Gardening for Dummies

Sunday, July 29, 2012 – Gardening for Dummies 

What's that tall thing in the center?

Many of my Facebook friends regularly post photos of their beautiful gardens.  I’ve oohed and aahed over pictures of their daylilies, hydrangeas, and every sort of flower imaginable.  I always click “like” when I see the photos.  At the same time, I always have to suppress a twinge of guilt that those photos arouse in me.  Mon jardin, my very own garden, bears absolutely no resemblance to the photos Marie-Claude, Teri, Jean, and others so proudly display. 

I freely admit that I have absolutely no gardening talent whatsoever.  Oh, occasionally I get lucky and one of my plants flourishes, at least for a while.  Most often, this applies to houseplants, however.  Decades ago, when I lived in Boston, I had a rubber tree named Esmeralda.  I kept Esmeralda alive for a number of years and sorrowfully gave her up for adoption when I moved to France after my marriage.  Perhaps my success with Esmeralda gave me a false sense of hope for my gardening future.  I now suspect that she was one of those immortal plants that is impossible to kill. 

At the present time, I have a couple of fairly indestructible houseplants that, like Esmeralda, cling stubbornly to life.  See Exhibit A (below), known affectionately as the plant that would not die.  I believe this specimen is also called a cast-iron plant for its strong constitution and ability to withstand over-watering, under-watering, etc.  It was a hand-me-down from a teaching colleague who retired many years ago.  Exhibit B is a spider plant that started from a sprout contributed by friend Heidi in Philadelphia.  It is nearly as old as my younger child, who is twenty-five.  

EXHIBIT A

EXHIBIT B

These, however, are the exceptions in my history of houseplants.  More often than not, I’ve liked my houseplants, but they haven’t liked me. 

Let’s play a houseplant game I call “Good Plant, Bad Plant.”  Here is a photo of two of my houseplants, orchids of some kind.  Look closely at the photo; then identify the good plant.  Sure, the one on the left has petals, but the one on the right is a fine example of plant minimalism, with no fussy flowers to detract from the pure beauty of the line.  

Which is the "good" plant?

Before we move on, I have a question for those of you who are plant experts:  Is the plant on the right dead, or it just taking a rest before blooming again?  As you have probably guessed by now, I just don’t understand plants.  Maybe it’s because I’m too committed to equality.  My belief in equality extends to all living things, including plants.  I gave these two orchids equally (in)attentive care, and you saw the results.  Perhaps the answer lies in plant genetics, a subject I will not address today, as it’s time to venture out of doors for a look at mon jardin. 

It’s outside that my lack of gardening ability is most apparent.  If you were here for Elliott’s 100^th birthday celebration, you may have noticed planters brimming with blossoms beside the front doors and colorful impatiens gracing our front yard.  Weren’t they lovely?  Don’t thank me.  My only contribution was buying the plants.  It was Ziba who actually put them in the ground and watered them daily while she was here.  Just look at them now after several weeks of record-breaking high temperatures.  If they look a bit parched, there’s a simple explanation.  Local officials told us to conserve water, so I was just following directions.  

My former impatiens

However, some outdoor plants seem to thrive under my benign neglect.  See the photo below for evidence.  I don’t recall planting this hearty specimen to the right of the house number.  It just appeared one day in the front yard, peering over the groundcover and shrubs.  I don’t know its name, but it obviously falls into the “good plant” category.  

I have no idea what this tall plant is.

I won’t mention the grass in the front yard because there isn’t any.  Suffice it to say that whatever is growing on the ground there is mostly green. 

Now let’s take a look at my herb garden, which I plant annually.  Even my herbs are reluctant to grow, although I give them plenty of sunshine and occasional water.  The herbs live (for a while, anyway) in pots on the back deck.  This year, I planted some basil and thyme.  The chives and oregano surprised me because they are survivors from last summer who spontaneously popped up again.  One of the basil plants is beyond salvation, I’m afraid, but this year’s herb garden isn’t a total failure. 

The backyard is a better reflection of my approach to gardening.  I do everything in my power to keep it in its pristine sylvan state, which means I basically do nothing.  If a limb or branch falls from a tree, I leave it on the ground.  I’ve cultivated an appreciation for the profusion of thorny vines, velvety moss, and towering trees whose leaves turn brilliant shades of gold, orange, and burgundy in the fall.  For a few months in the spring, wild azaleas provide a burst of color.  Plus, there’s no grass to mow. 

Despite my lack of gardening talent, I haven’t given up on plants, either the indoor and outdoor varieties.  An important reason is because they serve a very useful purpose, namely as subjects for art.  Over the years, I’ve portrayed plants in several of my paintings, pastels, and drawings.  A portrait of Esmeralda hung in my Boston home.  And during a month-long house sitting adventure for our friend Joel, when he lived in Valbonne (France), I did scores of pencil sketches of various tropical plants in the garden.  We still have fond memories of Choukri, the gardener, who gave Elisa and Matthew wild rides in the wheelbarrow. 

Thinking back to that splendid garden in the South of France, I fantasize once again about having a “real” garden, like the ones you see in Impressionist paintings.  On second thought, I bet Monet had a gardener, and Renoir, too.  Otherwise, how would they have had time to do all those paintings?  So, to all my gardening friends, thanks for all your hard work and please keep those photos coming.