Moving into someone else’s garden can be intimidating. If they have been neglectful, you must clear, prune, and weed. If they have been uninterested, you must design, plan, and sow. But if they have been successful, you must face the worst challenge of all: living up to their reputation. Such was the case when I moved into my grandmother’s garden.
Her garden was always a thing of marvel. Roses the size of your head, lemon trees with incredible bounties and geraniums to make the French weak. But when she moved out, and her garden went untouched for six months, the beautiful and maintained landscape became an explosive jungle of vines, pots, and mayhem. Being in charge of her house meant taking on this greenery. I had no idea how to garden, but I thought I could learn.
The first step was clearing. I tried, oh boy, did I try, to do this by myself. But it was too much. I reluctantly sought professional help from a landscaper friend.
“This is crazy,” he told me. “There are about one hundred potted plants, most of which have rooted. Not to mention all the porcelain figurines. I’m going to have to take two truck beds to the dump.”
Okay, getting help was a smart move. What took him and another worker two days would have taken me months. In addition to unearthing a swing, three bird baths and wheelbarrows, he also found plastic deer, porcelain bunnies, birds, and ducks and about a dozen garden gnomes. Gnomes? Where the hell am I going to put all these gnomes?
After the initial clearing of shrubbery and critters, the garden didn’t seem so daunting. I became familiar with my yard and started to learn a thing or two about plants. I learned roses like to be seriously pruned and frequently watered. When you do so, they bloom. While this seems very simple, it’s also very rewarding. Collecting bouquets of roses from my own backyard was something I could really get used to.
“Look,” I’d say to my boyfriend, pointing to a vase of long-stemmed roses, “a little piece of Martha Stewart right here in my house.”
“Can you please stop saying that?” he’d beg.
After getting my hands dirty, my next ambitious goal was to garden sans chemicals. I boxed up all the snail, bug and mold-killing sprays in my grandma’s garage and took them to the local hazardous waste drop-off.
But then, I was confronted with my first garden pest: powdery mildew. It was attacking my roses, curling the petals and turning them brown. Martha Stewart would never stand for blemished roses and neither would I!
I headed to the hardware store to look for an organic option and found a sulfur spray that kills mildews, molds and the like.
Happy with my find, I went to check out.
Just then, a strapping, tanned landscaper asked me about my mildew problem, suggesting the large amount of winter rain had caused it. He also added, “You know, you can get rid of the mildew by just plucking off the affected leaves.”
What I wanted to say was, “Sir, I have a dozen rose bushes, with about thirty leaves each, requiring a hand plucking of 360 individual leaves every week or so. Thank you very much Mr. Outdoorsypants, but I have better things to do!”
But instead I said, “Oh … yeah … right,” and left the hardware store, feeling none-the-wiser.
One thing you quickly realize about gardening is that it takes time and some financial investment. It’s sort of like picking up a part-time job, for which you get paid nothing, but supply everything. At a minimum, you should have a hose, a spade or shovel, and some clippers. Then when things get really serious, opt for accessories: a sun hat, garden gloves, and garden clogs.
