Beautiful gardens bring thoughts of joyous activities

As a displaced Wisconsinite, I had been “singing in the rain” throughout the long wet spring. Then I heard a radio announcer exclaim something to the effect of “enough is enough,” implying that it’s time for hot and dry weather to return.

It’s not that I haven’t adapted cheerfully to the long, hot summers here. They are much preferred to the hot and muggy summers of distant memory. But as I made my daily “tour of the estate” recently, I was again astonished at how the perennials had popped, like corn in hot oil, as they quaffed the waters of spring.

Never have the hostas been as huge. The roses that had survived the sudden autumn freeze and the severe dry winter winds two years ago are giving us robust blooms. Shasta daisies, usually needing support by now, are standing taller, holding more buds to bloom. Ornamental grasses, planted a year ago where I thought they’d have just enough room to grow without crowding their neighbors, are challenging the neighborhood for space. New additions to the garden have taken hold more quickly, well nourished by the moisture at their roots.

I recently photographed a daylily we’ve had in place for 30 years because a sudden burst of multiple flowers opened on one stem, creating its own bouquet. The several sedum “Autumn Joy” in various areas of the garden are standing taller with fuller foliage. A transplanted ginkgo I was concerned would not take to the shock of movement and a new location will need pruning in late winter to maintain the shape necessary for its place in the garden.

Surely it’s obvious by now that I am full of gratitude for the abundance of bloom and foliage in the garden. To the rains of spring and early summer, I raise a toast and extol these gifts from the clouds because my water bill will be less and so will my guilt about water use in a time of drought.

But there is a bittersweet aspect. The unbridled growth of field bindweed marches up the stalks of delphinium, climbs over the roses, seeks to cover the hebe, bends the tender stems of the heuchera, hides behind the fullness of the globe thistles. Never before has the garden been as threatened by this evil plant whose control escapes me. As it sends out new roots, I hear the laughter of the bindweed.

When the garden is as beautiful as it is, anger and frustration at one implacable weed are soon forgotten. The daily “tours of the estate” induce thoughts of cartwheels, but there’s not lawn enough for such joyous activity.