It only rained twice this spring in the Midwest.
The first time was all of April and the second most of May.
The deluge, with intermittent significant snowfall, delayed my gardening gig. When finally able to survey my landscape, without need for umbrella or snow boots, I wasn’t pleased.
Weeds, I Think
Each fall, I shopped the nurseries for discounted perennials. By spring I forgot not only what I planted, but also where I planted them. In a flurry of backyard spring cleanup, I’d unknowingly uprooted Lenten Rose, tossed Penstemon into the compost heap, and yanked out Leadwort.
This spring, I curtailed my weed pulling impulse and didn’t jerk out the stately sprouts. Its air of confidence gave me pause. Was this one of my fall perennial purchases? I granted a reprieve. Soon the sprouts grew to knee high and revealed their true weedy nature. A small weeding task became a huge one.
I adopted the motto “If it grows like a weed, it probably is one.”
Stay In Line
When redesigning a flowerbed, I decided to use wild ginger as a border. It grew well in my backyard so I transplanted them into an orderly line. However, the ginger didn’t listen. The neat fall edging I planted, degenerated into random mounds elbowing the more polite Astilbe.
I should have heeded the warning. There’s a reason it’s called WILD ginger.
The ferns misbehaved as well. In my quest to eliminate mulching, I planted a few ferns behind a boundary of hostas. The plan, to have a backdrop of feathery ferns with orderly Formal Attires in the foreground, soon collapsed. The ferns didn’t. They thrived all over the place.
I’ll mount a search and rescue mission for my variegated hostas after purchasing a machete.