Some people are known as “glass half full” folks and some drift towards the “glass half empty” side. Personally, I’m a “Whoops! I’m sorry I just spilled that half glass of red wine all over your white lace tablecloth” kind of guy.
I know that many gardeners look at the coming year with anticipation. By January, the unspeakable, unending string of horticultural tragedies of the previous season have been relegated to the compost pile of history, figuratively and literally. (Or is that just my experience?) They view the world – which is pretty much limited to their patios, backyards and all-season deck chairs – with fresh eyes, convinced that this is the year that the porcelain berry vine that strangled their prize affenpinscher will be vanquished, that the heptacodium tree, which died under mysterious circumstances five years ago and which now resembles a hat rack for squirrels, will finally be removed (if only by a wind storm), and that the drainage issues that had them considering creating a rice paddy by the recycling bin will miraculously be alleviated by a climate-change-induced drought that begins in April and lasts through, oh, 2023.
Container gardening is so enjoyable because of its possibilities for creative expression.
It’s probably been more than four years since a wild shade-loving tulip made its surprising appearance in a shady, grassy bed in
Brace yourself. I’m going to smack you across the kisser with a cold, wet herring of truth: Gardening ain’t easy.
This is the year of the hellebore, at least in my garden. I have about a dozen now, with several of the lime-green ones ...
“Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...gnxx! Huh?” “Move over. You’re taking up all the root space.” “No need to stick a rhizome in my ...