The Lazy Gardener

    Yesterday I heard two people say that their furnaces turned on during the night. It was the ninth day of August. The numerous green tomatoes in my back yard seem to be pleading for sunshine and a little heat. I don't recall many summers like this one, cool and cloudy, and I was about to get all pouty about it when I realized what the rest of the country is enduring. Our friend Mike is visiting from Ohio, and he said that their air conditioner is set at 75 degrees, and has been running around the clock. He was glad to land in the Great Northwest.

    Since we had company and a party this weekend, I decided it was time to spruce up my gardens. I have been gone a lot this summer. I missed the crucial time in June when I might have been able to beat the most invasive plants into submission. Now many of my specimen plants have given up because they were surrounded and choked out by something called "Snow on the Mountains." It seemed like a good idea when I introduced it. We had planted neat evergreen shrubs (Thuja) under the kitchen window, and I was tired of plain old beauty bark underneath. Snow on the Mountains it seemed like a logical choice. Plant it and forget it, right? Never mind that I had only heard it described with loathing by people who had unwittingly chosen it as a handy variegated groundcover, only to find that it choked out other species with wanton disregard for their right to co-exist in a well-mannered garden. Did I listen to the rantings of other gardeners? No. I wanted something quick and plentiful. I also planted a tiny clump in the garden. And now I pay the price for my foolishness.

    However, sometimes there is not much difference between the lazy or foolish gardener, and the gardener with a bad back. You can tell both by the plants in their landscape. People in these two categories tend to introduce species that will take over a garden so that it looks showy from the curb, even if it is an overgrown disaster upon closer inspection. My front garden always looks pretty in the early spring. Another invasive and prolific beauty, Lily of the Valley, sprouts a single leaf that stands tall like a sail. It bears a short, sturdy stem with tiny white bells that perfume the garden with a delicate scent. But these plants are ruthless, and soon fill the entire plot. Once again I was warned.

    And let me tell you the tale of Sweet Woodruff. It's sweet, alright, but once again, it took over any space that was not occupied by Lily of the Valley, and was only trumped by Snow on the Mountains. Meanwhile, stately, patient Hostas are holding their ground, surrounded by all the little nippers trying to force them into dormancy. They stand in slowly widening clumps protecting Astilbe and Hydrangea from the invaders. It's a full time job.

    We have a dusty spot under two massive firs in the front yard. I decided to have a race between Snow on the Mountains and Sweet Woodruff to see which one might be victorious. It seems as if an epic battle has begun, and I expect it to be fought in earnest next summer. May the one with the best underground root system win! By then I hope I will have figured if it's really my "bad back" that is to blame for the invasive plants, or if I'm just lazy. Whatever it is, don't tell my tomatoes.