I love returning from a trip ready to incorporate new discoveries into my daily life. After this trip, I brought home: a newfound love for cultured milk, cloudberries, and black currants; a determination that our family needs to camp more often; and the will to overcome my dislike of hardboiled eggs. I also returned with a more objective perspective on the garden.
The most arresting outcome of this new perspective is that I am actually making changes. I am removing the ugly from the garden. Old scraggly mums ripped up. Blackberry lilies that had naturalized to the wrong places torn out. And the native daylilies banished to the alley.
I am taking back prime real estate. I tucked some perennials and some annuals into the spaces that opened up and I'm just thrilled with the changes.
Why is it that I wasn't ready to act during October, November, or February? Why am I full of executive energy now that it's the worst time to transplant?* I should be simply weeding, watering, and deadheading.
And to top it all off, I've decided to transplant ... hydrangeas. Hmm. Now let me see, prudent? I think not. (However, I felt a bit vindicated after reading Susan Harris' admission that she also will give in to the urge to transplant during mid-summer.)
Here are the hydrangeas in the spot where they get full sun (they didn't when I planted them, but a neighbor cut down some trees and now, sun).
One has been moved (I'm watering it often with a soaker hose) and the rest will go soon.
The spot will become full of native wildflowers and grasses. I'm combing through the book Wildflower Gardens and hope to have something spectacular here next year -- full of mid-summer beauty, bees, and butterflies. Maybe something good will come out of my mania ...
*Full Disclosure: I was transplanting then. I just never stopped. I can't stop. I'm always moving things, ripping out, tucking in ...
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