“You should have seen it last week!”
That is the gardener’s lament. What we love about gardens—that they’re living, breathing and ever-changing—is also what we hate about them. We want to freeze those perfect moments.
Recently, I came across some photographs of my garden taken a few years ago in late March or early April. They reminded me of how much I appreciate the early spring garden—how verdant and upright the growth is, leaves and petals intact, before the insects have a go at them. The lady ferns are just emerging, and the oaks are putting out new leaves. All the new growth is that lovely shade of yellow green that is one of the hallmarks of spring. One photograph is of a tree peony in full bloom—voluptuous bowls of pale pink and white with deep golden centers. Another photo is of some native iris—their long leaves cascading over rocks, the petals shades of blue and lavender, with light blue veining and a yellow stripe down the center. Other snapshots give an overview of the wilder garden, showing all the different shades of green: the dark, almost black-green of the bay trees; the blue-greens of the poppies and grasses; the silvery green of lupine, sage and Artemisia; and the yellow greens of the newly emerging growth of the deciduous plants, particularly the hazels, ferns and dogwoods.
When the early spring bloom passes, there is a bit of a lull as the plants are preparing for the next flush of growth. By mid-May, the roses are at their peak and the garden is filled with scent and bloom. The roses will bloom again in August, though not as profusely. In a good year, perennials like daylilies, bee balm, yarrow and penstemon will fill the garden with flowers through late spring and summer, but this was not a good year.
So it goes: the peaks and valleys of the gardening year. There are a few moments of near perfection when one’s idealized garden comes to fruition, and one is happy to welcome garden visitors. Then there are all those other times when plants seem to grow too much or not enough. Formerly beloved plants become thuggish and take over; tender ones are coddled, and still they die. There’s black spot, insect infestations and animal marauders like chipmunks and raccoons.
It is autumn as I write these words, and my garden is in a state of decline. Like the surrounding landscape, it has been affected by the drought. Early bloomers like the tree peonies and the native dogwood did not bloom this year. They formed buds, but with no January rain, the buds shriveled on the stem. Most of the sword ferns are afflicted with thrips, and there is a desiccated look to many of the plants. However, there are still pockets of beauty to be found: a Japanese Maple is in full, glorious color with its burgundy, scarlet, vermillion and all shades of green; the rugosa roses are covered in tomato-red hips; and the dogwood are forming buds for next spring’s flowers.
The rains, we hope, will be here soon, and the beginning of a new gardening year. With winter comes the opportunity to correct planting mistakes and then wait, ever hopeful, for spring to come. I will probably still say, “You should have seen it last week (or last month),” but I will try to appreciate the ephemeral quality of flowers and the ever-changing nature of gardens.
Vivian Mazur is a member of the Inverness Garden Club and can be found Wednesday mornings tending the Inverness Library garden.