Behind the posts, articles, conferences and social media, there’s a backstory. Have you kept up with the digital correspondence between Ranters Scott Beuerlein and Marianne Willburn? You can start here, [...]
Cincinnati, Ohio November 3, 2024 Dear Marianne, I don’t know about you, but I garden a lot more productively when I’m rushed and surly. And I’ve been both lately. Having [...]
This year was the best Spring I can remember. It just rolled out soft and sweet. No late freezes, no extreme temps, no bad storms, and lovely, beautiful, consistent precipitation. It was wonderful and I don’t know which was worse, that the heat and drought came on like someone had thrown a switch or knowing that it would.
For those who plant them in rows, expect rows. Those who plant them in drifts, expect drifts. And those who plant them where they would plant themselves, will expect to see that. And all will be lifted by the dependably sunny blooms on cold spring days.
While these hostas are blooming in the darker spaces, the phlox are rocking the sun. And have been for seemingly months.
I'm thinking my life has maybe culminated. I'm no longer working towards this big thing. The big thing is over and now it's kind of like I'm being stretchered away from it.
Some of these combinations are quite good. Some came by intent, some by serendipity. However they happened, that’s what years of growth and crowding, forgotten sowings, and much, much more allows. It’s what happens when wait-and-see wisdom gradually undermines sheer energy and willpower.
But the industry has been around a long, long time. Uninterrupted really. Impulse buys and discretionary spending, I suppose, but people seem to really want and need beautiful plants in their lives.
Spring is just around the corner and will spring into its manic business faster than a mouse trap. There's never enough time to observe it. As always, I will just try to buckle up and enjoy what I can of it as I'm hauled variously across it as my own trajectory wobbles like a bottle rocket.
So, there I was, rushing around, randomly augering holes right and left and compromising like a son of a bitch. Little thought for siting. No memory for whatever poor, dormant plants I was augering into. Just get ‘em in the ground no matter what.
I'll try harder to greet each morning with a death grip on the positive. I long to feel the clompy green, gold, yellow, brown sweetbay leaves kiss me awake.
Thus, years and years of collecting has steadily been undone by an almost equal number of years de-collecting. It was hard at first, got easier over time, and now I remove an ugly plant with a strange grin on my face. It’s a god-like power I wield maniacally.
