlook! For everything! It feels great to feel good, even if a little strange. There have been times when I suddenly realized that I just got up and walked somewhere, and did so normally. Without gasping. No moaning. Zero pain. It’s good being me again. Me from a previous life. Me as I remember myself.  

I have also been doing a better job of stepping back, looking up, and seeing the bigger picture rather than just noting a walkthrough’s worth of wrong and unruly things. It has helped that the garden continues to mature, growing up and filling in. It has also helped that through a flurry of visiting garden tours that I have received a steady stream of very nice compliments.

In the past, these were easy to dismiss. For a lot of reasons. I could list them out and it would read like some psychological case study of insecurity and paranoia, but ultimately it all came down to this: any thinking person is going to be aware that whenever you extend invitations for people to come visit your garden that—just out of simple courtesy—every last one of them is going to tell you it’s beautiful. Whether it is or is not.

If in doubt, just add darkness. Visit the garden when it’s harder to see. Two shots from more or less the same place. Not too bad in light but maybe even better under a strawberry moon.

I mean, I’ve told people their ugly garden was beautiful. Why wouldn’t other people, most of them far nicer than me, do the same? And they did. When my garden was ugly, people told me it wasn’t. Sometimes convincingly, but usually not. But now, while there are still plenty of things that need improving, I’m okay with admitting that my garden isn’t very ugly anymore. In fact, overall, it’s getting there, which feels fairly good.

Last but not least, I’ve become more aware of my skills as a gardener. I think part of the reason I am always looking for things to fix in the garden is because I like fixing them. It requires knowledge. It takes skills. It drives vision. It inspires creativity. A few weekends ago, I started Saturday morning with a list of chores that needed to get done, some easy, some hard. And you know how these things go. Complications arise. The easy ones go off the rails. The hard ones become nightmares. But I’m telling you that I busted through those chores as if I knew what I was doing. In impossible heat and humidity, I deftly fixed this and then I grandly improved that. One by one, despite complications, the jobs got crossed off. Done right. Done proud. And this, too, felt good!

So it was right about then that I decided to gloat a little about my garden online. In this blog. Which is what I’m doing here now.  

My Acer palmatum ‘Koto No Ito.’ Learned of it. Sought it out. Planted it. Cajoled it. Shaped it. Proud of it.

But it’s not as easy to gloat as you might think. Because you know that no one else wants to hear it. But the counter argument to that is this. How many times has a friend or family member passed away and only at the service did you learn about how good they were at their job or some part of their life you didn’t know about? And it’s kind of a shame that they never felt comfortable telling you about it.

So I am going to go ahead and squirm through the discomfort and just say this now: I like my garden. I think it’s pretty good.

And, boy, that felt kind of great! And, now, knowing that it’s been said and it’s out there, I don’t have to worry about a friend or cousin remembering to mention my garden at my funeral. It would be nice if they would, but, even if they don’t, it’s out there now because I said it. Available to the entire world forever.

The lesson here I guess is that it’s good when people feel good about the things they’re good at. And to feel good about themselves in general. I’ve always tried to be a channel for doing that. As I mentioned before, I have told many people their ugly gardens were beautiful, and I will continue to do that. In fact, I am going to work harder at it. Sure, they might dismiss my compliments just like I used to do, but, by gawd, they’re going to at least hear them!

A lot of cool plants all mixed together. Micromanaged? Nope. Part of the secret. 

One of the things I love most about my job is that it gives me the opportunity to mentor young horticulturists. It always feels good whenever I can share advice that’s come from my experience, which of course includes many trials, tribulations, plenty of grind, and, ultimately, enough success to make it all worthwhile. So, if I can save them some time… 

And, from now on, whenever I suspect that a friend or an uncle might be good at their job or at tying flies or juggling, whatever, I’m going to ask them about it. Maybe at a garden party. Possibly at my house. And then they, too, will feel good in my garden.

A broad headed skink enjoys the garden even though the Epimedium ‘Songbird’ flew off. Gotta remember to remove that label. 

Me. Gloating.